Saturday, August 29, 2009

That's So Juvenie, 1991 - an excerpt from My Chequered Life, the LaFevre Autobiography

The beginning of the end for the Crazy 80’s happened towards the end of 1990. All came crashing down. And I had the best intentions. The order of the universe couldn’t care less. Radio was over. Work was during evenings and weekends. The icing would come in the form of two kids from the neighborhood. They lived two blocks up the street from the SFJCC. I lived five blocks in another direction. The girl was 16, the boy, 12. The girl was a fan of ‘metal’, as I was. We talked on occasion, in the neighborhood.

Then one day on my way to the college station, KUSF, where I was donating my time for radio production services, I ran into them on the bus. They asked to tag along and did. At the station, they had pizza and beer. I gave them a slice and sips from my beer. After the meeting was over, they asked if they could come home with me. They told me they had run away from home. I told them if I let them stay over, it would be ‘harboring a fugitive’. But there was a higher purpose, as defined by my next comment. I told them they could stay over, to keep them off the street, but they would have to leave in the morning, since I had to go to work. Agreed.

A week later, I got a call from the juvenile authorities. I went down to the precinct to answer questions. I answered truthfully, throwing in the reasons why, which I always thought, helped, as a matter of circumstance. I was told if a warrant were issued for further investigation, I would be called. Sure enough, I got the message on my machine. As it turned out, they were under foster care, and not real brother and sister. Furthermore, it was the foster parents who were pressing charges. To keep from getting punished, most likely, they dropped the dime on me. After everything I had done for them. The charge: contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Huh? They only had a couple sips (of beer). And I kept them off the street. And safe.

Didn’t matter. I was being evicted anyway. Wasn’t a warrant I could be arrested for in any other county, due to expense of paperwork and transportation. I certainly was reminded of the warrant on three separate occasions in different parts of the Bay Area. Finally, I got pulled over in SF. I knew the routine. Handcuffed and transported to the local precinct (Northern Station). Next stop, Hall of Justice. Released on OR (own recognizance).

I was ordered to appear in court to answer the charges. Six times. See, each time, the Assistant District Attorney didn’t have paperwork (or so he said) and was not up to speed on the details. One of the excuses was that they couldn’t find the minors to get their side of the story. I immediately approached the Public Defender. “Hey, this is bullshit. They’re foster kids. Wards of the State. That means they’re in the database. Look it up. Find them. Or drop the case for lack of evidence.” He could tell I was frustrated, and for good reason. After a discussion with the ADA, they offered a no-contest plea, and 25 hours of community service. I just wanted it to end, so I agreed. Turns out, there was a $180.00 administrative fee attached to the service. Fucking shit. Never paid it, though. Didn’t even finish the 25 hours. Of course, that meant it would go back to warrant. I was issued a court date. I remember it vividly. It was set for a Sunday. Didn’t make sense. Got up anyway. 8am. Sunday. Nothing scheduled, of course. Blew it off.

For the sake of continuity, we’ll finish the details here, even though they occur five years later. Pulled over and arrested for this outstanding warrant. Another overnight stay. Cool part was, as a bunch of detainees were led from the main cell to a processing area, names were called, and accompanied by a deputy to their respective courts. My name came up, alone. Escorted by two deputies. The looks in my direction were like, “Whoa, what the fuck did he do?”, and an immediate air of respect from everyone. The deputies were cool. Turns out, one of them went to my high school.

In the waiting room, the public defender comes in. I tell him the whole story from the beginning. He’s amazed at the attention-to-detail of my recall as if it happened the day before yesterday. He responds, “Funny you should mention the Sunday, and the date, because according to my records, you were scheduled for Monday.” I told him if he wanted to see the paperwork, I could produce it. They dropped the case with the remainder of the community hours dismissed for time served. What a fucking nightmare.

This is why no one helps anyone anymore, and chooses not to get involved. And that sucks. I'd do it all over again, but obviously, a little bit differently.

#175 - Who Is Tiger Claw?

Tiger Claw…
…is an ancient Chinese secret…is what the cat dragged in…is hotter than the hammers of hell…won’t make it to heaven anytime soon…likes it medium-rare…is really a dragon, trapped in a tiger body…does twice the work, in half the time, when he feels like it…knows what you’re going to do, before you even think of it…is Cajun for grandmaster…is cage-free, loves the earth, but is not of this earth…fears not what he does, but what he is capable of doing…knows without knowing, acts without thinking, and speaks without reserve…and is all of the above, yet nothing what you thought, all at the same time, but in no particular order.

Friday, August 28, 2009

#174 - The Business Of Business

As I was showing someone a piece of personal business, another asked in jest, “Is that work-related?” “Of course it is. This was done on a copier here at work. Everything I do here at work, I consider work-related.” After a snicker, they were speechless, of course. LaFevre figured it was worthless on their part to go any further. Resistance is futile.

#173 - WTF?!

Geez, I tell ya, my God, the things I gotta do…
to pass the time!

#172 - Blue In The Face

When people dive, they usually use breathing apparatus. There’s snorkeling, and then deep-sea diving with tanks. LaFevre has a term for when you’re just holding your breath, most common in backyard swimming pools, but called “free-diving” in other waters. Add this to the Dictionary: “smurfing”.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

#171 - Mocha Java, Mon

We all know the "classical" mocha is steamed milk, espresso and cocoa. The cheaper version made in the office kitchen, coffee and hot chocolate, is called a "ghetto" mocha. But LaFevre has his own version. The "iron" mocha. That would be coffee, and chocolate-flavored protein powder. When you lift that cup, feel the pump, and enjoy the protein shakes.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

LaFevre Retorts...

Airplane Witticisms:

Flying isn't dangerous; crashing is what's dangerous.

The only time you have too much fuel is when you're on fire.

When in doubt, hold on to your altitude.
No one ever collided with the sky.

It's always better to be down here wishing you were up there,
than it is to be up there wishing you were down there.

There are OLD pilots, and there are BOLD pilots.
There are, however, no OLD, BOLD pilots.

#170 - Prison Yard Blues

We’ve all heard of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Well, after watching a prison special on The Discovery Channel, LaFevre came up with a new title, based on an old one.

“Lifestyles of the Bitch and Infamous”