Picture it:

1970.   A hot summer night.

Friend Libby and I are cruising through the Westport area, when we get the munchies.  A couple of Libby's REALLY good doobies will do that to a person.  Just down the street is Woolfburgers, a greasy spoon (really greasy)  where the 'hippy set' dines.  Libby parks her Pontiac right in front.  We run the gauntlet of people like us, sitting in front of Wolfburgers, panhandling.

'Spare change?  Got some spare change for me buddy?'

'I'm real hungry, man.  Spare change?'

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Well now. Ain't this a fine how do you do!

I arrived back in the flatlands Sunday afternoon after a nifty weekend in Eureka Springs.

When I escape for a weekend, I usually stop by my office to check mail, phone messages, make sure the place is still there, etc. before the work week starts. Sort of a jump-start on Monday morning.

Well, this past weekend, while I was enjoying adult beverages and conversation in Arkansas, someone got a jump-start on me.

I walk into the building to find broken glass all over the bathroom. Someone broke one of the two windows there. The bathroom is at the back of the building, as are two back doors on different ends of the building, overlooking a parking lot that is not visible from the street.

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He is pretty smart, I guess. He reads a lot. Mostly Batman comic books. But, you know, one can learn a lot by reading.

Last night we were sitting around talking about that Jeopardy show, and how difficult some of the questions are. We were drinking Coconut Blazers (with little paper umbrellas!). By the third Blazer, he was saying

Brother: Naw, they ain't that hard. I know most of them.

Yip: Bullshit.

Brother: No, really. Go ahead - ask me ANY question, I'll bet I know the answer.

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I haven't posted anything here in almost two months.  Where have I been?  Well, it's like this:

I was over England way doing a line with Whitney Houston.  Whitney has enough money that she can buy some really GOOD shit, too.    Just about the time we got to feelin' pretty good, some super model whose name I can't remember right now (SSMWNICRRN), walked in the room and threw a cell phone at me!

Now, I'm a pretty easy goin' guy, but I'll tell you what! When SSMWNICRRN throws a cell phone at me, while I'm doin' a line with a pop diva (most ANY pop diva) well, that's when I tend to lose my cool.

I stood up, told SSMWNICRRN, 'I don't like that very much!'   (Yes, I can get verbally abusive under such circumstances. Guess I really told her!!) and I stormed out of the room.

It was a grand exit, too! Sort of like Loretta Young when she would come through the door at the beginning of that show she had on teevee, only it  was in reverse. And I wasn't wearing a long, flowing gown. On that particular day I had chosen Capri pants and flats, with a simple knit top. It seemed appropriate attire for doing a line with Whitney.

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Got home from work last night and found there was nothing in the house to eat.

Not surprising, since I'm the only swingin richard in the place that does any grocery shopping or cooking, and I haven't had a chance to get to the store in a few days.

Glanced in the icebox, there was some cheese. Had a few taters over there in the Tater Storage Bin. (TSB) Ah ha! Found a round steak in the freezer! Threw that in a bowl of hot water to thaw.

The Boy would be getting off work in about 2 1/2 hours, and I have to pick him up, so I quickly whipped up some au gratin taters (agt), sliced up a couple of onions and threw them in a pan with the not-quite-thawed round steak and some red wine.

Tossed it all in the oven on low heat, poured a glass of cheap Merlot and waited.

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While walking through a local store yesterday I was seduced by a large sign reading

«BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE!»

It was attached to a display of body wash. (or, as I am wont to say, body worsh.)

Bright red and blue squeeze bottles about 8 inches tall. The labels on the bottles had little hints of the scents; 'SEA BREEZE', 'SPORT', 'FRESH', 'WORKOUT', and 'NIGHT'.

Wow! I can smell like a sea breeze! Or I can smell fresh! Not only that, I can do it TWO times for ONE money! I've always been a savvy shopper, and considering my usual odor, this seemed to be a pretty good deal.

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Got a call here at work from my father yesterday.
'Yip, I've been cleaning out some stuff laying around here.  I want you to come over and look at some things before I give them to Goodwill.  See if there's anything you want.'

This happens about once per week.  It usually means he's found the lid to a Tupperware bowl - not the bowl, just the lid - or a yardstick advertising the Livingston County co-op, or batteries he bought back in 1984 because they were on sale.
('You never know when you might need them.  Just because they're old doesn't mean they won't work!  I put a couple in this flashlight just last week.  See?!  [flipping switch]  Well shit!  This damned thing doesn't work!  You want it?  Probably just needs batteries.')

Living in the same house for 55 years, one tends to accumulate stuff.  In my father's case, that 'stuff' would, by most people, be considered 'useless shit'.    He grew up during the Great Depression.  He doesn't throw ANYTHING away.  I can appreciate that, to a point.

So yesterday after work, I go over to his place to see what goodies (read 'shit') he's uncovered before he calls Goodwill.

'Your mother had these art books in that copper boiler over there.  I thought you might want them.'  (My mother was an artist.)

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Be warned, not only is the story disturbing, the author is disturbed.

Picture it:  A cold, blustery day in January, and our hero, Yip, is headed to the post office to buy stamps, and to complain to an uncaring postal clerk about the ever-rising postal rates.

He opens his office door, car key in hand, and braces against the stinging, cold rain as it stabs his bare face.  He curses the cold, wishing he had worn a coat when he left for work that morning.  (As it turns out, our hero isn't real smart, and doesn't watch the weather forecasters.  I mean, meteorologists.)

He makes it to the car, turns the key, the powerful engine roars to life.  He guns the motor, wondering how much gasoline he's wasting by doing so.  The radio blares Gwen Stafani, '...tell me boy, now wouldn't that be sweet....' as he makes his way to the post office.  Once there, he's faced with a line of 7,486  people waiting for the one clerk to help them.  (Our hero has a way of exaggerating, too.  There are, in truth, only about six people.)  Finally, after 3 hours and 27 minutes of waiting in line (there's that exaggeration thing again), he is greeted by the surly postal employee.

Postal Employee:  Yeah.  Whatcha need.
Yip:  Hello.  I'd like a book of stamps, please.
P.E.:  Stamps?  We ain't got no stamps.  I don't need to show you no STINKING STAMPS!
Yip:  That's the absolute worst Alphonso Bedoya I've ever heard.
P.E.: Well, yeah, it's not all that good.  I do a great Bette Davis though!
Yip:  Really?
P.E.:  The letter!  Peter, Peter, give me the letter!
Yip:  My name's not Peter, and I'm not mailing a letter.  I want to buy stamps.
P.E.:  No, you idiot!  That's my Bette Davis!
Yip:  Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
P.E.:  Don't call me 'dear'.  You don't even know me.  I'm sorry, but it's not like we're in love or something.
Yip:  Love means never having to say you're sorry.
P.E.:  You're pissing me off mister.  I'm.......I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more!
Yip:  So...how much are the stamps now?
P.E.:  I'll make you an offer you can't refuse.
Yip:  Do you have any new designs?
P.E.:  Stamps are like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you're going to get.
Yip:  I'll take one book, please.
P.E.  SHOW ME THE MONEY!
Yip:  This is getting curiouser and curiouser.

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So I get to the office this morning and turn on the computer.  (It's about the only thing I'm able to 'turn on' lately.  Poor Yip.  Poor, poor Yip.)

I check Geekfest while waiting for my email to download.  After a few minutes I go to the email file.  There they are; 37 emails.  37!  WTF?!  I've never gotten 37 emails at one time.  Not even when I advertise for free sexual favors on Craigslist.

(In fact, when I do that, the only responses I get are along the lines of, 'Yip, go away.  Ain't nobody interested in whatever it is you're giving away.')

So I'm thinking, 'Damn!  37 emails!  I'm popular all of a sudden!'

I look at the mail.  They're all EXACTLY the same!
All 37....exactly the same.

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In a break from my usual inane rantings........

~~~~~~~~~

30 years ago this month:

My roommate at the time, Mark, had been out of town. 'Yip, I'm coming in tomorrow night. Plane gets in about 10:00. Can you pick me up at the airport? Use my car. The keys are on the hook in the kitchen.'

About 9:15 I hop into Mark's bright yellow VW and head for the airport. It's a nice, warm evening. Lots of moonlight, not much traffic. I pick Mark up at the gate and we head back to his Midtown, K.C. house. At that time, there was not a lot of development between downtown K.C. and the airport. It was pretty much farmland with an occasional old drive-in motel.

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