7.5.2015
My life has been more free since I stopped recycling.
My mother taught me years ago to recycle things. "Everything you can," she said. "The people at the recycling center will sort it out and chuck it if they don't want it." I lived by her words until just recently.
I put every can,* bottle, box and scrap of paper into the blue bin. Shoe boxes, plastic frozen tater tot bags, you name it. If it crushed, melted, shredded or pulped, it went in. Oh and it went in as is, meaning, I do not rinse.
So it got to the point that my big, blue, outside recycling bin would fill up by Sunday night. The truck comes on Friday! I'd be out of space and begging the divers to dig deep and take everything they could. "Help a guy out," I'd say, but there was often a language gap.
So the other day, after getting a Cease and Desist order from Ace™ Recycling (a private group in public service, or something) detailing six continuous months of unrinsed salsa jars and crumb-filled taco chip bags, I decided to give up. Everything goes into the black bin now.
Jebus, the ants and the divers can sort it out.
Tonight - Homestead.
*Excluding beer cans, natch. I get my nickel back from Jerry Brown for those.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Thursday, July 23, 2015
LOVE (REDUX)
7.4.2015 (originally posted this meeting day, 2005)
It is indeed a Summer laced with repeating past glories. I wrote about Phil and I repeating our 1988 drive across the desert to Phoenix. This day I will write briefly about another thing that will repeat: Witnessing live in concert Sonic Youth with guests Redd Kross! Another Phil (not the one I drove the desert with) and I saw these very same acts in 1990 in Chicago at the venerable Vic Theater. Wow. This time the show's at Hollywood's Greek Theater and Phil and I are joined by two other Phils ... neither being the Phil I drove the desert with. Get it?
Fuck Barry and the Giants ... the Cubbies sure did!
Tonight - Dogpatch Saloon
Jay Herda's Birthday!!! C'mon out and celebrate!!
Also, Joan and JPo's "hangover" BDays - because the more, the merrier!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
It is indeed a Summer laced with repeating past glories. I wrote about Phil and I repeating our 1988 drive across the desert to Phoenix. This day I will write briefly about another thing that will repeat: Witnessing live in concert Sonic Youth with guests Redd Kross! Another Phil (not the one I drove the desert with) and I saw these very same acts in 1990 in Chicago at the venerable Vic Theater. Wow. This time the show's at Hollywood's Greek Theater and Phil and I are joined by two other Phils ... neither being the Phil I drove the desert with. Get it?
Fuck Barry and the Giants ... the Cubbies sure did!
Tonight - Dogpatch Saloon
Jay Herda's Birthday!!! C'mon out and celebrate!!
Also, Joan and JPo's "hangover" BDays - because the more, the merrier!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 16, 2015
What Do Ya Want?
7.3.2015
Just before the Y2K disaster, I visited New York City. Linkey Loo Robot is there right now and he's reminding me of drinking in NYC, because he's .... drinking in NYC.
The fun things I remember about drinking in NYC include drinking in really swank places, like in the lobby of the Plaza Hotel, as well as in Brooklyn "bars" that had not a single light in the place but had real coolers - with ice - to keep beers cold. The not as fun thing I distinctly remember is the attitude one barkeep had when I had to make an emergency pit-stop.
The group of jokers I was with had had fried eggs and bloodys a few hours earlier, followed by hired-car rides to Manhattan. We enjoyed "road sodas" on the trip and found ourselves at a bar upon arrival. One of us booked some luncheon and we set to foot, as the restaurant was a few blocks off and it was a nice day. We passed a saloon just as I felt the earlier beverage service catch up to me and I called out for a quick rest. I ducked into the parlor.
I did not walk in like I owned the place, but I did bee-line to the rear of the joint, expecting to find the loo. There were a few people at the bar, none together. The keep polished a glass and eyed me walking. "Can I help you?" she said. She had a Sheryl Crow-like look about her: Dark blonde streaks in brown curls to her shoulders, a red plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up, one higher than the other. I couldn't see if the tails were tucked into worn jeans secured with a two-inch brown leather belt, but if her lower was like her upper, they were.
"You have a restroom back here somewhere, don't you?" I said. My tone was congenial and had a smile to go with it. She was having neither. "It's for customers. You're not a customer." I stayed friendly and said, "Shoot me a Wild Turkey, then, will ya? I'll be back to collect it in a minute."
I relieved myself and returned to the bar, the shot waiting for me. She said, "8 bucks, and you might want to do this backwards next time." I nodded. "Buy a drink first," she said. I thanked her for translating. I took my shot standing and dug into my pocket, took a ten from the wad and dropped it on the bar. "You have the New York attitude down pat, ma'am," I said. "Thanks for the drink."
Tonight - Royal Cuckoo
Happy BDay Joan!! Happy BDay JPo!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Just before the Y2K disaster, I visited New York City. Linkey Loo Robot is there right now and he's reminding me of drinking in NYC, because he's .... drinking in NYC.
The fun things I remember about drinking in NYC include drinking in really swank places, like in the lobby of the Plaza Hotel, as well as in Brooklyn "bars" that had not a single light in the place but had real coolers - with ice - to keep beers cold. The not as fun thing I distinctly remember is the attitude one barkeep had when I had to make an emergency pit-stop.
The group of jokers I was with had had fried eggs and bloodys a few hours earlier, followed by hired-car rides to Manhattan. We enjoyed "road sodas" on the trip and found ourselves at a bar upon arrival. One of us booked some luncheon and we set to foot, as the restaurant was a few blocks off and it was a nice day. We passed a saloon just as I felt the earlier beverage service catch up to me and I called out for a quick rest. I ducked into the parlor.
I did not walk in like I owned the place, but I did bee-line to the rear of the joint, expecting to find the loo. There were a few people at the bar, none together. The keep polished a glass and eyed me walking. "Can I help you?" she said. She had a Sheryl Crow-like look about her: Dark blonde streaks in brown curls to her shoulders, a red plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up, one higher than the other. I couldn't see if the tails were tucked into worn jeans secured with a two-inch brown leather belt, but if her lower was like her upper, they were.
"You have a restroom back here somewhere, don't you?" I said. My tone was congenial and had a smile to go with it. She was having neither. "It's for customers. You're not a customer." I stayed friendly and said, "Shoot me a Wild Turkey, then, will ya? I'll be back to collect it in a minute."
I relieved myself and returned to the bar, the shot waiting for me. She said, "8 bucks, and you might want to do this backwards next time." I nodded. "Buy a drink first," she said. I thanked her for translating. I took my shot standing and dug into my pocket, took a ten from the wad and dropped it on the bar. "You have the New York attitude down pat, ma'am," I said. "Thanks for the drink."
Tonight - Royal Cuckoo
Happy BDay Joan!! Happy BDay JPo!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 09, 2015
Timberland
7.2.2015
I was putting on socks the other day and while hopping around the room, trying to hoist one of them up, I nearly fell over. I caught myself, but in doing so, I remembered something funny that happened to me 40 years ago:
I had just been admitted to the local hospital. I was to undergo surgery to remove a bad attitude or something. My nurse came in and introduced herself and handed me a rag to cover myself. After disrobing to only striped socks, she asked if she could see my bad attitude, and having reached the point of total humility because it was so awful, I showed her, saying, "it's disgusting, but here ya go." She said, "I've been to Walmart; you can't gross me out." She looked then made a, "fffft" noise. That made me feel a bit better and I reached for a sock, started tugging, hopping and swearing and when I inevitably lost my balance, I saw her do something: She lurched toward me. The moment she lurched, I corrected with a hop and swiped the sock off my foot. I noticed her lunge but thought nothing of it.
She was a great nurse. I asked her if she could put the beers I'd brought with me in a fridge and she said ok, but we don't have an opener, so why don't you just enjoy some Dilaudid? "After all," she added, "your doctor prescribed it." I relented and she pushed the stuff into the IV she'd chucked into my left arm a short time earlier. Within seconds, I exited the gift shop.
I had nothing else to do, so I enjoyed some movies on AMC: Roman Holiday and Rome Adventure. One does not need opiates to enjoy staring at Audrey Hepburn, but it makes it even more fun. The nurse came in a couple more times and made Orson Wells' Touch of Evil a bit more touchy. Night Nurse, the 1931 William A. Wellman feature with Barbara Stanwick and Clark Gable featuring this classic exchange:
Lora Hart: Who are you?
Nick, the Chauffeur: I'm Nick... the chauffeur
started just after the shift change and my night nurse came in and topped-off the dope. I enjoyed the pre-code movie more than I usually enjoy pre-code movies (not sure why), and shortly after it ended, I fell asleep and dreamed weird stuff (again, not sure why).
I woke early and the night nurse kissed my cheek (gave me more dope) and said good luck, turning over the reins to another former Army nurse who had blonde streaks and a no-nonsense way about her: Joyless, sorta, but kind (she gave me more Dilaudid). When she wheeled me into the surgery bay she broke form and snickered when I read the wall signs and proposed the "Laser Room" instead of "S2." Her chuckle might have had something to do with the Dr. Evil-voice I used to propose the room switch.
She hipped a big, low, door-opening wall button and gave my bed a big shove into the surgery bay, and just before I crashed into the other shopping carts, a large
, tattooed guy with his OR scrub sleeves cut off, a top-knot of hair on his head and some former patient's bone through his nose caught me. My surgeon came in and scratched out a picture of my bad attitude on the back of my chart, then told me what he was going to do to it, as someone else came into the room. He said hi to her, looked at me and tilted his head toward her. "This is Ingrid. She's your anesthesiologist." She held out a hand and I returned a fist, for a fist-bump." She looked quizzical for a moment, so I explained:
"In Ebola-ridden West Africa, locals abandoned most physical contact for fear of contracting the virus. Acts as simple as a handshake was too much contact, but ..." She cut me off: "... a fist-bump is hardly any!" I said, "Precisely." "I like that," she said, "It makes a lot of sense. It's good for this environment, too." She waved a hand around, indicating the OR, if not the hospital in general. "So, what would you like this morning? I have a special on margaritas." "Never for breakfast," I said. "Do you have Drambuie?"
"Sure," she said, pushing something in to my IV, "here you go. Now count down from 1."
I thought about that for a second then said, "wuh ... "
I woke up in a fog, and heard the blonde-streaked Army nurse doing a mic check: "Can you hear me? Are you there?" After a moment, I realized she was talking to me. "I can hear you. I am here," I said. "Your doctor put you on a high-protein diet," she said, getting right to business, "so I've got some Mongolian beef coming for you." I love Mongolian beef, so I thought, "Great."
She told me that after breakfast I could be discharged, so I ate fast. It was gone in just minutes because there was no rice to get in the way. I did get a fortune cookie, which contained a fortune I didn't care for much: "You will be back."
A while later, the Army nurse came back with my clothes. She must have seen the look the fortune cookie's fortune left on my face because she pulled the pile of clothes she held back just a bit and said: "Are you feeling good enough to go? I could give you another bump." I thought about it for a long moment. Then I said, "It's tempting, but I'd rather call a cab." She said, "It's your dime," and held out the pile to me. I pulled on camo shorts, tugged at my smock (to no avail, as she gestured with a circling finger for me to turn around so she could untie the knots. ) I handled redonning my T easily, but trying to pull on my left sock took a hop. The hop made her twitch and I noticed. The right sock took two and a half hops and that made her lunge toward me. I caught myself just as she got to me. I looked at her and said nothing. She said, "you are not to fall." I thought about it for a second and said, "I'm okay with that policy."
So as I hopped around my bedroom weeks later, nearly falling over both L and R socks, I thought about how my Army nurse and my first nurse both were carefully watching me and were not about to let me fall over. Having someone like that around all the time might very well come in handy.
Tonight - Lone Palm.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I was putting on socks the other day and while hopping around the room, trying to hoist one of them up, I nearly fell over. I caught myself, but in doing so, I remembered something funny that happened to me 40 years ago:
I had just been admitted to the local hospital. I was to undergo surgery to remove a bad attitude or something. My nurse came in and introduced herself and handed me a rag to cover myself. After disrobing to only striped socks, she asked if she could see my bad attitude, and having reached the point of total humility because it was so awful, I showed her, saying, "it's disgusting, but here ya go." She said, "I've been to Walmart; you can't gross me out." She looked then made a, "fffft" noise. That made me feel a bit better and I reached for a sock, started tugging, hopping and swearing and when I inevitably lost my balance, I saw her do something: She lurched toward me. The moment she lurched, I corrected with a hop and swiped the sock off my foot. I noticed her lunge but thought nothing of it.
She was a great nurse. I asked her if she could put the beers I'd brought with me in a fridge and she said ok, but we don't have an opener, so why don't you just enjoy some Dilaudid? "After all," she added, "your doctor prescribed it." I relented and she pushed the stuff into the IV she'd chucked into my left arm a short time earlier. Within seconds, I exited the gift shop.
I had nothing else to do, so I enjoyed some movies on AMC: Roman Holiday and Rome Adventure. One does not need opiates to enjoy staring at Audrey Hepburn, but it makes it even more fun. The nurse came in a couple more times and made Orson Wells' Touch of Evil a bit more touchy. Night Nurse, the 1931 William A. Wellman feature with Barbara Stanwick and Clark Gable featuring this classic exchange:
Lora Hart: Who are you?
Nick, the Chauffeur: I'm Nick... the chauffeur
started just after the shift change and my night nurse came in and topped-off the dope. I enjoyed the pre-code movie more than I usually enjoy pre-code movies (not sure why), and shortly after it ended, I fell asleep and dreamed weird stuff (again, not sure why).
I woke early and the night nurse kissed my cheek (gave me more dope) and said good luck, turning over the reins to another former Army nurse who had blonde streaks and a no-nonsense way about her: Joyless, sorta, but kind (she gave me more Dilaudid). When she wheeled me into the surgery bay she broke form and snickered when I read the wall signs and proposed the "Laser Room" instead of "S2." Her chuckle might have had something to do with the Dr. Evil-voice I used to propose the room switch.
She hipped a big, low, door-opening wall button and gave my bed a big shove into the surgery bay, and just before I crashed into the other shopping carts, a large
, tattooed guy with his OR scrub sleeves cut off, a top-knot of hair on his head and some former patient's bone through his nose caught me. My surgeon came in and scratched out a picture of my bad attitude on the back of my chart, then told me what he was going to do to it, as someone else came into the room. He said hi to her, looked at me and tilted his head toward her. "This is Ingrid. She's your anesthesiologist." She held out a hand and I returned a fist, for a fist-bump." She looked quizzical for a moment, so I explained:
"In Ebola-ridden West Africa, locals abandoned most physical contact for fear of contracting the virus. Acts as simple as a handshake was too much contact, but ..." She cut me off: "... a fist-bump is hardly any!" I said, "Precisely." "I like that," she said, "It makes a lot of sense. It's good for this environment, too." She waved a hand around, indicating the OR, if not the hospital in general. "So, what would you like this morning? I have a special on margaritas." "Never for breakfast," I said. "Do you have Drambuie?"
"Sure," she said, pushing something in to my IV, "here you go. Now count down from 1."
I thought about that for a second then said, "wuh ... "
I woke up in a fog, and heard the blonde-streaked Army nurse doing a mic check: "Can you hear me? Are you there?" After a moment, I realized she was talking to me. "I can hear you. I am here," I said. "Your doctor put you on a high-protein diet," she said, getting right to business, "so I've got some Mongolian beef coming for you." I love Mongolian beef, so I thought, "Great."
She told me that after breakfast I could be discharged, so I ate fast. It was gone in just minutes because there was no rice to get in the way. I did get a fortune cookie, which contained a fortune I didn't care for much: "You will be back."
A while later, the Army nurse came back with my clothes. She must have seen the look the fortune cookie's fortune left on my face because she pulled the pile of clothes she held back just a bit and said: "Are you feeling good enough to go? I could give you another bump." I thought about it for a long moment. Then I said, "It's tempting, but I'd rather call a cab." She said, "It's your dime," and held out the pile to me. I pulled on camo shorts, tugged at my smock (to no avail, as she gestured with a circling finger for me to turn around so she could untie the knots. ) I handled redonning my T easily, but trying to pull on my left sock took a hop. The hop made her twitch and I noticed. The right sock took two and a half hops and that made her lunge toward me. I caught myself just as she got to me. I looked at her and said nothing. She said, "you are not to fall." I thought about it for a second and said, "I'm okay with that policy."
So as I hopped around my bedroom weeks later, nearly falling over both L and R socks, I thought about how my Army nurse and my first nurse both were carefully watching me and were not about to let me fall over. Having someone like that around all the time might very well come in handy.
Tonight - Lone Palm.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, July 02, 2015
Rock over London, Rock on Chicago (REDUX)
7.1.2015 (originally posted this meeting day, 2005)
I don't know what they want us to do. Surrender?
Tonight - Lucky 13 [by request]
(In honor of the 4th of July, we remember our original 13 colonies)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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