So, no one blogs anymore? It's been a rainy Wednesday at Pam's blog for a week plus now. Come on! I need to know what Cowboy did today. Did he sleep? or run around? what? Need the details!
For my own blog of childhood memories, it takes me a while to fully conjure up the past and get the images in my mind. Like the story now -- I am going to walk to the store and meet Mr. Touch and Tom. I will describe them then finish up the store story (what should I buy - Lick em stick, Chick-n-stick, that big block of chocolate?- oh Chunky) then I was thinking of having a BBQ that night and kind of retelling my BBQ story (jasmine, albums, etc) then that night something happens! Something sinister that I am not sure happened. It might have been a dream but I think it was real. Oh well, you will see.
But Casa Fernandes will wait until Friday or so.
Today, I went to a restaurant for lunch and had to wash my hands. As I walked into the bathroom, I didn't see the familiar sign of a mens' room - the urinal so, I panicked and walked out thinking I had walked into the womens' room. It got me thinking of embarassing moments in life. They are probably bigger to you than to anyone else but the memory is usually strong. So what's yours?
In looking at the web, most moments involve farting in public, losing your shorts somewhere, things in your teeth, etc. One was for having huge sweat stains and trying to hide them.
My personal embarassing moment happened when Aunt Lydia and Uncle Don took me to Los Angeles to see a hockey game. The motel had a pool and on three sides was a restaurant with huge glass windows looking out over the pool. I had on white gym shorts as swimming trunks that became invisible when wet. So I had to leave the pool and get to my towel basically naked.
Awkward!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Casa Fernandes Update
Ok - what happened to my last post? I had lots of pithy, funny comments in there and they got lost in the ether of the internet. I hate it when that happens. Well, I had to go to Murrieta for work and decided to drive. The first pic was going over the Grapevine. The snow had just started and it looked kinda nice. I took a pic while driving dangerously close to those big rigs. What was I thinking?
The other pic was Holden being silly and a picture of my rug which is really wood slats like a hardwood floor. I am on the only one who sees the irony in covering a carpeted floor with a rug that looks like a hardwood floor?
Anyway, I think I have a plot for this rambling Casa Fernandes tale. So here is the next mini-chapter. We have met James, the beautiful dreamer, and here is the intro to the next two characters we will meet - Mr. Touch and a guy named Tom. I couldn't remember his name so I went with Tom.
Trips to the Store
For whatever reason, my family required at least three trips per day to the local store – Food Town. Food Town was most easily accessed through the shortcut, through the church, past Casa Fernandes and around the corner to the store. Only one street had to be crossed and the total trip on foot was less than 10 minutes.
Food Town itself was a typical small market – some canned food aisles, a produce section, a butcher in the back and a refrigerator section in the far back aisle. The all important candy aisle was closest to the registers. The registers were those key-punch style registers. The numbers 1-9 ran in columns for the dollars and cents. I remember watching with fascination as the cashier could push several buttons at once without looking to ring up an order.
Maybe my grandma needed flour for her tortillas or a pack of Salems, maybe it was my great-grandmother’s need for a carton of milk and a pack of Marlboros, maybe my mom needed a loaf of bread or a pack of Tareytons. Now that I think about, we were just enablers of their respective smoking addictions. Don’t even get me started on why 8 year olds were allowed to buy cigarettes in the first place. Although we did have a note:
“Dear Food Town – please sell a pack of cigarettes to my son. He will not smoke them – honestly. Signed, his Mom."
Even more strange was that neither my brother nor I (the primary couriers) smoked – then or now. Maybe being the drug mules for so long turned us off to the habit.
I used to toss the cigarettes in the air and catch them as I made my way home. On one trip, I threw the box too high and it went over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Our neighbor was insane and bought a ram to eat the grass instead of just mowing once a month like a normal person. The ram was a heartless creature who acted well, like a ram and tried to head butt you if you went into his territory. I had to hop the fence, retrieve the cigarettes and hop back over before the ram could attack me. Luckily I made it and the cigarettes were delivered safely.
The reward for a fast trip to the store was a portion of the change. Granma was the best tipper usually giving all of the leftover change. I never felt right accepting money from my Great-grandma. She spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish so even getting her order right was a small miracle. It usually involved lots of pantomime and pointing at empty containers. My mom usually allowed us to keep part of the change.
And with the newly earned cash, a trip to the store was in order to spend the tip. It was on one of those follow-up trips that I met two more residents of Casa Fernandes and gained a little insight into what really went on there.
The other pic was Holden being silly and a picture of my rug which is really wood slats like a hardwood floor. I am on the only one who sees the irony in covering a carpeted floor with a rug that looks like a hardwood floor?
Anyway, I think I have a plot for this rambling Casa Fernandes tale. So here is the next mini-chapter. We have met James, the beautiful dreamer, and here is the intro to the next two characters we will meet - Mr. Touch and a guy named Tom. I couldn't remember his name so I went with Tom.
Trips to the Store
For whatever reason, my family required at least three trips per day to the local store – Food Town. Food Town was most easily accessed through the shortcut, through the church, past Casa Fernandes and around the corner to the store. Only one street had to be crossed and the total trip on foot was less than 10 minutes.
Food Town itself was a typical small market – some canned food aisles, a produce section, a butcher in the back and a refrigerator section in the far back aisle. The all important candy aisle was closest to the registers. The registers were those key-punch style registers. The numbers 1-9 ran in columns for the dollars and cents. I remember watching with fascination as the cashier could push several buttons at once without looking to ring up an order.
Maybe my grandma needed flour for her tortillas or a pack of Salems, maybe it was my great-grandmother’s need for a carton of milk and a pack of Marlboros, maybe my mom needed a loaf of bread or a pack of Tareytons. Now that I think about, we were just enablers of their respective smoking addictions. Don’t even get me started on why 8 year olds were allowed to buy cigarettes in the first place. Although we did have a note:
“Dear Food Town – please sell a pack of cigarettes to my son. He will not smoke them – honestly. Signed, his Mom."
Even more strange was that neither my brother nor I (the primary couriers) smoked – then or now. Maybe being the drug mules for so long turned us off to the habit.
I used to toss the cigarettes in the air and catch them as I made my way home. On one trip, I threw the box too high and it went over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Our neighbor was insane and bought a ram to eat the grass instead of just mowing once a month like a normal person. The ram was a heartless creature who acted well, like a ram and tried to head butt you if you went into his territory. I had to hop the fence, retrieve the cigarettes and hop back over before the ram could attack me. Luckily I made it and the cigarettes were delivered safely.
The reward for a fast trip to the store was a portion of the change. Granma was the best tipper usually giving all of the leftover change. I never felt right accepting money from my Great-grandma. She spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish so even getting her order right was a small miracle. It usually involved lots of pantomime and pointing at empty containers. My mom usually allowed us to keep part of the change.
And with the newly earned cash, a trip to the store was in order to spend the tip. It was on one of those follow-up trips that I met two more residents of Casa Fernandes and gained a little insight into what really went on there.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Top Album of All Time
I am currently listening to Ten by Pearl Jam and I was thinking that song for song this has to be one of the best albums ever.
So what's your favorite album (no Greatest Hits allowed)? You know, where each song is as good as the next and you don't have to skip the filler songs to get to the hits. Listening to an entire album is very rare is the randomizing iTunes world.
I got curious and googled it. According to Rolling Stone - #1 is Sgt. Peppers which is hard to disagree. Great songs. I would rank it #1 also. In fact the Beatles have 10 of their 12 albums listed and 4 of the Top Ten are Beatles.
U2 had 5 of their 10 albums listed.
The Police had 4 of their 5 listed.
Nirvana had 2 of their 3 listed.
Velvet Underground had all 4 of their studio albums listed which is pretty amazing.
That got me thinking of the actor John Cazale. Remember him? Well he died very young at age 42 of bone cancer. In his short but amazing career, he made 5 films. All 5 films were nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards. Dog Day Afternoon, The Conversation, Deer Hunter and of course, Godfather and Godfather II. Yes, Fredo from the Godfather who couldn't do anything right was portrayed by an actor who could do no wrong. Here's to you Fredo!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Move-In
Finally completed the move-in to my new apartment. The bed is being delivered tomorrow and everything will finally be done. Whew! My back is aching from moving this and that and two bowling balls I didn't know I had and stuff. It's funny how when you move you take stuff out of one closet and move it into the new closet.
The gym is still there and I am still going. While I have not made peace with the treadmill, I have befriended the eliptical machine -which raises a strange math question that I thought about while working out.
Every three minutes I slightly change the workout. For the first three minutes, I do not use my hands, the next three I use the arm thingies on the machine and for the last three I hold on to the pulse reader thing and then repeat for a total of 30 minutes.
So I was thinking that I spent 30 minutes working out and did three activities over and over, so 10 minutes for each step. Since I do the steps in 3 minute increments, how can I total 10 minutes? I mean 10 does not go into 3 equally. It seems like there is a left over minute somewhere.
I think I figured out but let's see if you can. I'll tell you my answer next post.
Another stupid math thing that used to puzzle me is when I was pumping gas. Let's say I was pumping $10.00 worth of gas. At $1.00 per gallon, I would get 10 gallons. At $2.00 per gallon, I would get 5 gallons. Now, let's say gas was $1.50 per gallon - halfway between $1.00 and $2.00.
Logic says that I would receive the halfway point between 10 gallons and 5 gallons - 7.5 gallons right?
Well do the math - 10/1.5 = 6.67 gallons. I don't know - it just doesn't make sense to me.
Is anyone still there? Did you see math and your eyes glazed over and skipped to this section. Well, go back and read the math part. It's interesting! Ok on with the show. Here is my next little installment of the "Casa Fernandes Chronicles" or my working title "Beautiful Dreamer"
Outside
Access to the parking lot was made via “the shortcut”- two boards were missing in our fence. Due to some geographical anomaly which to this day I am unable to explain, the parking lot ground level was a full three feet higher than our backyard.
It was as if God himself lifted the church and its accompanying parking lot three feet higher than the surrounding ground. Either that or the Hayward fault that we heard so much about ran right through our backyard. So to access the parking lot, one had to fit through the opening of the fence and enter a piece of ground that was a no man’s land known as “the ditch”. Nothing but weeds and spiders lived in “the ditch.” The ditch separated our low land back yard from the raised level of the church parking lot. I once saw a spider with legs so long and a web so thick that I feared using the shortcut for weeks. Surely the spider would ensnare me in its thick web and eat me alive!
Once through the shortcut, the church parking lot was ours for the taking. Most lazy summer days were spent playing basketball on the parking lot. Well, our version of basketball anyway. More often than not, we didn’t have a “basketball.” We used any ball that fit in the basket – volleyball, soccer ball, four-square ball, even the occasional tennis ball was used in a pinch.
The backboard was attached to a light post that seemingly stretched several hundred feet in the sky. At the base of the light pole was a concrete base of about two feet square with a small pole at each corner to prevent cars from ramming into the tall but light light pole.
When we didn’t have a basket ball, we used to stand on each small pole and carefully hop to the next one, hugging the light pole for balance. We did this for seemingly hours on end – from corner pole to corner pole. A delicate balancing act performed daily -two feet above the ground. Since church was not in session, not too many people interrupted our adventure round and round the light pole.
One day that all changed when we were visited by an odd older man with a smile and laugh that gave him a kid-like quality and innocence. Imagine a Winston Churchill-like man with a hearty laugh and less teeth (three to be exact). That man as we came to learn was named James and he lived across the street at a curious place called Casa Fernandes. In between jolly laughs, he sang one tune over and over “Beautiful Dreamer.” We would come to learn that summer that James was indeed a beautiful dreamer.
Access to the parking lot was made via “the shortcut”- two boards were missing in our fence. Due to some geographical anomaly which to this day I am unable to explain, the parking lot ground level was a full three feet higher than our backyard.
It was as if God himself lifted the church and its accompanying parking lot three feet higher than the surrounding ground. Either that or the Hayward fault that we heard so much about ran right through our backyard. So to access the parking lot, one had to fit through the opening of the fence and enter a piece of ground that was a no man’s land known as “the ditch”. Nothing but weeds and spiders lived in “the ditch.” The ditch separated our low land back yard from the raised level of the church parking lot. I once saw a spider with legs so long and a web so thick that I feared using the shortcut for weeks. Surely the spider would ensnare me in its thick web and eat me alive!
Once through the shortcut, the church parking lot was ours for the taking. Most lazy summer days were spent playing basketball on the parking lot. Well, our version of basketball anyway. More often than not, we didn’t have a “basketball.” We used any ball that fit in the basket – volleyball, soccer ball, four-square ball, even the occasional tennis ball was used in a pinch.
The backboard was attached to a light post that seemingly stretched several hundred feet in the sky. At the base of the light pole was a concrete base of about two feet square with a small pole at each corner to prevent cars from ramming into the tall but light light pole.
When we didn’t have a basket ball, we used to stand on each small pole and carefully hop to the next one, hugging the light pole for balance. We did this for seemingly hours on end – from corner pole to corner pole. A delicate balancing act performed daily -two feet above the ground. Since church was not in session, not too many people interrupted our adventure round and round the light pole.
One day that all changed when we were visited by an odd older man with a smile and laugh that gave him a kid-like quality and innocence. Imagine a Winston Churchill-like man with a hearty laugh and less teeth (three to be exact). That man as we came to learn was named James and he lived across the street at a curious place called Casa Fernandes. In between jolly laughs, he sang one tune over and over “Beautiful Dreamer.” We would come to learn that summer that James was indeed a beautiful dreamer.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Origin of Love
I was reading the paper (does anyone else still read "the paper"? The paper contains facts. This paper contains facts - "Pregnant man gives birth" That's a fact) I digress.
I was reading the paper and came across this ad:
I was reading the paper and came across this ad:
"The" John Cameron Mitchell is reprising his role as Hedwig! The original Hedwig!
I went on line right away and bought tickets. So I am going!
I want to see this business, we call show.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Ch-ch-changes
Thank you David Bowie. Things are a-changing. Jen is having a boy, Pam is hitched. Congrats to both of you - really the four of you - ok the five of you including the little fetus.
Changes for me? You betcha. Not as dramatic or life altering but some changes are coming my way. I think that life goes in cycles and for me it has been 5 year cycles. I changed jobs every 5 years for the past 15 years but no job change this year.
First, my car kinda died. Not really died but failed the smog which is a death sentence for cars. It was going to be $1500 to bring it up to snuff and I didn't want to pay on an old car. A car I loved and enjoyed but alas, it was time to put it down. So I switched to a Mazda. It's a cute little sport-ute. A 2007 CX7 - a lease return but really cute. Here is a pic of one - mine is black
It's cute. I am also moving to somewhere else. A secret location - can't share the details but I am moving hopefully to a place with less window smashing goodness. It is actually back to the same place I used to live in San Leandro - on 143rd Avenue. So that's a change. I'll probably move next week or so.
So new car and a new place to live. Same job and everything else. Same battle getting to the gym on a regular basis. Still loathing the treadmill - I curse your rusty innards!
I went to the gym on the Monday after New years and it was packed to the rafters with people. There was an hour wait to get to a treadmill. It reminded me of the first day of Chabot. Tons of people with new clothes working around kind of disoriented and two weeks later they are gone. Gyms must love New Years and peoples' resolutions. The crowds have already dropped off a bit. Ah well, maybe next year.
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