You’re as Old as You Feel
Yesterday was my brother’s birthday. I meant to sent him a public shout-out, but was distracted by life happening. I’ve just risen from a nap, and am feeling mightily refreshed. I plunked in one of the new Pink Martini albums and am sipping a non-alcoholic beverage. Who sounds like the old guy here?
Today I picked up my new breathing machine. The old war horse I’d been using has served above and beyond the call of duty. It was used when I got it, and I’ve had it for eleven years. The new models are quite a change.
The old model was about the size of a small microwave oven, and hummed loudly all night. The breathing mask reminded me of the face-hugger in Alien, and had fallen into disrepair. It’s held together by a strip of cloth and about a pound of duct tape, but it still got me through the night.
After seeing the new model, it wasn’t hard to say goodbye.
First of all, the mask doesn’t fit over my eyes. I can read in bed again! I don’t have to watch TV with one eye anymore! It’s so quiet I can barely tell if it’s on. And it’s smaller than a Bose radio.
The test drive was a success. I’ve already boxed up the old one. I have a friend with bad asthma and a relentless addiction to Camel straights, so I will gift it to him, along with a couple of years supply of filters and spare parts. (After that, he’s on his own.) He had one, but lost it in a fire. The way he’s been rasping lately, I can’t get it to him soon enough. With accessories, the box is about the size of R2-D2. I hope they’ll let me on the bus with it.
After the fitting, I busted buns to Clairissa’s for my monthly balding. As I got off the bus I saw a bunch of dykes enter the barbershop. Since I was twenty minutes early, I chilled at the bus stop with my $3,000 piece of luggage. The new machine and its stuff fit in a travel pack smaller than my backpack. Note to self: don’t forget to take it with you.
Clairissa has been doing well. She opened shop the day I started this blog, April Fools Day. While I’ve been expounding in prolific fashion, she has expanded her shop, and four of five barbers from her last job have quit and come to work for her! She’s obtained certification with a company who will occasionally fly her around the country to supervise, train and advise regarding hair coloring. My little follicle surgeon…
All the dykes were visiting one of the other barbers, so after my buzzcut we went into the back of the shop. They were removing the massage room and putting in another barber stand. It smelled of paint, so we went into the wash-and-dry room. Clairissa posed for several pictures, including one that is now my part-time desktop background. I say part-time, because if I left it up there all the time I’d never get any work done. It’s beautiful, distracting, and if my little nephew ever sees ‘em, I mean it, I’ll have even more trouble keeping him out of my room at night.
As always, I left Clairissa’s feeling the need for a cold shower, and not because of all the little hairs down my neck..
So now, I have to get back to sleep. I have a four-hour window to get downtown, drop off a giant box of medical equipment and cash my check. That means I’ll have to get up at the ungodly hour of 8:30 AM! Jeez, the things I do for my fellow man.
Speaking of old men, happy birthday Big Brother! He turned 70. Is he in need of machines to breathe? Does it take him 600 milligrams of ibuprofen to get through the day? Did he get drunker than a monkey and spend all his pocket money on strippers? According to his e-mail:
“I did seventy push-ups and seventy sit-ups to mark the occasion.”
He’s always been a bit of a show-off…
In celebration of youth, I think I’ll switch from Pink Martini to Black Sabbath, and stare at my desktop until I fall asleep.
Pink Martinis and a Box of Chocolates
Seduction in the air? Did I fall off the wagon? Nah. Yesterday I said goodbye to Christmas. Seems I was a bit premature.
The boss is back in town, after a month in Spain. The ship sails okay without him, but the fear of Grinder only goes so far, and the man who signs the checks needs to pop in every once in a while, put the fear of the Lord into ‘em, and smooth everything out again. I sensed trouble when I saw three managers hanging around as I arrived yesterday.
Xmas Epilogue
And how was your holiday?
I worked again this year, by choice. Christmas has never been a constant in my life. I see it as more of a friendship tax, with everyone rushing around maniacally, going into debt and overstressing during what is supposed to be a time of love for your fellow man. Since I try to be a giving, loving sort all year long, I resent being ‘told’ to be this way during what is typically my brokest time of year.
And despite the occasional meany outburst from someone with a chip on their shoulder, I enjoy how people come around. The happiness is infectious, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t start getting into it a bit.
Jingle Bells?
Nah, I spent most of yesterday talking on the phone. I think I have cauliflower ear.
I’m not a big phone person. I consider them a necessary evil. Until the turn of the century, I had a rotary phone, but Cousin got tired of my backwoods ways and set me up with a push-button. A certain young lady has provided me with a cell phone, (and the best cell plan EVER) so it’s not like I don’t use phones, I just prefer not to talk on them for extended periods of time.
Yesterday, the whole world decided to call. Since long distance is free on the cell phone, and weekends are free, I spent 90 minutes talking to my cousin in North Carolina. I might still be talking if the land line hadn’t started ringing. A sick coworker wanted to talk. Later, I spoke with my uncle, who is doing fine. (More on this another time.) Christmas wishes from The Porno Queen. Freewheelin’ called, as did Mizelle. It was like old home week, yet no one had to go out in the rain.
My big plans for the holiday? I’m spending them with the less fortunate. You know, those who forgot milk, bread, eggs, pumpkin pie. (None of which we sell.) Yep, I’ll be working. I politicked long and hard to get a set schedule to my liking, and prefer working through the holidays, as opposed to trying to make up time by working on the weekends. My job doesn’t offer paid holidays, and I’m not invested enough in them to want to lose the income.
Something interesting usually happens. 4th of July had a fistfight. My first Christmas at the store (or was it Thanksgiving?) Mizelle came to visit, and hung out for an hour or so. During that time, a homeless fellow that looked like Alfred the Butler from the Batman TV series did a full-on performance of the song Cabaret. It brightened an otherwise glum night.
Will it be busy? Probably. We’re the only game downtown most holiday nights. The bars will likely be closed, leaving the homeless and the crackheads little to do but hang out in front of the store. As long as they behave themselves…
And whether it’s an exercise in aggravation or a warm, fuzzy humanitarian hug, I will be there, at least faking a smile. I do expect to spend lots of time answering the phone.
“Why, yes. We are open!”
Bee-you-tiful Downtown Balmer
I have a new TV addiction. When cops and crackheads collide and I can watch without the usual front-row seat, (i.e. work) of course I must pay attention.
When the backdrop is Baltimore? Bonus!
ESPN’s Lead Story Tonight?
Your Portland Trail Blazers!
Yup, the hometown heroes are doing well. I got to watch tonight’s game in real time, and it was quite the nail biter. I also got to watch the Raptors game from the other night, broadcast right beforehand. As previously mentioned, me likey the new Channel 37.
I saw a pretty good hockey game as well. San Jose and Phoenix. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around those two cities having hockey franchises. Has either city ever had ice outside? Cubes in cocktails don’t count. Regardless, it was a good game, and had an awesome fight. (I confess, the fights are my favorite part. Unless it’s teddy bear night, whicht always makes me cry.) They even replayed the fight, which I hadn’t seen done in a long time. Kinder, gentler hockey is only good when you’re playing, not watching.
A coworker was showing me hockey masks from a magazine article. They’ve gone quite high-tech. As a young ‘un, I remember when goalies rarely wore masks, and the guns would be helmet-free. (Bearded Bill Flett was a favorite.) I told the coworker this, and that the first mask I recall had stitches drawn on it. The name Gerry Cheever of the Boston Bruins leaped into my head for the first time in 35 years. A turn of the page of the hockey mag confirmed this.
I have a Jason mask and a bunch of Sharpies. I know what I’m doing the next time I feel bored and artistic.
But I digress. Now I’m watching the rerun of the Blazer game, feeling like a true fan for the first time in a long time. We’re the top story on ESPN because we’re winning, not under indictment. Jarrett Jack’s half-court three pointers, Outlawed blocked shots and the mighty Pryzbilla bitch-slapping Carmelo’s layups have me tuning in night after night.
Since all-star voting is going on right now, I may just wander over to NBA.com and nod at a few of the local guys.
“Hail Santa!”
What a difference a day makes.
Yesterday was less than stellar. It was fine until I went to lunch. “Lunch” usually involves walking around downtown, reading in the office or having coffee at the Upscale Mall. It was a coffee day. As I was riding the mall escalator down past Santa, I saw a lady pointing an iPhone my way. She snapped a picture. As I stared, wondering why, she scowled and made an ‘L’ sign on her forehead with thumb and index finger. I turned and looked behind, but everyone appeared average. I shrugged it off. She’s spending $40 to let her kid sit on some old man’s lap, and I’m the loser?
Five minutes after getting back to work, a man in a black velvet jacket is watching me from the wine aisle. I looked aside, and glanced back quickly. He’d stuffed a bottle of warm champagne into his pants, and grabbed another. Cranky from the scowling iPhone lady, I marched up to him, took the one bottle of champagne from his hand and reached into his jacket for the other. He bolted for the door, ran into traffic and around the block. I hope warm, shaken Korbel is to your liking, sir.
Since Thursday is typically my worst night of the week, there was little cause for hope when my first customer of the day was a crackhead in clownface. A woman who claimed to be 45 but had no ID wanted a single beer. While I appreciated her creepy clown outfit, there will be no Christmas Hamm’s for you, bozo. She called me a name and went away.
Can’t they all just go away?
“Both teams played hard…”
I really like the new Comcast sports channel 37. I’m one of the half-million who get it without angst. (Although I can’t find MSNBC now. Where oh where are you tonight?)
While the channel is in its early stages, it shows promise. Ducks games, repeated several times. Philadelphia Flyers games! NHL hockey! And not on a Saturday at noon! (Sorry, too damn early for hockey.) I may start following it again.
And now to the Blazers. It’s nice having a constant source. I don’t like their on-screen scoreboard, every time I glance I see the 24 second clock where *I* think the Blazer score should be. (WTF? 66 to 19? Oh, wait a minute…) The chatterboxes on the halftime show? I can tolerate them, but please, stop with the “MIKE, tell him what he’s/they’ve won!” crap. It was borderline funny the first time, but it’s someone else’s catch phrase.
And finally, in the love/hate category. They rerun the Blazer games late at night! Yesss! I can come home, relax a bit, and watch the game as though it’s being played live. I work late hours, and watch reruns of the 10 O’clock news at 3 AM. Now, with the Blazers going balls out, I have legitimate choices in TV viewing.
However, fellow bloggers, I have a request. I’ve become quite adept at dodging reports of scores to games I want to watch on repeat. I will walk around work with fingers in ears singing lalalala until Cort and Fatboy’s Jock Itch is over. I will avoid the reader crawl on ESPN if that’s what channel the TV is on when I get home. If an exuberant fan comes into the store, yelling about what an awesome game it was, I will accept fate, and probably still watch, though not as intently.
BUT, there are a couple of bloggers I read religiously, every damn night, and usually while waiting for the game to start. (You and You, to be specific.) They end up spilling the beans about fifteen minutes before game time, which leads to apoplectic spitting and swearing and gnashing of teeth. I haven’t thrown anything at the TV yet, but…
So, my friends with the power of the pen, can you be a little more vague with your headlines? My blood pressure is normal, and I’d like to keep it that way.
I’m thinking we could take a page from Rasheed Wallace’s book. “It was a good game. Both teams played hard.”
Otherwise, *I’m* going to have 100 technical fouls this season.
Teen Hair Torture
A friend blogged today about her teenage son and his first shaving experience. Knowing her has been beneficial in many ways, but being able to watch her son approach adulthood has been especially helpful. He’s about a year older than my nephew, which makes him sort of a preview of coming attractions.
Cold. Hard. Reality.
This is my 200th post here. It’s been a couple days coming, because I wanted to do something *special*, not just bang out a skewed edition of my nightly news. While I try to keep things light-hearted, reality can be an ugly bitch sometimes. Tonight I will be confronting reality, as will a certain young man who will someday wish he’d used (or had) more common sense.
