Skid Row Snacks

Some of our fellow Americans complained that homeless people were shitting in the bushes. 
The problem solvers thought it over and realized this: 1. Homeless people are Bathroomless people. And: 2. The more you eat, the more you shit. 

So instead of devising a plan for more public bathrooms, they came up with a new ordinance forbidding citizens from feeding the homeless under penalty of fine. Isn't that clever? If they don't eat, they won't shit! Problem solved!

My daughter got wind of this legislated meanness and was so pissed that she spent a hundred bucks of her puny pre-school teacher wages on groceries, and made fifty lettuce, tomato, and hummus sandwiches on whole wheat bread. 

She put each sandwich in a little baggie, and after school today, she, her boyfriend and I went down to Skid Row to hand them out.

I figured we'd park near Sixth & San Pedro in Downtown LA, near the Mission, then walk around and see if anyone wanted a snack. But that's not how it went down.

Before we'd found a parking spot, we leaned out the car window and asked a woman on the street if she'd like a free sandwich. 

And within four minutes all 50 sandwiches were gone. 

Everyone was sweet and polite and grateful and surprisingly pleased that the sandwiches were veggie. We hadn't even gone a half block.

But driving back through the crowded streets with no more food to give was utterly depressing. We knew that fifty sandwiches wouldn't make a dent. But knowing and knowing are two different things. 


My daughter's boyfriend thinks one solution to all this hunger has to come from re-purposing the enormous amount of waste from markets and restaurants. Maybe that's true. Whatever the answers are, we need them NOW!

xo Amy

AmyKossBlogThang: $WEEP$TAKE$

AmyKossBlogThang: $WEEP$TAKE$: Because we share his car, I just dropped my college graduate son off for his first day of work at the bowling alley.  He didn’t know...

$WEEP$TAKE$

Because we share his car, I just dropped my college graduate son off for his first day of work at the bowling alley. 

He didn’t know yet if he would be scrubbing toilets or spraying deodorant into bowling shoes. Either way, he was glad his job search was over. 

The only other job he'd been invited back to interview for was bag-boy. But if the grocery store hires college grads as baggers now, what becomes of the disabled adults who had those jobs before?

Have they been gentrified right out of the game? Is everyone backing down the ladder, stepping on the fingers of the person below them? Ouch!

Does this explain why I recently accepted a gig with a slimy book-packager, when such a thing would have been stinky turd on my shoe not so long ago?

The point is that it's a relief to know that all this nonsense and insecurity will end this Friday when I win the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. 

Because not only did I faithfully move my stickers from one place to another but I also registered daily for my rightful opportunity to claim my prize! 

And when I do, all boats will rise together!! 

That's a promise. xo amy

AmyKossBlogThang: Valenturtle's Day

AmyKossBlogThang: Valenturtle's Day: As Valenturtle Day nears on cupid wings and doily hearts, I feel called upon to share  this tragic tale of terrapin heartbreak although it...

Valenturtle's Day

As Valenturtle Day nears on cupid wings and doily hearts, I feel called upon to share  this tragic tale of terrapin heartbreak although it has nothing at all to do with anything besides the fact that Terkel swims in a plastic heart. 

It began many years ago when we bought a matched pair of those tiny baby turtles they sell illegally in  China Town, LA. 

We thought we were rescuing them. Never mind that two identical babies quickly replaced them on the shelf. 

In our defense, they were adorable. Had they been ugly they may have been spared. But they were bright green, with perfect miniature turtle-like details thus paralyzing us with their cuteness. 

Each was the size of an earring. In fact, they would have made fabulous earrings. 

I’ve read that live baby turtles are also sold as key chains. At least we didn’t do that! And any guilty twinges we may have suffered, were assuaged by the fact that the turtles had each other.

When someone told my son that baby turtles had a high infant mortality rate, he quickly distanced himself emotionally. 

Soon after that my daughter realized that turtles don’t do much and her affections strayed as well. 

The only member of the family who remained keenly interested in everything the turtles did and said, was our lumpy old lab, Sweetie-the-Dog.

Sweetie knew she was not supposed to eat the bunnies or turtles or guinea pig or any other member of the family.

But you could see her longing for just one taste... She’d sometimes give the other animals long, lingering licks, but she held herself back, until the day she didn’t.

It wasn't easy to find a vet who'd treat a shattered turtle. But she epoxied the shell back together and taught us how to inject antibiotics into in his weird little turtle leg.

He healed. Yes, it was our fault for being inattentive, and there was no excuse. But then, there was really no excuse when it happened again. The second time was fatal.

Sweetie-the-Dog is long gone as are the bunnies and guinea pig, but our remaining turtle soldiers on year after year alone. He isn't one to show emotion, so who knows how often the grisly murder of his partner replays in his tiny dinosaur brain? Or how much he misses his mate, and suffers in his isolation?

Terkel shows no interest in or aptitude for catching bugs (having always been hand fed) so we don't dare release him in the wild. But every now and then, we pull into our shells a bit, and reflect on the dangers of cuteness, and the terrible omnipotence of being human. 
xo Amy

AmyKossBlogThang: Car-free in LA!

AmyKossBlogThang: Car-free in LA!: P erhaps you recall that a mid- size  car inserted itself up the butt of my 15  year  old van several months ago, totalling it.  Well,...

Car-free in LA!

Perhaps you recall that a mid-size car inserted itself up the butt of my 15 year old van several months ago, totalling it. 

Well, I still haven't replaced that van which I suspect indicates some hesitancy on my part, so I'm taking this opportunity to examine my reluctance. Do feel free to click away if deep psychological exploration makes you squeamish.

For one I'm pretty sure it's not the paper work as my attacker's insurance paid up nominally but promptly. 

And it's not just that I've been slogging forth and back from Michigan to California too much to focus. 

It's not just dread of talking to glad-handy car sales people. 

Or the scraping up and forking over of the dough.

I think what stops me from going out and at least looking at a car or two, is that this car-lessness is so liberating. 

I can't / don't have to / do anything. There's only the wonkiest public transport in and out of my canyon, (not that I've actually checked...) So I'm stuck. 

And if I can't go anywhere, then there's no need to put on a bra or shoes. No need to bathe. No need put down the book, or get off facebook, or get out of bed. No need to be public and civil. 

And my carbon footprint is negligible!

I do occasionally stumble out into the world and stand blinking at all the activity. 

WHOOSH! Traffic! Lights!

Cheerful waitresses with lots of teeth who politely ignore my bathrobe and moose-slippers. 

Friends fetch me and take me out for an airing, but not too often. And I assume that the longer I shun the toothbrush & shower the less frequently that will occur.  

My husband, loyal and true, brings in food & takes out trash.

The to-be-read pile next to the bed grows shorter. 

The dogs and I commune. 

Rain helps. None of us want wet paws.

My sympathizers assume it's all because I've had a beastly year, and am on the mend. 

But really, I've always suspected I'd make a great invalid if given the chance.  

And now, thanks to that young woman probably texting while driving, I have the wonderful luxury of feeling that none of this is my fault.  

xo Amy