Saturday

June 30, 2001

first house in Rosedale

drive your Beamer to the Shack or walk

I awake, dreamless, and consider that a dog walk is needed. I've promised to call the other team members, SuRu and Zoey, the former reluctant, surely, and the latter surely not.

We walk. In our neighborhood. But things are never the same. There are several garage sales, creating creeping traffic and parked cars. FFP points out that a friend and business colleague's house is being de-molded. He says they are living across the street in a rental.

At a corner where I photographed what had appeared to be a careful renovation, they is nothing but dirt and a dumpster. SuRu suggests that I photograph it. But there is nothing. A vacant lot.

Also, where there was a vehicle and a tree quite entangled there is just a cut up fallen tree. Things are always a little different. Or we notice different things and point them out to each other. Like, a boarded up house that has burned.

FFP points out 'the first house in Rosedale' which his dad and his brothers built. That's the legend, probably true. It's hard to imagine the cottage with little of its surroundings built up.

We stop at Taco Shack and FFP goes in and gets us each a taco. A BMW parks illegally overlapping a driveway and squeeze. The SUV owner comes out and backs pretty forcefully into the Beamer. The Beamer owner comes out and they discuss it. The Beamer owner goes inside. To phone? Their tacos are getting cold. They should have walked to the taco joint.

���

We cross over to Upper Crust to actually eat at their tables. FFP goes inside to get good cups of French Roast for us.

���

I really need a hair cut. I look up my barber's WEB page, which is how I always find the phone number, and call. She is there and says I'll be able to get in. So I shower and go over. There are a couple of people in front of me. I read the paper and surf the WEB while she holds sway. I finally get my haircut. She says she is going to retire and move away. I hope not.

���

When I get home from the haircut, it seems like errand time. We have some dog medicine to pick up at the people pharmacy. (People's Pharmacy, it is actually named, and it's a tiny combo pharmacy, bakery/coffee shop and health book and supplement purveyor. They have gotten Chalow's last name as 'Priest,' a common mistake. We are reeling at paying $105 for a small bottle of medicine and joking about there being flecks of gold in suspension. The young clerk isn't listening, though, having launched into a tale involving someone named Priest, her father (a Pope) and another guy (Bishop). Our telling that we aren't Priests (and neither is our dog) hasn't stopped this story of churchly names. We don't listen, really, though, instead I'm thinking, "Dog's medicine for enlarged liver: $105; Ultrasound machine for dog: $195; Vet Bill: $200; small, fluffy, dog: priceless."

���

We'd intended to precede from this errand to others, but the expensive medicine needs refrigeration so it's back home to find a safe place in the frig for it.

���

We go check things at Mom's and Dad's and head to Sam's.

In Sam's (Wholesale Club) there is always the danger of coming home with a lifetime supply of something that you didn't really need. We mostly resist this, but we do buy copier/laser paper, a variety of value wines (and a couple of better ones), some good cheeses, some mini-DV tapes, and a few office supplies including a lifetime supply of Sharpie Pens and rubber bands (two pounds). I throw rubber bands away to get them out of the way. But FFP says he was looking for some and couldn't find any. Will never happen again until he misplaces the 2# box. He says he will fool me and put baggies of rubber bands all over the house. (What will they think when we die?) We went to get the paper, if you want to know.

���

Home, with stuff put away, FFP has to go to the Randall's to get the right kind of dog food in a bag we can lift.

���

I do other things, now forgotten as I write this. I play with FFP's new computer. It's amazing the pile of plastic bags, twist ties, cardboard, styro and other garbage that accumulates while you are getting a computer going. We are at the stage now of moving data, installing software. The network makes the data move easier. Finding the software disks and keys is always a challenge. It is, of course, amazing how much is up and running when you get the thing, provided by the vendor.

���

At home, I feel tired and dislocated. But good. I play around with the new computer a bit. I vow never to buy anything but flat panel displays. So much easier to cart around. More old, obsolete equipment is accumulating in the storage room. Sigh. There is too much stuff!

���

In the evening, we have tickets to Jelly's Last Jam at Zach Scott Theater. Later I read the Michael Barnes commentary. Jelly Roll Morton is a heck of a difficult subject with the racial prejudice (Creole vs. Negro, light-skinned vs. darker) and such. But this is a great piece and Zach's staff has done a great job. Unfortunately, tickets apparently didn't sell too well and lots were given away to the partners' night to fill the seats.

We eschew cheap champagne and dodging for free food with the free tickets crowd and go next door to the Schlotzsky's Bread Alone and share a little pizza before bed.

���