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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.)
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.
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.)
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.')
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