Don’t Taze Me, Bro!
Another work week is done. Phew. When my graveyard relief was late last night, I left a terse message on his cell phone. “Daylight’s comin’ and I wanna go home. Give me a call, or better yet, just show up!”
The store phone rang as he walked in; it was him. “I’ll be right there.” The echo between the phone and him threw me a little. I shook it off and clocked out in record time.
Our usual routine, when he’s on time, is to share the gossip of the week and have a few good yuks to start the weekend. Since I didn’t have time to fill him in, he’ll just have to get the dirt here…
Psst… Greg Oden is on Jim Rome today…
One of the benefits/drawbacks of working the late shift is the vast wasteland of TV in the early afternoon. With the possible exception of “Hip-Hop Abs”, (sound off) I can’t stand informercials, and there’s not much else but ESPN that I can tolerate that early in the day.
Today, as I was slamming for the door, I reached for the TV off-button just as Jim Rome mentioned that his guest today will be our new (not even out of the box) center, Greg Oden. Woohoo! Note to self: get ready for work early. I want to see this.
You poor folks stuck working ‘normal’ hours? Better set that TiVo, or the VHS if you’re prehistoric like me. 1:30 PM on ESPN, channel 35 in the Portland area.
I almost called this post ‘Breaking News’, but I hate using the word ‘breaking’ in the same sentence with Greg Oden. Superstitious, I guess. If he trips on a rug, I don’t want that kind of karmic responsibility.
Oh, what the hell. Break a leg, kid. Metaphorically speaking, of course…
Eighty, bald, and made of gold…
…just like a Hollywood producer.
There was no red carpet. With kids and critters, the carpet at our house is an off-brown. No champagne to celebrate, but I did drink a whole bottle of chocolate cherry Diet Dr Pepper. (It tastes just like, uh, chocolate cherries!) Tuxedo? Does an oversized tee shirt and torn sweats count? The seafood pasta served for dinner was gourmet, but the rest of the evening was definitely lowbrow.
Yup, it was Oscar night at our house.
Just Like My Ancestors Did It
I love going out on little adventures by bus. Some days I’ll get on and ride for the hell of it, but it’s always better when I have an actual mission. On Sundays, the bus service in my ‘hood is a bit spotty. It runs infrequently, and the nearest bus stop is at least half a mile away. I don’t mind the exercise, but when I’m hauling groceries it seems farther.
I’ve been good about getting out for exercise this weekend, inspired by the lovely weather. Blue skies and sleeveless temps! (I rode the bus downtown once just to girl-watch.) Today, though, I had stuff to do. If I don’t grocery shop today, I have to get up before work and do it then, or take off from work and hope I can get something not-too-perishable on my lunch hour. Since I’ve been eating lunch during lunch hour lately, it made sense to take care of business today.
At Least I’ll Have Something to Read
I love having extra money. As in not having to penny-pinch between paydays. Financially I live close to the bone, but this time of year, after the taxes come home, I have a little wiggle room, and try to invest in things that will keep me amused when things aren’t so flush.
So when I was flipping through the latest issue of Rolling Stone, the one all about Britney’s meltdown, and the drop card offering 78 issues for about $25 landed in my lap, I couldn’t resist. I filled that sucker out and ran it to the nearest mailbox.
I’ve been checking my account online, and the drop card finally registered at RS headquarters. I immediately paid online, receiving another four free issues! Wahoo! I read them and pass them along, usually to the teenage son of a friend. Occasionally they end up elsewhere, if I see a story I think someone might like.
Fair warning to all, if they ever rerun the ‘hot’ issue featuring Lisa Bonet, I’m claiming that sucker. I still think the centerfold is the hottest picture ever taken.
My subscription now extends until around May 2013. If one believes the story about the Mayan calender, I will have Rolling Stone until the end of time.
For about twenty-five bucks. Score!
“Say goodbye to my leetle friend…”
There were so many titles for this post. When you hear the term ‘Wednesday’, ‘Cute doctor’ and ‘Whack off’ in the first paragraph, one must assume this will be a provocative story, no? Well, don’t dim the lights and break out the lube just yet. It could have been called ‘Separation Anxiety’ or ‘Hey…You… Get Offa My Back!’ as well…
Escape to Irish Spring
Aah, the weather is turning nice. I left the hoody at home yesterday, trusting Dave Salesky’s overnight low forecast of 48 degrees. It was a little brisk on the post-midnight walk, but the stars and east wind were at once motivating and distracting. I can’t wait to go sleeveless 24/7.
However, with the 62 degree weather, there are side effects. One of which I found impossible to ignore…
And on the Seventh Day…
The last few Saturdays have been less than stellar in the fun department. Whether it be sickness, poverty or just plain loneliness, there’s been some reason for me to stay home and hide under the covers. So what was I in for this weekend? Cue the jukebox:
Another Saturday Night by Cat Stevens? Nope.
Saturday Night’s All Right for Fighting by Elton John? Nah, too aggro. I’m feeling mellow…
Come Saturday Morning from the movie The Sterile Cuckoo? Please… and no Liza Minnelli jokes, either.
Lookin’ for the Heart of Saturday Night by Tom Waits? Now we’re getting closer…
I Just Got Three Inches Bigger!
At least!
Not trying to brag, and not saying I needed it, but man, is this impressive!
And how did I pull off this feat, you ask? Have I been perusing the ads in the back of Hustler again? Been hanging out with “Bob” from those late night commercials?
Nope. But I must credit ThatGirl for coming up with the idea, and being ever so kind as to help me, um, put it away, because it is cumbersome by comparison…
Smiling faces. Sometimes…
I love seeing faces from the past. Sometimes it’s in person, or on TV. The newspaper is most common. I read the obituaries daily, and recognize a name about once a month. They used to be my parent’s friends; these days it’s more likely to be one of my old cronies. The majority of my buddies from The Biltmore have moved on from this mortal coil, mostly from drug or liver-related conditions.
It’s just as nice to see someone still alive. I saw my uncle’s name the other day, and called him immediately. (I wasn’t too worried, the name had a slightly different spelling.) He was glad I called, but a bit disconcerted that he was already in the obits.
This morning, while waiting for the noon news, I saw the new Tom Peterson commercial. “WAKE UP!” Tom’s a bit wrinkly, and not as frenetic as he once was, but he’s got that spry smile working. Gloria was there too. It’s good to see them. I watched Portland Wrestling every Saturday night as a kid, and you couldn’t not know who Tom Peterson was. I remember the thrill when I saw him in person in about 1975. The family had gone to Value Village on 82nd, and I snuck away to the Fred Meyer’s across the street. As I went in, I crossed paths with the furniture mogul himself! I was surprised at how tall he was. (He always looked 5′6″ on TV to me…) He nodded and gave the trademark smile when he saw me gawking.
I still want one of his watches…
Sometimes the news is not so good. As I read the newspaper yesterday, I see a story on the front page about a man who allegedly embezzled a quarter-million dollar’s worth of computer equipment from PSU. The name looked familiar, so I looked him up on the cyber post office wall, and sure enough! He’s an old customer from my last place of employment. Gulp!
I’m surprised, not so much that he may have done it, but by the audacious magnitude of the whole scheme. I used to sell him beer by the case, sometimes several times a day. He was a pleasant, friendly fellow, and even bootlegged a Grateful Dead concert from the Gorge that my cousin had attended. (It was a home-run Xmas present.) My co-workers called him Jerry Garcia, although he looks more like Dr Johnny Fever. He was always tripping off to Amsterdam or Jamaica. Hmm… Must have been some good frequent-flier mileage…
Who will I see from the past today? Who knows? But I hope it’s because they stumble across me at the store, coming from a Happy Valentine’s dinner or a night at the bars, and not because they are dead or under indictment.
Make it good news. Please?
