Comments from friends about my crackhouse post on Saturday:

Brian: Do you have a gun? Of course not, I was educated by Quakers. And for god's sake, I managed to break my arm walking -- can you imagine the damage I'd do to my self with a gun? Oy.

Brian and Angie (this was after I slammed some cider, so I don't remember who said what): We're worried about you, we don't want you to get hurt, be careful. Thanks. I'll be fine.

Laura, who is looking for a house, as I tried to convince her to buy in my neighborhood after telling the story of my morning: [Blank stare] Right. Never mind. I pretty much screwed myself there, didn't I?

N: I know better than to say ANYTHING about your weekend wake-up call, especially as this is clearly a predictable argument you've had with all your other friends already. I just wanted to say that I'm sure you'll be fine, and that much worse situations resolve themselves quite naturally.

I live in a pretty shite neighbourhood myself, without the prospect of it ever improving, so I chose another path -- I went a bit down-market myself. Drug-dealers make much better neighbours when your happiness is their business. I also have one of those doorbells you can switch off at night.

You're still a nutter though. Thanks for the suggestion? Um, no.