The First Bright Day of Spring

Yesterday was cold, gray, wind, and rain. Probably the last such day we'll see until next winter. Today was just the opposite- as perfect a clear bright day as ever was made. So I walked down to the corner while the morning was still cool. Old John was there, finishing up a burrito that Eddie had bought him a day or so before. I got a coffee, and sat down. John had been over to Trader Joe's the other day, but he lost his five bucks, and so he had to put back the stuff that he was going to buy. This morning he took twenty out of the bank, and was going to head back over to Trader Joe's as soon as the next bus came by. We had the sun on the table for the better part of an hour, but soon enough the edge of the patio shaded over and it got just cool enough to make me want to move. While we sat the bus came and went, so I walked back home and got the car.

The parking lot at Trader Joe's is way too small; every spot was taken, and people were stalking the rows like hunters waiting for a shot at a space. We gave it up and drove to uptown Whittier instead. Didi was up there working at Mimo's cafe, taking orders at the counter, and serving plates out on the patio. Mimo's in Whittier is a hangout like Starbuck's in La Habra. Didi, and her husband were two of the gang I used to BS with back in the early nineties. She keeps her hair dyed purple, even though you could make the argument that she's a little too old to keep doing it. No matter. She has that extroverted personality that lets her pull it off. I introduced her to John, but she already knew John. He comes up there to check the library used book sales. For an 85 year old guy without a car, John gets around. We got a cup, sat there for a while, and headed back over to Trader Joe's.

When we got in the car, John asked why I didn't try to put my artwork on the Google Network, and try to make some money. I explained that I really wasn't making any more art work. What I have is it. There probably won't be any more. I just lost the inspiration to do it. He understood. John said he hasn't been over to his storage spaces in quite a while. He has a pipe organ disassembled in one, and he's been gathering records, and sheet music for such time when he can afford to buy some land out in the desert to set up his studio again. He sets aside a little each month from his SSI check. Once he has enough he's going to buy some land out there, and let someone put a business on half of it, so he can set up his place in the back, and the business will pay him enough... But he's been getting a little discouraged.

Creative energy is a gift from God, he said. Because God Creates, and we are made in God's image. He is The Creator, and we are little creators. But once you lose that energy you're lost. Lost.

We got a parking place at Trader Joe's this time. They give you free samples of coffee over at TJ's, but they give it in little three or four ounce cups. John figures if you're getting it free you might as well get your money's worth, so he brought along his own paper cup. The staff there knows John, and lets him get away with it. I noticed that they gave him a pretty hefty free sample of the salad of the day as well. He picked out a couple or three cans of beer- enough to last him until later in the week. I threw it in with my order. We got out of there, and drove back to the corner.

JWM

The Good the Bad and the Munchies

I got a call from the boss early this afternoon- one of those bad news/ good news kind of things. The good news was I have a half a day filling in at the junior high tomorrow, which is a nice way to end out the week. The bad news is the same kind of bad news that a whole boatload of folks seem to be getting these days. There won't be any work this summer. And for the best part there won't be any more night assignments for the foreseeable future. They won't be bringing in a night time sub until the third day of absence. Considering that the rooms get cleaned every other day, that means if I do get a night shift it's going to be walking in on a serious mess. On the sorta' bright side, I'll still get first call on whatever day shift work is available, and since there won't be night subs, they're going to stop letting the night guy grab the occasional day shifts and let their regular runs be subbed out. Small things to be grateful for are better than no things to be grateful for. Still, it means our already precarious financial situation got more precariouser than it used to was.

But after all, as it says on the sidebar, I'm a fully Bobtized member of Raccoon Order, subject to all the rights and privileges usually associated with a holy fool. So this kind of stuff won't get under my skin at all. Oh, no. Not one bit. Not one itsy bitsy, shitty as all get out, total piss off bit.

I'll just take it in stride, and hope there are no lower life forms in striking distance of my shoe.

And Booger the cat just decided to join me here, taking a seat on the chair at my right, and purring away, just to let me know that if all else fails, she's still there to offer her all important cat support. Good ol' kitty.

And I did an odd thing this morning. Back in '90 when I bought my Harley, my mother decided it would be a nice Christmas gift to turn me on to ten shares of stock in the Motor Company, a two hundred dollar investment at the time. I held on to the stock while it split, then split again, and split again for a third time. The two hundred dollar investment grew to darn near ten thousand bucks worth, and I cashed all but the original ten shares out in '04 to put a on new roof, and paint the house.

Well, as we all know, this is the dawning of the age of Obamanous, and Harley is tanking like everything else on Wall Street. I looked it up on the computer this morning, and it was down to eight bucks and change per share. Sad. That motorcycle was the greatest possession I will ever own. That stock investment paid off handsomely. HD was damn good to me. So, although I couldn't really afford it, I took a hundred bucks and invested it back in Harley Davidson inc. this morning. It wasn't much, but who knows? Good times will return sooner or later.

And I took a cruise over to the corner, grabbed a coffee, and ran into old John. He was waiting at the bus stop to go over to Trader Joes. God told someone to give him fifty bucks this morning, so we went over to TJ's to look for stuff. John found a few bottles of odd beer, and can or two of beans for cheap. I'm a sucker for their Pita Chip crackers, and I couldn't live without some cheese curds, or chocolate mochi balls.

So here I am. I got some decent munchies, and had an enjoyable afternoon. The waters muddied by the trials and tribulations of life in the world are beginning to still; the sediment is settling, and for this one moment I can see the light shining almost all the way to the bottom of my inner pond. Not so bad. Not so bad at all.

JWM

Going for Coffee. A Suburban Safari.

How hard is it to buy a simple coffee maker? It's not exactly a rare, or exotic appliance, like say, a triple filter Earth Friendly organic sub atomic energy saving Amazonian herb juice extractor with extra freebase module to isolate the proper entheogenic compounds needed for a quasi legal recreational buzz. All I wanted was a goddamn coffee maker. Without built in grinder. Without special .001 micron toxic waste extracting chemical filter. Without an infinitely adjustable brew-strength dial, and built in caffeine meter. I didn't even want an automatic timer that turns itself on for you, beeps when ready, and turns itself off after two hours. My one and only stipulation was that it come with the cone shaped filter, and not the flat bottom basket.
I had such a machine, a Krups that I bought last summer. But it had a funny kind of mildewy smell. I figured that the smell would go away after running some water through it. No. So I removed the filter with the special tool included for removing the filter. Still smelled. So I tried vinegar. Still smelled. So I chose to ignore it. But the smell became a taste, and this morning's coffee tasted like it had been brewed with flood water drained from a post Katrina New Orleans mausoleum. Even my voracious caffeine monkey howled in protest. So I went out to buy a new coffee maker.
Tuesday Morning, a kind of eclectic odds and ends store, had nothing. Besides, the last one I got there was a Frankenstein monster that was half coffee pot, half hot water tank. The basket stayed in place until you turned it on, and left the room. It then popped open and poured hot water and coffee grounds all over the counter, and onto the kitchen floor.
So I dumped it and bought the smelly Krups that I was now on a mission to replace.
Next stop, Wal Mart. You could get a cone filter coffee maker only if you wanted to spend a hundred plus dollars and get one which grinds the beans, starts on its own, and tells you with a computerized voice that the coffee is ready, but reminds you that too much caffeine can lead to irritability, and has been linked to violent behavior in laboratory rats, and farm animals. This is Southern California. The water here is so hard that you can brush your teeth with it sans toothpaste. A hundred dollar coffee maker is useless in six months, just like a twenty dollar coffee maker. Plenty of cheap flat basket ones though. But, I wanted- scratch that- needed the cone.
Bed Bath and Beyond. Same story. Target. Same story. I might as well have been looking for a hood ornament for a fifty two Packard. So I gave up, and settled for a flat basket machine from Hamilton Beach. Besides, it was on sale.
By this time the needle on my frustration tolerance was at "E", and the red light was beginning to flash. So I got in line behind a woman who wanted to pay for her groceries with a check from the bank of Mozambique, and a hand written note from her daughter's second grade teacher for identification. But I got out of there, got home, and set the coffee maker on the counter.
You had to lift a big lid to pour water into a thimble sized opening at the back to fill the tank. This might not have been a problem if the machine sat somewhere with six to eight feet of vertical clearance above the counter, or was placed conveniently in the middle of the floor. I have a weird kitchen with cupboards above the counter. If I positioned the machine so that four or five inches of it extended over the counter's edge I could flip the lid most all the way open.
I'm a competent guy. I can work most household appliances without even reading the instructions. But when I went to fill the tank I ended up with seven of the twelve cups of water in the coffee maker, and the rest of the water on the hot plate, on the kitchen counter, and on the floor.
I rest the blame for this solely- solely on the engineer who designed the piece of shit thing. So I took it back to Target. The gal at the exchange desk finished her telephone conversation well within the thirty minutes that good customer service usually requires, adjusted her lip ring, and asked if she could helf. No questions asked. I got my money back and bought a twenty dollar Mr. Coffee. I got it home, and my wife reminded me that the Mr. Coffee machines never seem to make very good coffee.
I'm going over to Starbucks.

JWM