Coffee heat rising

Idle essays

The View from the Steam Cooker

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Incredibly humid. Not all that hot at 5:40 a.m., objectively speaking, but so wet you’re dripping with sweat after you’ve walked the dog half a block.

That does nothing to put a leash on the morning Doggy Jamboree, though. Ruby wants to go to the park, which for the human entails a PITA of the first water: a mile of being yanked and pulled and jerked around, hauling the pooch away from dog fights and idiots simpering “ohhh don’t worry, they jes’ wanna plaaayyyy.”

And yes, I do know: Ruby behaves like that because she’s not adequately leash-trained. Those who’ve been around FaM for awhile will recall that I got her just as I was being wheeled away to have both boobs chopped off. Convalescing from that adventure a) took awhile and b) did not leave me much in the mood for wrestling with a dog. Consequently, she has grown up sweet, charming, cute, adorable, and utterly devoid of leash manners. And now that I’m old, I feel no more inclined to wrestle with leash-training than I did when I was enjoying invalidism.

Decide instead to roam north and west, staying in the low-rent section of the ‘Hood. And alas, “low-rent” is how it’s beginning to look: yard after yard smothered in weeds, some of the crops knee-high. The house owned (still owned?) by the jerk who used to try to pick fist-fights with the mentally challenged guy across the street apparently had an attic fire. Unclear whether anyone is living there, but nothing has been done to repair the holes in the charred roof and attic walls.

Huge thunderheads have built up in the northwest: they look like they’re over Yarnell or maybe over Wickenberg. That’s weird: usually those kinds of storms come in from the southeast, blowing in from the Gulf of Mexico.

Wunderground reports major flooding in Las Vegas, which is sorta vaguely in the Yarnellish direction…but it seems unlikely that we could see clouds over Vegas from this far away. Just now, sez Wunderground, it’s 94 here with a predicted high of 104; 38% chance of rain.

Our neighbor’s pipe-installing dudes are lumbering back and forth out there in their truck, apparently lost. Must be a new driver or crew…they were down the street the other day heaving around in the heat. Nothing like a little plumbing crisis under a 105-degree sun, eh?

Stagger home. Tumble into pond. Dog has a frenzy.

Ruby hates, hates, HATES it when the Human gets into the pool. She barks and screams and yells and charges back and forth outside the gate, totally frantic. Guess having fallen in the drink a couple of times herself, she thinks I need to be rescued. ASAP. So…if I’m in a hurry and don’t feel like cornering the dog and locking her up, that kinda puts the eefus on the morning dip.

***

And now the dog is fed, the human is fed, the dishes are washed, the garbage is hauled out, the random trash is picked up out of the alley, the email is read and answered, the sheets are dried and folded, another load of laundry is in the washer, the yard dude is summoned to clean up the weeds and trim the tree limb off the neighbor’s roof, and the human…is going back to bed.

Weather, Arizona-style

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Yes, Virginia: there IS a weatherman in Arizona.

Actually, quite a few of them. Arizona has three (at least) climate zones: low (hot hot hot!) desert, plateau (temperate in summer, cool enough for maybe some light snow in the winter), and mountain (pleasant in the summer and colder than a by-god in the winter, festooned by the occasional blizzard). Lovely Phoenix is, as you no doubt have guessed by now, in the accursed low desert, Death Valley-like in summertime.

And yea verily, it has been hotter than the Hubs here, reaching figures above 112 off and on. That’s for June and July.

Come August, come the so-called “monsoon,” a rainy season caused by a shift in prevailing winds that blows humid, hot air up from the Gulf of Mexico and gives birth to towering thunderheads and violent local rainstorms. Just now, for example, it’s 8 p.m. Outdoor temp is 98°; humidity a mere 15%. Rain not predicted, at least not for this evening, despite thunderheads all around the Valley’s perimeter.

I’ve been letting the AC keep it at around 78 inside the house. Apparently that’s a bit too balmy: just got a “balmy” bill from the power company: $345.71.

Lovely.

I’ll probably have to draw that down from Fidelity, since the checking account is already running low, what with the exorbitant gasoline bills. Pisseth me offeth. It’s 81 in the master bedroom. A breezy 79 in the middle (guest) bedroom, which is directly under the air conditioning unit and so gets air fresh out of the fridge.

If I had any sense, I’d decamp to the bed in there. But not only do I not have any sense, but the dog and I do not fit well on a single twin bed. So far I haven’t accidentally kicked her off in my sleep, but that’s an imminent hazard.

Turn the ceiling fan to “shamal,” and you get a  nice little breeze in here…or, some might say, a cyclone. Not very restful, though it does create the illusion of a slightly cooler temperature.

Hm. Speaking of shamals, in Dhahran, just up the road from where we used to live on the /s/ lovely Persian Gulf, it’s 6 a.m. just now: 94 degrees out of doors; 33% humidity.  Ah, what a garden spot! Makes Arizona look like a temperate paradise.

Which it is, most of the time. Dhahran is not, most of the time.

Never a Freakin’ Dull Moment…

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DepositPhoto; Rainy Weather © dnaumoidSo….how is it possible for the day to be soooo busy before 7:30 in the morning? 

Incredibly, the Dog’s human managed to sleep all the way through till nigh unto 5 a.m. which of late represents some kind of record.

It’s been raining all night; thunderstorms and more rain predicted. Still…at 5:00 it’s relatively cool, which is an unfamiliar mercy. “Relatively,” though, is a relative term… 😀

Human slams around getting dressed. Dog barks: someone’s in back. Grab a steak knife, peer out the back door, and…by damn! There’s New Pool Dude out there,

Holy mackerel.

Well, you can’t blame him for wanting to get through the day’s pool jobs before the sun comes up, that’s for sure!

Bridle up the Dog: out the door. 

Even though it’s relatively(!)(?) cool, the air is SOOO muggy and warm it’s a swamp out there.

The cops are buzzing Gangbanger Central to the north of us…never a good sign. Is it safe to forge ahead? Hm. Consider the options:

  • Delaying the doggy-walk means canceling the doggy-walk, because it will soon be too hot to stroll around outdoors.
  • Proceeding with the doggy-walk means taking one’s chances with the Drama of the Day.
  • Heading south from the Shack means skirting the park, which at this hour will be overrun by idiots with their dogs off the leash, risking a dog fight.
  • On the other hand, any bums who chose to sleep out in the rain last night will be getting out of bed (as it were) and stumbling around. If this has meaning, I dunno what it is. Other than that I need a German shepherd, not a 23-pound corgi.

Oh WTF: into Upper Richistan it is!

The cop copter is north of Gangbanger’s Way, which suggests the scene of the drama is either north of the canal (meaning they’re after perps) or right along the canal (meaning they may be trying to locate a candidate for drowning or they may be chasing a perp who’s lurking in or near the canal). In that case, it’s relatively safe on the surface streets here in the ’Hood. Maybe.

Dogwalk is mercifully uneventful. Most of the Five Ayem Horde are absent, presumably staying in because of the wet weather. Good. We cover a couple miles and return to the Funny Farm without getting rained upon, kidnapped by a fleeing desperado, or questioned by suspicious cops.

WonderAccountant, who kindly hired on to do the bookkeeping that I’m getting too senile to manage accurately, is supposed to come over today to tackle this month’s chore. Despite sleeping most of the night, I’m bushed (at 8:30 in the morning) and wish to go back to bed.

Ah: on the calendar: W.A. “early afternoon”…thank the heavens!

Yesterday it was off to a new Dental Type, blowing away the afternoon. Orthodontist…alas, not a candidate for New Dentist. She says the titanium stake in the upper jaw is NOT infected. Therefore the eye thing does not signal a more serious issue. Probably the injury that instigated the eye cyst was the slicing up of the nose to remove the suspected melanoma.

That’s something, anyway.

She recommended an actual dentist, not too far away. I may call that one and make an appointment to get acquainted. However, I’ve already established an acquaintance with the WonderAccountants’ dentist, who as far as I can tell is excellent.

The Baltimore dude who came out West and bought our beloved long-time dentist’s practice does not make the cut. Not by a long shot. Interestingly, when you look him up online locally, it appears that he’s opening a bunch of offices on the west side, apparently with the intention of recruiting low-income patients on welfare.

Is there a REASON why there’s never a dull moment around this place???????

Another Fine Day in Crime Central..

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The thermometer in the shade of the back porch actually DOES read 110 degrees. And clouds are building up all around us.

Truth to tell, 110 would be tolerable if it were really “a dry heat.” But with monsoon storms rearing up 360 degrees around the horizon, “dry heat” it ain’t.

***

Heh! Probably the sobriquet “Crime Central” overstates conditions here in the ‘Hood. But it appears I’m not the only resident in the habit of looking at things that way.

When I bop on down to the ultra-local Sprouts, on the northeast corner of Conduit of Blight and Main Drag South, I spot a Police Situation in progress: four cop cars out in front of the Walgreen’s on the corner, lights flashing frantically. It’s a couple hundred yards across the shopping center’s parking lot, though, and…and…well…i want that damn ice cream!

So, screw it: I park the car and dart into the Sprouts. Grab the ice cream and shoot back out through the checkout line. Staff there had not yet heard news of the present drama. Which, once I get situated in the Dog Chariot, I see is still fully under way. Half a dozen officers are swarming. None of the cop cars’ lights have been shut off.

Circle back north over the parking lot — in the opposite direction from the Scene of the Whatever-it-is. Slide south on Blight (the only way you can go because of the effing light-rail tracks, which are fortified with concrete borders), slither past the Walgreen’s Theater, hang a U-ie to bolt up toward the ‘Hood. Proceed north, surprisingly enough, without interference.

Now fully infected with curiosity, minutes after walking in the door, I get on the Web in search of a report as to what is going on.

  • No clue on the police dispatch site.
  • No clue on the local gnus sites.

Post a query on the neighborhood Facebook page, which is haunted by locals with powerful radars.

Got a clue what was going on at the 19th & Northern Walgreen’s this afternoon, along about 3;30 or so? At least 4 police cars were standing near the door, lights flashing.

Forthwith, get an answer:

Probably just because it’s a day that ends in “y”… in that area it’s such a common event. I’m frustrated that we have to think about a “safe” way to enter/exit our neighborhood anymore… which usually means East or south, but rarely north, and almost never west.

Heh! Well…yep!

Never a Dull Moment…

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ls there a question why I feel exhausted all the time?

No. The truth is, it’s not feel exhausted…it’s that I objectively am exhausted all the time! Because I do not live in reality. I live in the Land of the Loony Tunes!

First thing this morning, I’m flying around trying to get dressed to drive out to Scottsdale to get my hair done by the Great Hair Stylist of the Western World, Shane. Gotta be there by 9:30. which means I have to leave here by 8:30; 8:45 at the very latest. Meanwhile we have the usual dog feeding and house maintenance chores to get through first, in addition to showering ad washing hair and finding some clothes that aren’t too embarrassing to wear in public.

A-n-n-n-d as I’m charging around: BING BONG! Front doorbell.

Helle’s Belles, now what?

Look out the front window and there’s Ex-Pool Dude, the guy I canned because he made such a f**kin mess of the pool. ohhhh noooo….

He has gone out and bought a brand-new Hayward pool cleaner!

God help us. The things cost four hundred bucks! He can’t afford four bucks for lunch, dammit.

This, I realize, is how desperate the poor guy is to get back on my payroll.

I tell him I’ve already bought one and it’s already installed in the pool. And after making nice to him for  a few minutes, I send him on his way.

{sigh} Talk about your guilt trips!

Fortunately, I’m batting around too frantically to think very hard about this.

Fly around bat around fly around bat around fly out the door, streaking toward Scottsdale’s tony Fifth Avenue district, wherein Shane resides.

We’re trying to get my hair to grow back to its former glory. You’ll recall that I had to have it all hacked off short after I broke my shoulder, because I could no longer comb it. If it ever does grow back, it’ll take years and years. What we had this morning was a couple inches of shag.

He did his usual handsome job of spiffing it up. But at this rate I’ll never have long hair again. Right now it’s about an inch long in back, maybe three inches on top.

Weather: 110 and overcast today. Not the kind of stuff one enjoys driving through, from pillar to post — no matter how great your car’s AC may be. And mine is just fine.

After the junket to Scottsdale, I drove back through the Arcadia district, sight-seeing and considering real estate opportunities — many more than used to now exist for us po’ folk in those parts, in the form of shiny new apartment buildings.

Apartment living is not much to my taste — been there, done that, don’t wanna do it again — but as a practical matter, it may be one of the only choices for Olde Age.

********

Didn’t get this posted y’day…one distraction after another. In eight minutes, I have to leave for the Mayo, therein to harass MayoDoc about the eye thing that my 80-year-old (and then some) ophthalmologist wants to take a scalpel to. Sorry, Doc: second opinion time!

Soooo…let’s send this off, and then while I’m waiting endlessly in the Mayo’s waiting room, we can get started on another post…

The Doggie (and Fire Siren) Jamboree

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Augh! This morning’s doggie parade was more crowded than usual. And forgodsake, it’s Tuesday,. Wouldn’tcha think, SOME of these dog-lovers would have to get ready for work?

We leave at 5 a.m., in hopes of missing the worst of the Doggie Jamboree. Didn’t work today: apparently everybody else has the same idea. Often we pass about 10 dogs — each of whom Ruby wishes to despatch to its maker. So I try to get out of the house the minute we roll out of the sack. Didn’t work this morning. We must have had to do avoidance maneuvers around at least 15 pooches…maybe more.

When they say the corgi is in effect a short German shepherd, they’re not kidding. Ruby brooks no shenanigans from other dogs, which if given her choice she would clear from the earth. This was the way the great Anna the GerShep behaved: she wished for nothing more than a dog-free planet.

The human species, however, is a hopelessly stupid animal and is unable to grasp the idea that other people’s dogs don’t necessarily “just wanna playyyy” with their li’l furbaby.

Why, one wonders, would you assume that a human who lives with a given dog doesn’t know how to read her dog’s body language? That she’s never had any other encounter with any other nudnik’s “furbabies”?

After two miles of dodging and wrestling, we arrive back at the Funny Farm. Feed the birds. Toss together a breakfast. Brew the coffee. Dodder out to the side deck and lay out breakfast. But before the human can sit down, it’s

WEEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW  WEEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW  –EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW  EEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW  WEEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW  WEEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW  WEEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW

unendingly WEEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW  WEEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW  WEEEEEEE–EEEWWWW WEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEWWW

WTF is going on now? Sounds like every fire engine, fire truck, fire chief’s car, ambulance, and cop car is converging on us. And it goes on and on and ON! The dispatcher’s website shows SIXTEEN units dispatched, another on the way, and a commander at the scene. And now we have a Play-Nooz helicopter hovering over the house. Goodie.

Apparently it’s a “car yard” fire — which would be another way of saying “junkyard fire.” The area north of Gangbanger’s Way is chuckablock full of junk yards and cemeteries for defunct vehicles, refrigerators, stoves, freezers, washers, dryers, toilets, damaged construction material, busted cabinetry, kaput drywall, and whatnot. Hmmm…here we are: Doesn’t this look like a fun way to start your day!

Eleventh Avenue is four blocks east and ten blocks west of the two major thoroughfares that carry commuter traffic from north Phoenix, Sunnyslop, and North Central into downtown Phoenix  from the east and west and that intersect with two freeways bearing traffic into town from the northerly whitey suburbs. It’s 7:20 in the morning…

Heh. You don’t even want to know what a mess the traffic must be out there.

Thank the Gods for not having to commute anymore.

Pool Dude lives in Sunnyslop. This would be about the time he leaves for his first job of the day. Dollars to donuts he’s dead trapped in unmoveable traffic, as we scribble. Lucky him!