I saw two propane cylinders set out by the curb on Grove Avenue the other day. I have no idea what the disposal policy is, but that’s asking for it. If I were fifteen and saw those sitting there, my first thought would be,” Awesome, target practice at the stone quarry!” But if it’s cool with everyone else it’s cool with me.
—
Question: Do fire fighters throw on the sirens to go back to the station? I was just curious. I saw a truck leave a call on Elm Street, and after waiting a bit to turn left onto South Broad Street from Conkey Avenue, it looked like the driver got fed-up with heavy noon-hour traffic and switched on the screamers. Everyone stopped and let them out. Pretty slick. Since my rusted GEO’s thunderous horn already commands so much respect, maybe it’s time to slap on a blue light and get in the EZ-pass lane.
—
What’s warm, green and has a distinct smell? No, it’s not a gangrenous sore. It’s Spring! And she’s in top gear. There’s nothing like nice weather to make you fall in love with Norwich all over again.

What happened to real bikers?

You know, the ones who would stab you with the sharp end of a broken pool stick if you reminded them quiet hours at the campground went into effect at 10 p.m.

You know the type. They were the ones who couldn’t ever take compliments:

“Hey, nice chopper Slingblade! Can I check it out?”
– “Sure Mike, if you can knock me off it.”

Now they’ve gone soft. Unlike the old days, today you’ve got a better chance of buying insurance from a biker than you do crystal meth.

“What’s wrong with that,” you ask?

I’ll tell you.

Bikers used to only bother you on desert highways and in Mel Gibson movies. Granted, they would mess you up pretty good if your paths crossed. But the chances of having a run-in with these rolling criminals – while dangerous – was pretty slim.

But “Bikers” have suddenly sprouted up everywhere. They aren’t looking to cause trouble, however. They just want to let everyone know that helmets are unconstitutional, that Harley-Davidson mufflers are loud, and that they have leather vests that compliment their large pipes (which I personally think is more annoying than the rare possibility of getting shivved by a guy with “love” and “hate” tattooed on his knuckles).

Why can’t we go back to the way things used to be?

The Hell’s Angels never did me wrong (that’s probably because I never met any).

And after witnessing the pre-Bike Week festivities in Myrtle Beach last week, I’d say having middle-aged dudes with Richard Gere mullets and Orange County Chopper goatees ripping loudly up and down the road on their fat boys at all hours of the night – wearing flip flops and “Big Johnson” T-shirts – has kept me up more nights (literally) than worrying about a gang of rowdy road dogs.

I almost got killed the other day.

That means it must be garage sale season again.

People don’t realize the impact off-loading their junk can have on a neighborhood. It’s like in 1980 when Fidel Castro unleashed thousands of Cuban prisoners and mental patients onto the U.S. after he opened-up Mariel Bay, so “political refugees” could live their dreams in America. He basically dropped a bomb on us.

Same goes for any garage (i.e. basement, bedroom, living room, bathroom) sale.

It’s Saturday. It’s sunny. It’s quiet. It’s wonderful.

A far of voice then whispers to your neighbor, “If you build it (a tent covering four folding tables filled with 25 years worth of stuff you no longer care about), they will come.”

KA-BOOM!

Mayhem ensues.

People for forty square miles turn into flesh-eating zombies – and they show-up in droves.

Nearby lawns turn into outposts and access roads for the eager hordes. Cars get jacked sideways in the street because – even though there aren’t any legitimate parking spots left – they don’t care, “there might be a velvet Elvis chess set in there.”

Clusters of automatons walk down the middle of the street adoring their “Easy Rider” lunchboxes, oblivious and unyielding to oncoming traffic. Then, once they get into their cars to leave, they’ll pull out blindly into the road, cutting-off passing motorists and cyclists, nearly causing horrible accidents, all while clutching their “new” 4×16 Indian dream catcher and shouting “Veni, vidi, vici!”

Meanwhile, you become a prisoner in your own home. You can’t drive – the streets are blocked. You can’t walk – you may get trampled and robbed. You can’t call for help – a sale goer has commandeered your telephone (right after commandeering your bathroom) to call and confer with their significant other to find out if $10 bucks for a ripped “slip n’ slide” is a good deal.

What a nightmare.

When the dust finally settles, it looks like your neighborhood caught on fire and someone put it out with an ax.

Whatever happened to the Salvation Army? Whatever happened to the side of the road? Whatever happened to sending enormous goodwill packages to unsuspecting pen pals?

Be a good neighbor and don’t have garage sales. Build a high fence around your property and pile everything in the backyard.

My mom pointed out Tuesday that April, particularly this week in April, has historically seen its share of horrific events.

Monday’s massacre at Virginia Tech being the most recent.

In years past my family would have been in Myrtle Beach this week – where 75 percent of Norwich is currently – and heard the awful news. But being by the beach with a heavy heart is a place we’ve been before.

Three events standout more than others.

April 19, 1995 – Oklahoma City bombing, 168 killed, 800 injured.
April 14, 1997 – Norwich High School student Jesse Scott dies in car accident.
April 20, 1999 – Columbine High School Shooting, 12 students and one teacher killed.

There’s no reason all these events occurred in April.

There’s no reason why they happened at all.

They just did.

Regardless, April will always mark a tough month. It’ll remind me of sad times I saw as a teenager, and now again as an adult.

All of us, like Cho Seung-Hui, could impose our will on others if we ever felt the need. And rather than blame the school or security, I can’t help but be angry with the shooter more than anything. Whether he was disturbed, scared, or whatever – his real problem was that he was selfish.

Other infamous happenings in April:

April 14, 1865 – Abraham Lincoln assassinated.
April 18, 1906 – San Francisco earthquake and fire - killed 3,000 over 4 days.
April 15, 1912 – Titanic sinks, killing 1,500.
April 4, 1968 – Dr. Martin Luther King assassinated.

Inspired by Chris Hansen’s “To Catch a Predator,” we at The Evening Sun set up our own little sting operation to nail some would-be wheel-o-philes trolling for carts via the net.

After only a few seconds in a “man-cart” internet chatroom, our decoy “wheel4u” snared “cartbreaker113,” a willing and able violator:

wheel4u: “Hey, the store attendant is busy cleaning up a mess in isle 8 – how about you come over and fill me up with a few cases of Old Milwaukee and push me around a little.”
Cartbreaker: “Really?”
wheel4u: “Oh yeah.”
Cartbreaker: “I was hoping you’d say that. I want to snatch you off the lot and leave you on a street corner like the dirty cart you are.”
wheel4u: “Sounds like a party. TTYL.”

With an air of confidence, Cartbreaker strolled over to the northwest corner of a local parking lot where he thought he’d be meeting a frisky young shopping carriage – oops.
“Hey, I’m Cartbreaker, are you wheel4u?”
“There’s my knight in shining armor. Just give me one minute to grease-up my wheels so I’m not all squeaky.”
That’s when we stepped in…
“Hello sir, how are you?”
“Good, I guess.”
“Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing here with this cart?”
“Nothing, I just came over to meet it, maybe put it back in the rack over there.”
“You came all the way over here to put the cart away?”
“Yeah.”
“If I’m not mistaken, in an internet conversation 25 minutes ago didn’t you say ‘I want to snatch you off the lot and leave you on a street corner like the dirty cart you are.’?
“I was just talking.”
“Well you better talk some more and explain yourself.”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I did this. I always just thought about stealing a shopping cart, I never really planned on doing it. My urges just took over.”
“Urges? Sounded like more than urges to me.”
“Oh God – my family…What’s going to happen to me.”
“You’re in luck. Even though it’s despicable, there are no laws against what you planned to do. In fact, its widely accepted behavior.”
“Thank God. Hey, is that cart greased-up yet?”

Abandoned shopping cart numbers are surprisingly low at the moment. Not sure what’s going on – maybe they melted away with all the snow. Or maybe it’s like Groundhogs Day and “Silver Street Sam” the shopping cart saw his shadow, got scared and went back to P&C’s return rack to hide-out for six more weeks.
—
Speaking of melting snow…
The onset spring certainly tells a tail.
With the nice weather we’ve been having came a winter’s worth of preserved cigarette butts, dog poop and rotting garbage that’s been released from a prison of snow and ice. Aside from being a little symbols of persistence and survival, these spring lovelies are nice accent of the local culture.
—
Condolences to the family of Terry Periard.

Syracuse has the right to sing the blues in the off-season. Their fans – myself included – have a right to hold a grudge. But not one of us has the right to let the NCAA tournament selection committee’s decision to shaft Syracuse overshadow the team’s real problems.

Because after watching the NIT – and the entire season, for that matter – it’s clear Syracuse’s sob-story is more like a Greek tragedy.

They had everything a team could want (almost). Bulking size, big league skill and oodles of talent. But they took it for granted – until it was too late.

First off, they lived on the edge way too often. It seems like every game they had to get buried alive or put on life support before they’d start clawing tooth and nail to survive. 24 times it worked. However, the entire season felt like a tear-jerking movie. You’ve seen it; some guy with a nice family, nice house, nice job, and a nice car doesn’t enjoy or care for the things he has, and then he loses it all by some twist of fate – temporarily. It’s only after everything gets taken that he realizes he wants it back, proves his love, and it all works out. The End.

Not the case for the Orange.

Syracuse didn’t deserved to get snubbed. But they deserved a wake-up call. And they didn’t even answer the one they got.

The NIT was the same old story. Get totally out-played, out-hustled, and get out-muscled for 20 or 30 plus minutes – then turn it on in a panic when the walls start to cave-in. That strategy earned them two home wins from two mediocre teams.

Syracuse lacks identity. Yes, they are known for the 2-3 zone. But that’s pretty much it! They don’t rebound, pass, catch, defend, make foul shouts, shoot or finish with any consistency. Real identity comes with taking care of the little things, something Syracuse doesn’t do.

They do hustle – after they screw up. They need to hustle with purpose. They need to hustle with success in mind.

They have potential, they need results. They have leading scorers, they need leaders.

They don’t need to get angry (the NCAA already accomplished that). They need to stay angry and play angry, and carry it into next season.

What’s happening to our beloved Evening Sun Forum?

It’s become a wasteland.

Clicking on a posted topic these days is like lifting up a couch cushion at a frat party and discovering a well-placed pile of Milwaukee’s Best Keg vomit.

The forum has gotten so bad that it makes 30 seconds look like the New England Journal of Medicine.

It is so stinky we’ve actually discussed putting in some interactive scratch n’ sniff buttons next to each topic so you can get a hint of what you’ll be digging into.

Come on people! The uni-bomber’s manifesto made more sense than some of the stuff in there – and it was probably shorter, too.

Let’s play a game. Let’s see if we can have three posts on a topic that make sense and have a logical connection. Let’s keep them down to five or six normal sentences. If you’re feeling really froggy and want to throw in some evidence to back-up a point, put up a link rather than pasting in an entire article. And if you see a topic already in the forum that is a lot like the one you want to create, use it. Don’t just make a new one.

We have to conserve our free forum spaces, or else they will be gone.

Many of our native “forum-mericans” have already been pushed onto smaller, marginal forums because the greedy have taken up all the choice intellectual lands for themselves, only to waste it. Soon the forum, just like the once proud “Buck Corn Cobb,” our first user on the Evening Sun website, will disappear forever.

Hobbs = General Custer.

Within the City of Norwich you’ve probably smelled a lot of skunk activity lately. No, it doesn’t mean spring is here early – if the Siberia-like weather wasn’t indication enough. More than likely, since they don’t really hibernate, it just means there’s enough garbage laying around to get the little stinkers up and at em’ full-time again. So if your nose, eyes, and mouth are burning in the morning, rest assure it is nothing to be thankful for.

—
If you drive down Silver Street, it’s apparent that shopping carts now play “king of the mountain” on top of snow banks and piles. Let’s give them sleds, hats, snowpants and some Kool-Aid mustaches and make them really fit in with the winter landscape.
—
Turning left onto Broad Street coming out of any street located in between Hale and Cortland Street should be prohibited between the hours of noon and 2:00 p.m. and then again from 4 to 6 p.m. If not every street, at least Front and Mechanic Streets. It’s no fun being stuck behind some airhead who’ll sit there for 5 minutes when they could have driven to a lighted intersection. Instead you watch them pull some shady maneuver, nearly cause a wreck, and probably flip somebody off for their stupidity.

Shopping cart abandonment in the City of Norwich is not a problem, officials from P&C headquarters say.

That’s like saying “my coffee breath pleases not only myself, but others as well.”

Instead, P&C says they’re being “good corporate citizens” by allowing their shopping carts to be taken from their place of origin, only to be displaced and abused. It seems to them, the theft of a cart isn’t equal to the theft of a candybar, or a loaf of bread, which would put you in local slam for a night.

It’s this unequal treatment that’s got me so confused, and upset.

Why would P&C, who prosecutes shop lifters, not care about $100 dollars of their property walking out (rolling out, in this case) of the store without being paid for?

I know.

It’s because they hate carts. Yes, they hate them, and they are glad to see them go.

But I say we put an end to “Acartheid” (the legalized separation of shopping carts from P&C, their native land).

I say we break down these barriers and force P&C to see carts as equals in the land of retail grocery.

I say we round up all our squeaky comrades and bring them from the far corners of exile and take them home.

Why do I care?

Fair question.

I want to take on this problem because; a. it annoys me; and b. I think it’s so unimportant that I’ll be able to fix it.

I want to be Moses, Nelson Mandella, or Snoop Dog (who piloted the “Soulplane”), and wheel my people back to the promised land – for good.

And with your help we can do it together.

Join CARTOON (Carts of Our Nation) today.

email me at mmcguire@evesun.com if you want to get involved.