Van Holton's Pickle

(Side note from Brooke: So....J.J. called this evening and said that a conversation among canteen operators was overheard.....about a call from Van Holten's Pickle Company.  I wonder what that could be about??)

What's your claim to fame?  Not that any of us are seeking to rank among the Hollywood elite.  Rather I refer to the things that make us rank above the rest.  Like that lady who brings her famous potato salad to every church pot luck because she has refined the potato salad that most closely resembles manna straight from the heavens.  Perhaps it's the arch you have carefully put on your eyebrow.  Honed, or rather plucked to perfection after years of trial-and-error behind a mirror.  Today the bold statement in question goes to the Van Holten's Pickle Company.

The Van Holten Pickle Company claims that since 1898 they have stocked shelves with a jumbo dill pickle.  These pickles are sold through the prison's commissary.  Over the past year I have seen the quality of this jumbo pickle drop.  Most often the pickle is an ingredient of our prison goulash.  Although it is rumored, there are many uses, I am personally only familiar with it's use in goulash recipes.  However, dare I say the pickle in question would be a complete let down in any application. 

A handful of inmates, including myself, recently wrote letters to Van Holten's Pickle Company.  I had to chuckle at the thought of some PR manager having all these letters come across his/her desk, addressing the size of the pickles they are delivering to the prison system.  I will assume there is a certain level of humor to this whole grievance.  Personally, I wonder if the womens prison has attempted to do the same....

In a perfect world, we should probably never inform Aunt Edith that her broccoli casserole has over time fallen off.  Instead, out of love for the old bag, you should probably take seconds.  Even if they only make it as far as the nearest can.  However, if she shows up and puts a tip jar beside her dish, then you have decisions to make.

Well, folks, as long as Van Holten Pickles claims quality jumbo pickles, and I have to pay for them, I want a pickle that will fill me up!  We boldly proclaim we want more than bite size...we want a mouthful! 

I was honestly surprised to see the participation in this matter.  As inmates, we have a right to grieve rules and stipulations handed down on the institution level.  At times there are consequences, which tend to cause most inmates to never exercise that right.  Instead they sit back and shut up.  Since coming to prison I have been amazed by the number of guys who claim to have been pimps and gangsters on the street.  Now they're afraid to write a grievance.  Guys who will tote a gun and smack a lady, but won't push a pen.

Well....never fear!  Today we are standing up for our pickles!  Maybe tomorrow we will stand up for a full bar of soap instead of only half.  We are moving mountains ladies and gentlemen...one pickle at a time!  

Orientation

I was just enjoying my toilet-bowl seat.  My front-row-seat at the Lakers game. 

Since my release from the box, or confinement, I have been housed in what's called the orientation dorm.  New fellas from off the street, fresh to prison come to this dorm.  Here they go through orientation.  Watching movies about prison life.....How to identify a poisonous spider bite.  What staff infection looks like.  How to try and avoid prison rape.  You know....regular stuff every prisoner should know. 

So the dorm is what's called an open-bay dorm.  A large common area with bunks.  Then a day room area with tables and benches to play games and watch TV in. 

The shower and bathroom area are also open.  Eight toilets sit along one wall.  No dividers and there's about an arms reach from the next stool.  Makes it easier to pass the morning paper or loan toilet-tissue to your neighbor. Though I am not a big fan of being sandwiched between two wet swinging dicks in the shower, I noticed I can now watch TV while I take a dump.  Not only that, but it's basically front row seating. 

Before I went to confinement I was housed in two-man cells.  A door closes on your room and you have privacy from the other jack-asses you live with. 

Now, I find myself in open-bay housing sleeping in a whole room full of really dumb people.  One could even wonder if this is some further form of punishment.  I'm quite comfortable in the box.  Once again, it's two-man cells that I find best for me.  Perhaps they figured the best punishment was to stick me with orientation inmates. 

My mother asked me how I liked the open-bay dorm.  Mom likes to know things. 

There's just no respect between these guys.  Men that have been in prison grow to respect another man's space.  These new guys carry on a conversation right over your head to their home-boy three bunks over.  Yelling through you as if you're not even there.  I usually just put my ear buds in and crank up my music. I can see their lips moving, but can't make out what they're saying. 

Then there's the other group of dudes fresh to prison.  All they can think about is getting all tattooed while they are in.  They get all excited when they see me.  Wanting to talk about tattoos.  Usually, they have none, see how many I have, and think I must be the guy to talk to.  So, I have to explain to them that I have 99 problems and a tattoo is not one of them.  In other words, I let them know D.O.C is all up my ass already and I don't need the added stress of being marked as the tattoo guy.

Yes, I have a lot tats....I tend to get tattoos, but I do not give them.  I draw....with an ink pen.  And then I send my art home.  I get money.  I don't need to draw shit for these guys.  Still...they bug me.  Every time I draw, someone asks.  I have nearly 200 pieces of art on the Judicious Jailbird art gallery.  I don't have any interest in drawing the silly bullshit these guys ask for.

These days I remind myself that once upon a time I was new to prison life.  There was a time I was a gung-ho kid that wanted to get a bunch of tats before I went home.  Now, I'm a heavily tattooed man that just wants to go home.   

Given time these guys will change too.  It's all a joke to them now.  Let them do a few years and see where they're at.  I look around me and realize there are a lot of hard lessons to be learned by the guys around me.  Well....nothing like a front row seat at the school of hard knocks.....

Guilty

Hello to another day.  Fresh air and another day towards freedom.  Any day I wake up breathing is a good one.  Wasn't all that long ago I was waking up and off to find some means to alter my mind and get high from.

That was nearly five years ago since I last used a mind-altering substance.  I feel pretty good about that.  My life is a testimony that people can change.  When we truly decide to become a different person, we can.  Even an addict was sober at one time.  They made a choice to use a vice.  They changed the course of things.  So why can't we change back?

It won't be easy.  It's taken me five years to fully feel I've walked a safe distance from drugs.  The distance needed for me to stay free.  Over those five years my confidence has grown.  Not only that, but I want to encourage others who are where I used to be.

The Jailbird blog was once again recently put under an investigation.  When they questioned me, they asked me why I write for this blog.  Why don't I just write to my friends and family?  Why do I chose to write for an online blog?

Well....why wouldn't I?  If you could help somebody and chose not to, then shame on you.

For years I sold drugs and used drugs.  I helped destroy peoples lives.  Now, I have a chance to give something back.  There's a song that talks about letting your light shine.  I'm gonna let mine shine.  Whether it be to make people laugh, or to make them think. Perhaps it's to make you see your life isn't as bad as it could be.  There's always someone worse off than we are.  When asked why I do what I do, I said just that...and it seemed to be a good answer.

In the end they served me a D.R. (or disciplinary report).  Stating that I'm violating the Department of Corrections rule book by operating a business from prison.  I thought you got paid by a business.  I have yet to get paid.  Really I couldn't imagine getting paid to talk shit.  The whole blog is free. And...how, after reading the blog, anyone could write a disciplinary report about it amazes me.

Well, I'll take the D.R.  I'm guilty of giving inmates an opportunity to stay connected to their families with a shout-out.  Guilty of sharing my life in hopes someone may see there is hope.  However, you will never be charged to hear me rant and rave.  Brooke will never charge for the hours she spends typing all this up.  It's hard to find free stuff these days.  There's usually some catch.  Well...there's no catch here.  All we ask is that you smile.  Go tell someone you love them.

Hangin' Out With J.J.

(A note from Brooke, aka Michigan)

This weekend I hung out with J.J. on his turf.  It was a fun weekend filled with friends, happy families, a gourmet prison meal organized by the Jailbird and Chris, and a trip to the zoo.  Yep, that's right.  The zoo.

And the zoo is probably a good place to start.

It is a crazy trip to the zoo to get yourself a good spot in line.  If you do not get in front of the line, you may lose up to a full hour of good visiting time.  I'm from Michigan.  Not only did I travel quite a distance to visit, but a visit with J.J. is not a frequent occurrence.  It was almost one year ago when The MOM, Abby (sister) and I went to visit.  I know better than to show up just before they start calling the first five.  I am more than prepared for early mornings to get in line and enjoy a full day of visiting.  But, I was not prepared to race people to the seats.

Last week an officer announced (to those that were actually there last week, of course) that visitors could not be on the state property prior to 7:30 a.m.  So, those that were aware of this line up their cars at the driveway.  Buuuut, the signs posted at the benches (where you line up) highlight that spots on the bench is first come-first serve spots.  So, regardless of how the cars are lined up, some literally jump out and race to the benches not caring about your place in line.  What would you do?  Respect those that arrived early and got in line, or race to the bench and proudly deem a hot spot for your hot ass?  This is a hard question to answer.  The first day of visiting, I had no idea about this rule (the signs only highlight the benches and do NOT highlight at what time), and the officers did not ask me to leave the parking lot and line up my car.  I arrived plenty early (around 6:30 a.m.) and saw no cars lined up. The next day, I decided I needed to get in the line of cars.  Now that I know about it, it is respectful to line up accordingly.  However, that landed me a couple of hot spots down.  The good news?  It wasn't enough to lose too much visiting time with the Jailbird.  Plus, I understand the love that drives you to want to be first in line.  Everybody there is missing their loved one.  Their husband, their son, their brother, their lover, their friend.  If anything is going to create a group of adults to race each other to a bench, love is certainly a good thing to race to. 

More importantly, you are not hangin' at the zoo all day.  Not at all.  Although the visiting park is still a big ole' box of cement, the officers here are amazing.  They help create a park-like atmosphere where many small family reunions are gathered.  They allow families to be families.  (And they enjoy picking on you.  Thus, my new nickname, "Michigan".)  Mothers can hold their son's hand.  A wife can hug and kiss her husband throughout the day.  Everybody, regardless of what you are wearing, is treated like a human being.  Being that everybody IS a human being, that is quite refreshing to experience.    

On day one, we hung out with friends.  J.J.' s buddy Chris and his mother decided to join us at the park.  You have met Chris before.  My heart smiled to watch the two of them be free for the day together.  (Not like free-world free, but you know how J.J. talks about "going to jail" when he is sent to confinement.  Sounds strange that a prisoner can still go to jail, right?  Much like that analogy, the visiting park provides a sense of freedom.)  We spent the day laughing, telling stories and living life together.  At lunch time, J.J. and Chris had a great surprise for us. They planned a big prison goulash, cooked exactly the way they do on holidays or for somebody's birthday.  The plate of chili, refried beans, crunched up Doritos, cut up hot wings, and cheese squeeze all folded up into a huge sheet of Ramen noodles and Fritos mix, was delicious!  (Honestly, it was super good!  And, sweet that they planned something special.)

On day two, J.J. and I reminisced about a long time ago when we first met.  We were only kids.  We laughed about how different we are, yet how much we understand each other.  We made plans.  We told stories.  I asked too many questions.  (He'll have to get use to that.)  We sat close all day long.  Held hands and hugged.  I could even lay my head on his shoulder.  And the officers smiled.  (At the last camp, you were able to hug your loved one when they first arrived and when you said goodbye.) These guys appreciate that it is healthy for the men to come to the park and be loved.  For many reasons.  Many of which help them when they go back to the zoo they live in.  And, I was able to meet a few dudes that have or will be doing shout-outs to their families.  It was a blessing to see the joy it brought the men AND their families to talk about this very blog and the blessings it has provided them as a family.

Hold your loved ones close to you.  Every moment with them is a gift, enjoy those gifts!

 “Your family and your love must be cultivated like a garden. 

Time, effort, and imagination must be summoned constantly to keep any 

relationship flourishing and growing.” -Jim Rohn

 

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Good Luck to Ya!

The koi fish is symbolic for good fortune. 

Here's to wishing you all the best today!

 

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All Gassed Up

I think it's the Black Eyed Peas that sing the song....."I've got a feeling....that tonight's gonna be a good night!!"

And I was just sitting here, thinking that today's gonna be a great day!  Why wouldn't it?  I mean, all the coolness bubbling up all around me.  It's literally seeping through my pores. I can barely contain myself.  I hope that everyone around me can catch a dose of the bubbles that I'm feeling here today.  Yes, sir!!

I woke up this morning with my ink pen in my hand.  Well, actually I fell asleep last night and when I woke up earlier the pen was under the covers, stabbing me in my side.  Well...I found my lost pen. Mystery solved.

I had half-a-notion I may be on a transfer bus early this morning. Instead, I'm about to be kicked out on the reck field.  And I'm not complaining.  Neither about the reck yard or missing the transfer van.  Life is good!

At this point in my life I'm just happy to wake up refreshed, in love, and ready to take on a new day.  That's me in a nutshell.  Not that I'm "in" a nutshell, but some days my life is completely nuts. Fucking nuts at that!  It's all good!!

So, another week rolls in.  Here I am greeting a new day.  Just happy to be alive.  I'll enjoy this feeling because I know that today will be a good day.  I mean...how could it be anything other than a great big, splash of pure uncut, sunny satisfaction?  I'm one cup into heavenly caffeinated buzz-static, my balls are freshly shaved, and I'm all gassed up.

Not only did I eat my own personal tofu-patty at dinner last night, but I was a true gangster.  A rebel without a cause.  I ate two extra patties last night at dinner on top of my very own.  And I'm now enjoying gas so toxic that it will peel paint off the wall.  And you see....that excites me.  Now I can severely punish all those who seek to steal away my sunshine.  Invade my personal sunshine. Paybacks a bitch my friend!  

Personally, I'm a fan of the drive-by.  Where you let one slip out then walk past a group of people you don't particularly care for.  You discretely fan some of the funk out as you pass them by. 

They say an arsonist likes to go back to the scene of the crime to see the damage done, but also to see the people's reaction.  I don't know since I am not an arsonist.  However...I do enjoy revisiting the scene of my personal drive-by gassing.  Just to see the looks of pure horror on everyone's faces.  I once heard a comedian state that he liked to park in "handicapped spaces" while handicapped people make handicapped faces.  And that's what I do.  Step back and watch retarded people make retarded faces. And this is what my life has digressed to.  Childish fart contests. 

Where is the sanity?  If you know, I need directions. 

Box of Rocks

I have this bad habit.  When taking off my shoes I use one foot on the heel of the other shoe to lazily remove it and save myself the trouble of actually bending over.  Now the heel of that shoe has begun to unglue itself and is attempting to fall off.  Now when I walk it makes this flapping noise and looks totally ghetto.  But...this is exactly what you get when you cut corners.  I need to quite this laziness and remove my shoes the proper way.

Here in prison Head N' Shoulders shampoo costs five bucks.  While you're in the shower some jackass walks by and swipes your bottle.  We call that the five-finger discount. 

So, I apply the shampoo before I head to the shower and leave the bottle in my locked storage.  This would be an example of a good corner to cut.

The other day my combination lock began to stick.  The dial would barely turn to open it.  I remember racing the boy scout derby cars.  The old man at the hobby shop told me to put powder graphite on the axels.  Makes the car fly down the track.

When my lock wouldn't open I remember the words of that old man.  Pencil lead.  Your pencil's lead is made of graphite.  So I used an emery board on the lead until I had a small pile of powder.  Then I put that powder on a piece of paper shaped like a funnel.  Then placed one end in the lock hole and blew the powder into the lock.  I then spun the dial a few times and shook the lock around.  Works better than the day I bought it.  Matter of fact, I'll bet if your door lock sticks you could do the same.  Just a thought.

I guess these aren't cutting corners as much as it's being smart.  Taking off my shoe with my other foot is probably one of my worst habits.  Now if I could only make a glue that would repair my freaking shoe....I'll work on that.

Summers here are hot.  The sun will scorch you during reck yard.  I began to mix my sunscreen into my lotion.  A 50/50 mix.  That way I always have some on me.  Sure, out there you can buy it that way.  Here they sell it separately, of course, so they can make more money off us.

Most prisoners become thrifty during their incarcaration.  Some decide to become smarter, better criminals.  Others came here dumb as a box of rocks and will leave the same.  Like the guy I just passed in the bathroom.

All tobacco products were banned from Florida prisons.  So now you pay $4-$5 per cigarette.  Guys take a regular smoke and break it apart and roll three "pinners" from the original cig.  Then they smoke it down until it burns their fingers.  Consequently, all the smokers have dark resin stains on their fingers.  The cops know this.  So now the smokers sand the resin off their fingers with emery boards or tile grout. As in the grout lines in the bathroom.  And that's what I just saw.  Dumb ass!

Dude standing there rubbing the resin stain off his finger.  That's not the worst.  Some dudes here pick up chewing tobacco that's already been used and spit on the ground.  They dry it out, then smoke it.  Rolled up in a napkin paper.  Shoot!!  I suppose if my worst habit is tearing up my sneakers, that's better than tearing up my lungs.  At least I'll live longer.  More pointless banter for ya!         

Bad. Ass. Art.