Saturday

May 5, 2001

no walks in our hood

Cinco de Mayo at the Shack

shop window

It has been raining all night and I assume eXtreme dog walking will be washed out. But SuRu calls and points out that it isn't raining. It is, in fact, cool and sunny. Damp and humid, too, by the time we get back from a walk down to Ramsey park and back. Mariachis are playing in front of the Taco Shack. It's Cinco de Mayo. A Fiesta holiday apparently made up for Americans. Oh, yeah some Mexican army beat the French (the French?) in a battle only to succumb later. Anyway, now it's an excuse for a spring barbeque or margaritas or mariachis at the tiny Taco Shack. A made-up holiday for Americans. Texans anyway. A way to sell more beer and chips and dips. They probably make some tortilla chips in green and red like they do at Christmas.

I rage on at the torn up sidewalks with giant cables hanging out. It wouldn't be so bad but they will stay this way forever. Dig, dig, dig. "Oh, what were we doing? How can we ever get it back to normal for pedestrians and motorists?" Finally finish. It's just not right. The city workers were standing across the street, preparing to DIG SOME MORE while I raged. I'm not really upset, though. I'm conditioned. What, after all, could I expect for only $800/month in taxes? If you had told me when I was a kid that I would EVER pay that much a month to live in a bills paid apartment, I would have called you a liar. Now I pay that much in 'rent' to city, county and school. Pay that much to live in what I already own, bought and paid for. Every month. And bills on top of it. Bills for the street sweeper who finally comes to sweep once a year. But I don't own the street they say. Don't I? And the schools? I don't send one more kid there, I just sit here and pay and pay and pay. I believe in public schools, don't get me wrong. But what was the reason again that my share needed to go up at twice the rate of inflation and more? Because someone had bid the price of the houses in my neighborhood up because they were close in and the freeways were clogged?

FFP and I shower (he's been off at Westwood riding the bike) and walk over to Fonda for their Cinco de Mayo Bazaar and breakfast. They are selling off paintings, furniture, old plates and glassware. They've also opened the restaurant. We have some wonderful Huevos Moluenas. (It's that how you spell it?) Eggs and tortillas and beans in layers with ham and peas on top and a mild tomato sauce.

We spend some time relaxing. Watching Days of Wine and Roses. Rough material. Great acting. Jack Lemmon was a brilliant actor. We also spent some time working on our WEB development skills.

And massacring a chicken.

FFP had in mind to cook this chicken in wine and garlic. But he bought a whole chicken, not cut up. I got out the knife, sharpened it, and we followed (simultaneously and with bloody effect) the instructions in Joy of Cooking and from some site on the WEB. Ended up with chicken parts. Some recognizable. What can I say? As long as I was in the kitchen, I fished out some spinach, greens, radichio, feta, tomato and onions, and honey mustard dressing and made us a salad. But don't get the idea I cook. FFP cooks. And shops, too, thankfully. That's why we have spinach and radichio and stuff in the frig.

With full bellies (and, OK, I drank the rest of the 'cooking' wine...a $5.95 Chardonnay himself found in the cellar) we went off to see Oliver at the Paramount. "Please, sir, may I have some more?"

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We got downtown pretty early and found a great parking place. So we went to Littly City. This is a place I should add to my slacker job guide. The friendly gals behind the counter have on this strange jeans and I see one of the help has that red over-dye hair going. Have you ever wondered how all these kids will look when they are old and wrinkled and in what SuRu and I refer to as 'the home?' "Mrs. Banton in 601 needs some peroxide on her infected nose ring. And change her diaper while you are there."

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"Food, glorious, food, I'm anxious to try it." The little Oliver's voice made me crazy in solo but the production was altogether pretty sensational. But we left at the intermission, victims of the dreaded poison ivy. Well, FFP, is a victim anyway. I've avoided the yard lately even though I really like hacking down bamboo, pulling weeds and all those destructive no-talent chores. I am starting to have sympathy pains, though. At first he thought he had a couple of flea bites. You always think you have a couple of bites and then you realize it's really poison ivy. I really, really feel sorry for him.

But I know it is a non-fatal, self-limiting malady. Even if I have gotten a secondary bit of it from touching something he touched, I figure it will be a mild case and I can gut it out like last year. The problem with poison ivy is that it takes too long to limit itself. Two or three weeks.

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So, at home, we sit in our chairs, FFP with nothing touching the inflamed skin and the AC on, sleeps. I watch him sleep and tiptoe around when he does it because I know how nice it is to finally sleep.

He is up and down in the night. He cooks bacon at an ungodly hour. The bacon smell adds to the wine and garlic smell from the dinner. Yum, the house smells good enough to eat. I go back to sleep.

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Spending the minutes. I've been thinking a lot lately about time and where it goes. What we choose to spend our time on. Every second, every minute, every hour, we make choices. Right now I'm choosing to type this rather than reading or cooking or watching TV. Rather than working on a work project or learn something for work. Rather cleaning out a closet. Rather than staring into space. Even if you decide to read or watch TV or go out you make a decision. You decide what to eat. Another cookie? A cup of coffee.

How do we decide? And what difference does it make? Well, at the end of the day, all the difference, really. We are nothing but our spent time.

I tried this on SuRu during our walk. This bit of philosophy. It didn't really do much for her. But she was polite. It's best not to try your latest emerging philosophy on a mate with poison ivy.

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