Coffee heat rising

Annals of the Floored & Flabbergasted

Joys (and Amazements!) of Cultural Difference

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Ever notice how differently people from different cultures do things in daily life?

😀

The current amusement, here at the Funny Farm, has to do with toothpaste.

Wonder Cleaning Lady, that gift from Heaven to our house, is totally flummoxed by the Old Bat’s habits in dental cleaning. Ohhhh weirdness…

I like to brush my teeth not with minty icky commercial toothpaste but with baking soda. It’s slightly abrasive, it doesn’t taste disgustingly minty, and it really gets your teeth clean. Accordingly, I keep a pile of it in a little glass bowl on the bathroom counter.

Apparently this is a bit too alien for WCL.

She has taken to throwing out the baking soda in the bathroom counter bowls!

Admittedly, most Americans would find this dental cleaning habit pretty alien, too. So I can’t blame her. But…JEEZ! Lady, at least ask me if it’s OK to throw away the damn stuff!

😀

Today I had to retrieve the whole box of baking soda — entailed a bit of a search of it — and refill my bowl of DIY “toothpaste.” And next week, I’ll have to catch her long enough to explain that I use the stuff every day and wish she please wouldn’t throw it out.

She, in consequence, will be further convinced that I’m crazy. LOL! That won’t take much more convincing! But maybe she’ll knock off the toothpaste disposal habit. Tooth detergent, I guess you could call it…cause it ain’t pastey.

It’s interesting, though, how differently people do things. And that sometimes those aren’t individual differences but collective differences.

Ah, Bartleby. Ah, humanity!

Dog & Human & Heat & Humidity

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8:25 in the morning. Back-porch thermometer says 95 degrees in the shade. And WET. Wet as fukkin’ Saudi Arabia. Wunderground says a mere 11% humidity…but I wouldn’t believe that. It is plain downright SOGGY out there in back.

Wanna fix coffee and food, but don’t feel like ingesting anything: it’s just too hot!

Ruby and I hiked around the park, through the neighborhoods to the east and south of it. Did not envy the workmen who had arrived in their pick-ups, preparing to heave, haul, prize, and hammer at one house under repairs & upgrades. Ugh! Physical work in this heat? Spare us, Lord!

Got a dentist’s appointment this afternoon. Will have to hire an Uber to drive me over there, unless I can persuade my son to knock off the job for the purpose. He’s the one who stole my car…so I guess he’s the one who oughta drive me to appointments. I may just cancel, though: I’m not up for dental hassles today.

Guess I need to call Financial Dude, extract a few thousand dollars, and go buy a car. This time, too, purchase a padlock for the garage door! Can you believe my kid stealing my car? Uhh…“protecting me from myself”….?

Real protective, trekking around on foot through 110-degree heat, eh?

Speaking of summer marvels… What the HELL is Trump doing in DC? Who does he think he is? Adolf Hitler Redux? And WHAT the Hell has happened to American voters’ brains?

Frankly, I suspect what we’re seeing there is a result of the long-term dumbing-down of America’s schools. It’s taken a few decades…but our wanna-be dictators are, indeed, winning out.

Oh well. This post is supposed to be about a dog and a human and heat and humidity. Not at all clear that Mr. Trump is human. He’s certainly not smart enough to be a dog. “Hot,” he’s not, in my book. That makes him “humid,” eh? 😀

*****

A-N-N-D… Just get yourself sat down to munch a little breakfast and swill a little coffee and it’s

R-R-R-R-R-R-O-O-O-O-O-O-A-A-A-A-A-A-R-R-R-R!!!!!!!!!

Gerardo’s boys show up! And now they’re out back ripping and roaring and banging and crashing and hauling and dumping and….awwww geeeez!

F*ck. Now I’ll have to clean the pool. Just what I wanted to do on a 108-degree morning.

Okay, Okay…yes, I surely am glad I don’t have to mow and dig and weed-whack and trim and haul…on any morning, to say nothing of one where the thermometer reads 108 in the shade of the back porch before 9 o’clock. But how do they KNOW when all I want to do is sit down and unwind?

Really. I should sell this house and move into a North Central high-rise. Let the Kid sell the apartment when I die and figure out what to do with the dog.

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Forked over a hundred bucks for 20 minutes’ worth of yard work. But…he had five guys out there. One of ’em a newbie.

WHAT an obnoxious job. A hundred bucks is a freakin’ bargain, I’ll tellya! Especially on a 118-degree day…

So now we’ve got a new guy…nice-lookin’ fella, fresh out of Mexico. We’ll see long he hangs around.

Honestly, I don’t understand — not even faintly — how those guys hold up under the strain of physical labor in 100-degree heat. They must be strong as horses. Or crazy as loons…

Called the kid to tell him he’ll have to drive me to the dentist. He was less than thrilled. Maybe he thinks I’m going to hire an Uber to get over there?

Well. No. Just gonna let all my teeth fall out.

😀

Deliver me the chow!

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Okay, here we are in the 21st century, whither Yours Truly just arrived. 

As we scribble, it is hotter than the hubs of Hades here in lovely uptown Phoenix. I need to go to a grocery store: the only chow with which our shelves are well stocked just now is…yeah…dog food!

The human needs meat. It needs veggies. It needs fruit. It needs pasta. And it craves a glass of wine.

For some time, I’ve known that the local Sprouts will deliver. So, I gather, will Albertson’s. But I haven’t taken advantage of these alleged services, because…well…let’s be frank: Learning something new feels like more trouble than it’s worth these days.

My charming son has absconded with my car. Apparently he thinks that 80 is too old to be navigating the homicidal streets of Phoenix with much hope of survival. Ohhhhkayyyy…. Wanna know something? HE CAN HAVE THE THING! Because the real horror — which he seems to have overlooked — is that I don’t need that car to get around. 

Y’know… We have Uber. We have a wonderful shiny new lightrail that whizzes right up Main Drag West. We even still have old-fashioned boring busses. Dreary little hickish Phoenix has turned into a big city…and lo! These days we have big-city amenities.

Dudes and dudettes! We don’t need no steenking car!  :-D

Nevertheless, as we scribble, the outdoor thermometer reads 109 degrees in the shade of the (north-facing!) back porch. And y’know what I am NOT gonna do?

I am NOT gonna walk the two or three blocks to the Sprouts or the Albertson’s. NOT A FREAKIN’ CHANCE!  Nay verily: I’m gonna call Sprouts and order the meat and the veggies and the bottle of wine I crave.

Let’s see how they do! 😀

Americans are not good with fresh produce: they don’t know what good fruits and veggies look like. So…we shall see if Sprouts’ staff can overcome that cultural challenge. But if they can…I may never go into a grocery store again! 

😀  😀  😀  😀

Seriously: I do hate grocery shopping. If store staff can get their act together well enough to select decent produce, this ole’ lady will cheerfully hire them to do so.

The main problem will be scraping together enough cash to tip these folks — no, I do NOT carry cash with me. I put everything on charge or debit cards. And no, I do do NOT want to traipse across the city to the credit union to extract cash dollars from my bank account.

But there’s gotta be a way around that. We’ll figure out what it is. Maybe they’ll let me add a tip to the bill.

Heh!  Y’know, when we stayed in London, we didn’t own a vehicle. ‘Twasn’t necessary: busses and cabs would take you wherever you pleased in the city. If we wanted to take a weekend sight-seeing junket into the countryside, we’d rent a car.

Between  you’n’me, I don’t see why we couldn’t do the same here. What with Uber, why do you need to grace your garage with a hole in the ground into which to pour cash?? 

The Sprouts, the Fry’s, and the Albertson’s are no further from my house than were any of the stores in London — in fact, they may be closer. London had trains: we have trains. London had busses: we have busses. London had taxicabs: we have taxicabs. So…uhmmmm….

Yeah: at the risk of repeating oneself: why do you need to grace your garage with a hole in the ground into which to pour cash??

{Cackle!} Why do you need a damn garage at all????

Eeeps! Sell Car? Get Free? Whaaaaa!

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O…M…G…  Contemplating the idea of selling the car, as I was throwing myself around fixing dinner, suddenly gave me SUCH an emotional overload that, briefly, I thought I was gonna pass out.

Such is the power of cultural tradition, eh? 😀

Told M’hijito about this idea. To my amazement, he didn’t seem especially exercised about it.

But he’s kind of a calm guy, in a lot of ways. Maybe he figured this is not something to make a big deal about.

Hell, maybe he figured I wasn’t serious.

We’ll see about that…

Meanwhile, the kitchen has stopped spinning, for the nonce. Hope it stays put awhile longer!

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And…uhm…used Toyota Venzas are selling in the vicinity of 20 grand!  And UP!

Yow!!!!  Can you imagine? That would buy one helluva lot of Uber rides!!!

And Yet ANOTHER Wild-Eyed Radical Idea…

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Hmmmm…. If you read my past few posts, you’ll get the distinct impression that I’m in the middle of some kind of life-changing revelation. Changes to the left of me, changes to the right of me, wack-shit ideas pouring in from all directions. 

Well, it’s not quite that radical. But something has happened that presents the potential to make some major changes. And to save big, BIG bucks.

What happened?

My honored son pilfered my car out of my garage. Drove it off and locked it up in his garage. This apparently resulted from a) anger at me and b) some sincere concern that enough of my marbles have rolled out my ears that really…maybe I shouldn’t be driving.

Upshot: for the past two or three weeks, I’ve been doing without a car. In the 115-degree heat, we might add.

And y’know what’s happened?

Nothing. 

Got that?

Nothing. NOTHING, nary a disaster, nary even a noticeable inconvenience has happened. That’s what’s happened.

And…why hasn’t my world ended? Well…

It turns out that if you live in a sufficiently urbanized area, you very well may not need a car.

And why not????

BECAUSE… here in the city you have busses. You have taxicabs. You have trains. And you have reasonably safe streets leading to the nearest grocery and drugstores.

No kidding. Within easy walking distance, I have…

* A Sprouts
* A Walgreen’s
* An Albertson’s
* A Fry’s
* and an El Rancho

Got that? FOUR SUPERMARKETS(!!!!) and a drugstore within six blocks or less of the Funny Farm. Mostly less. Significantly less.

Furthermore, directly across the street from the Funny Farm, we have a guy who’s driving an Uber!

So if I don’t feel like walking a few hundred feet to the nearest store, I can hire the guy to haul me over there, and carry the groceries back here in his car!

My son probably thought he was inflicting some kind of disaster on me, in the moment that led up to this scheme.

But no.

What he was doing was creating a revelation. 

To wit: in a large city saturated with public transit AND with private taxi services, you don’t need a car!

Think o’ that.

And think  how much you spend on the damn car(s) in your garage and driveway, hm?

You could rent a LOT of Uber rides just for the insurance premiums on those tanks. Add in the car payments (if you’re still coughing them up), the gasoline, and the regular servicing and…hoooleeee mackerel!

Get rid of the rolling hole-in-the-ground-into-which-to-pour-money and you will save a TON of change!!!

You want a swell ride to go someplace special or take a vacation trip? Forgodsake, RENT one. There’s a car rental place less than three blocks from my house.

So. There’s the Question of the Day:

WHY HAVE WE BEEN SPENDING ALL THIS CASH ON A CAR PARKED IN OUR GARAGE OR DRIVEWAY?????

Why, indeed?

My car has been parked at M’hijito’s place for the past ten days or so. And y’know what?  I haven’t missed it!

So a New Plan is shaping up:

  • Have him sell the tank for me.
  • Bank the proceeds.
  • Convert the garage into an arts-and-craft workspace, and
  • Invite friends over to paint, draw, model clay, or whatever other artsy thing suits their fancy.

I might even rent the garage to an arts teacher to use as an artist’s studio.

From a hole in the ground into which to pour money
to
A money-making asset…
Mwa ha ha! 

Think o’ that!

Now that I’ve cleverly figured all this out (it only took…how many years??), I’m reminded that when DXH and I spent several months in London, we never bought or rented a car. We got around on foot or by public transit. Never did we feel especially inconvenienced.

Actually, that’s wrong: a couple of times we rented a car to go sight-seeing in the countryside. Never for longer than a day, though.

Why d’you suppose Americans feel we all must have cars?

Well: advertising and marketing, of course. But the truth is, going car-free may prove to be a hugely liberating experience. We shall soon see, eh?

Time to Exit, Stage Left?

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Hmmm…  The last couple days’ Incidents keep returning to haunt. In specific, those two social-workerish women who showed up at my door and sat around quizzing me and altogether too obviously assessing my (spotlessly clean!!!) surroundings…eeeeeee!

I’ll tellya: reflecting on those two really gives me the willies.

Who reported to them that I was being abused? Or…did anyone? Was that just a standard boilerplate answer to shut up the sucker and maybe get more out of her? Or at least to stay inside her house a few more minutes and to ask more nunna-your-business questions?

It was incredibly lucky that Luz the Wonder-Cleaning Lady had been there that day. No, I don’t live in squalor. But I do a lot of loafing and leaving the newspaper laying on the sofa and not making the bed first thing in the morning…. Thanks to Luz, the Funny Farm was tidy and sparkling clean.

They must’ve been impressed, eh? :-d

Seriously: in my experience, when women are depressed or overloaded, they tend to let the housework go to Hell. Consequently, yes: a woman who is at risk may be living in a pigpen. Same is true of a woman who is neglecting herself, over her head with work or with personal problems, maxed out with bratty kids. So having the house look meticulously clean helped to send a message: nothing to see here, ladies. 

Nevertheless, I do hafta say: that whole episode gives me the willies. 

Who would sic those broads on me?

Why?

How? What excuse would they pump up to let them invade my privacy like that?

Frankly, I’m thinking maybe…just maybe…it’s time to get outta here. Time to find some new sylvan place to live.

Where would I go?

Ohhhhhh….where wouldn’t I go? 😀

Seriously: one can think of a whole slew of cool alternatives to lovely 110-degree crime-ridden uptown Phoenix.

The little town in Colorado whence Dear Ex-Husband emanated, for example: Grand Junction. That is a cool li’l city. Because it was developed largely by well educated mining engineers, the ambient culture is pretty sophisticated. It gets snow in the winter — some, but not a lot — and is hot enough in the summer, but overall the climate is temperate. It’s way to Hell and Gone out in the middle of nowhere, yet within striking distance of Denver.

I certainly would consider that.

In California: my friends La Bethulia and La Maya have retired to a mobile home (!) on the coast near Monterey. TO DIE FOR. I’d go there in a minute, if my son weren’t here.

Alternatively, somehow I could force myself to live in Berkeley, where my mother’s family lived.

If I would feel safe living in Arizona (probably not, under the present circumstances), there’s Payson. Prescott. Yarnell. Suburbs of Tucson. Nogales. Fountain Hills. One could go on and on, actually: this state is a gold mine of cool places to settle.

Well. If 110 degrees in the shade is “cool.” 😀

I don’t know. It really was a creepy episode. And if I had any sense at all, I’d be looking seriously at gettin’ on the road.

But instead of sense, I have lazy. 

Nay, verily! I do not WANT to get off my duff and move. Who, me? Overcome inertia? Are you kidding???