With Greed all things are Possible

A man came into possession of a piece of land.
How he did can be debated, but the land was
marked 'No Build'.

Unlike other governmental advisories, this one
is pretty easy to understand. 'No Build' means
that you can Not Build on it. On the other
side of the road a housing scheme was going up
and he wanted to get in on it.

But; this was a No Build area.

Being a rich man he had lawyers investigate
what a No Build area meant.

The lawyers explained in language that he
should understand, that this meant he could
not put up any permanent structure on the land;
i.e. 'Build.'

He wanted to build so he sent them around
nine corners to come up with this plan for
'vacation homes' which would not be
permanent residences.

After doing whatever it took to have this
plan passed and get those houses built
cheek to jowl, he wished to sell them

It was not going well, as people knew
it was a No Build area.

They could see how close to the sea it was
and that it was lower than the road which
ran from the Hope Bridge to St. Thomas.

He waited until October, moved his daughter
into one of the houses, had lots of hype
and newspaper pix and soon all 56 houses
were sold, including the one his daughter
lived in.

Things went well until 2004 and the arrival
of hurricane Ivan which damaged and destroyed
the first row of houses, proving that there was
no sea wall, no coral reef, nothing between the
house and the sea to break its power.

The Residents of Caribbean Terrace gathered
to decided what they should do about it.

Idea were tossed and a lawyer mentioned,
probably without tact, that they could not
consider the value of their homes, for they
were valued Zero.

Each on shrieked at how much his or her home
was valued, unable to grasp that no one in
their right mind would pay 100k for a house
in Caribbean Terrace.

"My House is valued at Sixteen Million!" one
woman shrieked, and before they sent out
for two sticks and three nails, the lawyer
left them to form committees and make demands.

In 2005 and 2006 nothing happened, so everyone
thought it was a fluke and hence would not be
selling their house, save for Full Value.

In 2007 Dean hit, and destroyed the entire first
row and flooded even those farthest from the
sea

The No Build discussion reopened
and the committee was contacted by the Minister
and negotiations were entered.

Eight Million was offered for the larger and
Five Million for the smaller houses.

The Committee turned this down.

They hooted and hollered and argued and were
no longer to be welcome at the Ministry.

As Government held all the cards what was
decided was to not officially declare the
area No Build , which would
make the Gov liable to remove the people.

However, no change of ownership could be
registered on the Title.

Hence outside of those in the first row
who got 5.1M for their houses, the rest
got nothing, and were left to await the
next disaster.

Letting it Go

I've got a lot to say.
Whole history.
But why?
Either he's too stupid to understand the consequences
of his action, which means a review is pointless, or
he intended the consequences, which means remarking
on them is unnecessary.

Josh started his crap from 1996 when I spend 5 days
with him. He continued in 1997 when he kotched at
my house and avoided me with great cunning.

In 2008 I subjected myself to his 'punishment' with
the sense of knowing...knowing before I left Jamaica
what was probable, having my expectations more than
fulfilled.

Between 2008 Nov and 2010 May he performed a
bullshitathon on Yahoo. Inquisition, veiled insult,
bait, attempts to gain certain 'confirmation' of his
diseased analysis of situations.

Escaping him there is no reason to consider.

This is a very sick boy. A boy owned by a lemur lady
who has sacrificed everything he could have by his
twisted rationalisation.

No one would have let their mother be tortured in a
too cold house for a month...and the fact that it was
kept so cold was only to 'fix' me for the moment the
temperature dropped to 40o outside, the thermo went to
80o. Which it could have sat at from day one.

I am always of two minds when it comes the the proof
of anothers turpitude. My postulates are confirmed,
but I am sad to be right.

There are times I don't want to be right.

I will never have a relationship with Josh.
If he contacts me he will get the veneer.

For he isn't even worth response.

Scarce

It was one of those days in which I had three things
to do at the same time.

I went to my usual venue, which boasted a little get-together
after, and considered whether to stay or go onto the
next site.

As I was thinking the usual crap happened.

Talking to Richard and Cox jumps up.
Move to speak to Marge, and Cox jumps up.

Now am I suppose to stand there while Cox is
facilitated in his madness?

Nahhh.

So I left.

It's something that's kind of hardwired in my
genes. If I'm talking to anyone and they are
distracted by another and don't instantly postpone
the other, I forfeit.

So I went to Venue 2.
Total waste of time as expected, save I got my
usual laughs.

Some organisations need particularly stellar leadership.
They need the Avatar in that top seat to get the best
people into the other seats.

When the best people drop out or can't be bothered to
join, one gets a typical bullshitathon, in which work
is delegated to persons who can't perform the work,
so nothing happens.

For the past ten years I've given the same advice,
so gave it again, and no one listened, as usual.

Then I picked up my cell phone as if it had vibrated,
went outside with a anxious look on my face, stood out
side for a minute, then returned;

"I have to go." I say.

The third place on my agenda was just not as enticing
as the look of the sky was repellant, so I went home.

I could of returned to Venue One, but need to be a little
less accessible.

Alas,

It seems that everything in Jamaica has gotten worse.
No matter which corner you look in, what was in 1980
is so superior to what exists today.

I recall reading history about the late 1800s and
how many children and grand children of slaves
owned this or ran that business, and lived at such
a standard that person like Marcus Garvey could
attend no more than an all age school yet go on
to be quite brilliant.

Today, most people prefer to live off of others,
whether the males are supported by mothers, wives
or daughters, or the females have a constant stream
of men paying their bills, the idea of being
independent is considered unsavoury.

The few people who stand on their own feet do not
have anyone to lean on. They either stand or
lie on the sidewalk.

And things will get worse when the Gov. gets rid
of more Civ. Ser. jobs. For the JLP has so
bankrupted the country with various questionable
expenses, it needs every cent it can get.

Not My Problem

When I was in Junior High I didn't know that I
should vote for myself, so I lost the post of
Class Rep by one vote.
Mine.

The teacher, aware of my innocence told me I
was deputy class rep.

One day something happened.
Something Big.
And I found out about it.
Which is weird cause I am usually the last
to know anything.

I ran across the school ground, fell, skinned
my knee, kept going, racing to where the
Student Council was meeting.

The door was closed, I tried to get in and
Big Fat Arlene came out and told me I could
not be allowed in.

I tried to explain why I needed to get inside,
but of course she wasn't going to listen, or
had the brain capacity to understand.

A girl named Thelma came up, heard what I had
to say, and then, oddly replied;
"It is Not Your Problem."

My mouth was crammed with so many words I
choked...
but she was right.
It was Not My Problem.

A beatific smile exploded and I walked away
singing my "It's Not My Problem" song.

The next day when the crap hit the fan and
the school was in chaos, I sat back, with
my beatific smile, because it was Not My
Problem.

Other kids were distressed, other kids were
berating me for my who cares attitude.

Much later in life, the same thing happened.
Only it wasn't a class rep, it was a Member
of Parliament. And it wasn't some school issue
but a national one.

The secretary refused to let me speak to the
MP and I realised;
It was Not My Problem.

So I sang my song, and watched the crap hit
the fan, and, well, I chuckled.

A few years later I approached the then
Prime Minister, my mouth full of important
information.
But the Prime Minister didn't want to hear it.
So
It's not my problem.

In life, if you surround yourself with idiots,
if you can not differentiate between people who
only want to speak with you because they have
something important to say, and those who are
begging or wasting time, well, you won't get far.
And if you do get anywhere
it won't last very long.

If Portia Simpson-Miller of 2006 had the same
advisers she did in 1986 or 1996 she'd still
be Prime Minister.

Crap Squared

As usual the cops pick up some guy who 'never did nothing yet'
according to his mother.
As usual they pitch him into a cell for days on end, as if
they get orgasm knowing that he's uncomfortable and his lawyer
is being lied to.

Cops In Jamaica are quite sick.
I suppose they fantasize about being Nazis...
because nothing a Ja cop likes more than denying a citizen his
liberty, save its denying him his life.

So the cops lock up a guy for a week and blah blah about ID
parade when they haven't any reason to hold him, because it
makes them feel so good.

Never Fails

You get 'spoiled brat' treatment at this business place.
You become a rabid customer.
Then, of course, there's the change.

Maybe they close the branch, maybe they change the policy,
but usually, it's the NEW Manager.

There's a difference between a Manager being moved from
X locale to Y locale, and a moron who has no personality
being made a manager.

I always get the latter.

I always get some fool who never ought have been promoted
to suddenly become the M A N A G E R and outside of insulting
me she or he has little other activity.

Then I complain to head office.

I don't know.
I think that's my purpose on Earth.
Being the one to complain.