Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Wednesday, Oct. 15, 2003 - 11:22 p.m.

Welcome, welcome, welcome, Golfzilla fans. Are things a-jumpin' out there on the old Vineyard, or what? Any second now, I expect fisticuffs to follow the name-callin' and whatnot*. I wish I could travel up to the Vineyard - fully decked out in plaid, of course - to attend those meetings of the Martha's Vineyard Commission when Corey Kupersmith's Down Island Golf Club project or the "low-income" housing to replace it are under discussion. Check out the Evil Sibley Monster and our buddy Bri in action and see who really is the bad guy here. Because it looks like it's Ms. Sibley, but I could be merrily prancing down the primrose path (take that, Bueller fans), and it could be Mr. Brian Lafferty is conning my trusting little being (shut up, I do too trust), and really, he is a big, mean, Jay Leno-like leather-wearing weekend warrior on his Harley, tooling out from Boston to some little quintly rough-and-tumble nouveau-cyclist haven that serves designer beers alongside one of the two-lane roads that pass for interstates out there in New England. Or, he could be a cool, sometimes pithy guy waging the good fight and saving the world one golf course at a time.

Ya never know.

And in their defense, the Down Island Golf Club has donated a lot of land and money to the Vineyard communities, AND the land Mr. Kupersmith owns and wants to build on was zoned for golf when he bought it for the purpose, and indeed, still is. So I have to think the corrupt landowner barons in this particular story are the Evil Sibley Monster and her bunch. I just WISH someone would tell Linda Sibley she's being referred to online as the Evil Sibley Monster. And that I could find myself at the center of this little vignette somehow, as the little thorn in the MVC's and the Vineyard Gazette's side, and that Deep Throat had not abandoned me. Ah, well. I must have inadvertently said too much in my zeal. Damn it, we can't have nice things.

Oh well.

It was like High Noon out there last month, though. Bri was all cold steel and squinty eyes, drawin' down on them thar commissioners and even callin' one of 'em out as a liar. I would have given just about anything to see that whole thing go down. It sounds like a rollickin' good time.

*As a sidebar, I really hate that word, "whatnot". People way overuse it, and it has gotten seriously irritating. I used it above for effect, but I gotta say, I'm half tempted to take it back; it's just that annoying.

Whiny Quote(s) of the Day:
"The bullies are back in town." --Oak Bluffs selectman Roger Wey, on the presence of Down Island Golf Club representatives at a meeting to determine the fate of said golf club

Stupid Quote(s) of the Day:
"The southern woodlands should remain as a natural place." --Roger Wey, on why Down Island Golf Club should not be allowed to build on its land

Then I guess you shouldn't have zoned them for GOLF, Roger, you twit.

Anyway.

A Big Delight in Every Bite
Day 5 was a rough one, yo. I am not kidding when I tell you I frequently break down and come close to tears. I really, really want the Hostess, and it's not gettin' any easier. Damn you, Doc Rice. As if Twinkie the Kid and Fruit Pie the Magician weren't enough, you had to give us Captain Cupcake and that sweet, creamy filling. You totally suck.

Will the real St. Katie please stand up
Well, I got my taxes done. Today. At 5:45. When the post office closes at 5. I meant to do them last night - or at least, add up all my receipts and stuff, but silly me, I went off and left all my stuff sitting at work last night, and then on top of that, I didn't realize some of my receipts were sitting here, in this gigantic basket with every other receipt and ticket stuff and useless bit of paper The Boyfriend collected around the house, garage, and my car while I was in France, so I had to go thru that entire basket today AND drive out to my office, which is 45 minutes away, to retrieve my forms and the stuff I needed that was there. Thankfully, some of it, it turns out, had already been totalled back in April, when I thought I would break out of the St. Katie mold for once and actually File My Taxes On Time. I'm a dreamer like that, you see. But back in April, I discovered I did not have my 1099 from unemployment (thank you, State of California, you clods), so I could not file then, and I applied for an extension. Well, that was up in August, 3 days after my return from Paris, so needless to say, I sent my mom email from the City of Lights, and she filed a second extension for me, thus prolonging the procrastination until October. Which is basically when I do my taxes every year, though I seem to remember having actually gotten them done in August once or maybe twice. It's almost a point of pride they've never been done in April. I'm sure if that were to ever happen, someone would show up and rudely revoke my status as the Patron Saint of Procrastinators. But somehow I think I'll be spared that humiliation in this lifetime. Anyway, so I finally had most of what I needed (I could not find cell phone bills, alas), and 5 hours and numerous phone calls to Mom later, I had the numbers crunched and the scratch forms pencilled in...all with puh-lenty of time to spare. Or so I thought. Apparently it takes me longer to letter than I thought it did, and the California form proved somewhat different than in the past, and it took me the better part of an hour to do all that, copy everything, attach W2's and find the address to send them all to on the web. I left the office at 5:45, and the post office was 11 or so miles away. Maybe a little more. Luckily, some kind postal worker - who clearly is a new guy on the job, since he has not yet infused his work ethic with that caring "damn all humans to hell, die die die" enthusiasm so much a part of most government employees - came to the sliding glass door at 6:01 and took my tax returns from me. He probably just went and tossed them into the bin that was emptied at 5 and won't get picked up until tomorrow, but I prefer to believe he took them back to the bins being processed, where they were then lovingly crated to a place where someone slam-stamped them with that most magical of all things, a postmark, and they are even now winging their way to Fresno, where my return will be rapidly processed, and any day now, I will have $1100 sitting in my mailbox when I return from work.

Hey. I can dream.

Peace out,
Katie

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Beware, the Ides of March.

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Yesterday's News - Next Stop

In which Katie shares sad news - Wednesday, Apr. 01, 2015
In which Katie returns after a very long absence - Monday, Jun. 25, 2012
In which Katie pokes her head in and brushes some of the cobwebs away - Thursday, May. 06, 2010
In which Katie asks you to write your congressman again. - Monday, Jun. 02, 2008
In which Katie asks you to please click the link and send the message to protect the rights of artists - Wednesday, May. 21, 2008