Coffee heat rising

Life in the Desert

A…a…n…d furthermore….

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Here’s what was going on yesterday evening, while Ruby the Corgi and I were doggy-walking and dodging bullets.

{sigh}

Y’know, this stuff is gettin’ old. I’m beginning to think SDXB was right; time to move to Sun City, where you can enjoy the Silence of the Mausoleum, day in and night out.

Having lived in Sun City when my parents moved there, dragging me with them and dumping me at the University of Arizona, I really, really do not want to live there again. So, when SDXB announced he was headed west, I refused to go with him. But sweartagod, I’m beginning to think that may have been a mistake.

At the time SDXB moved out there, it was fairly calm here in North Phoenix, for a big-city neighborhood. But…that’s not so true anymore. It feels like every time you turn around, along comes some new shenanigan. You can’t take the dog for a walk around the block without carrying a pistol with you.

But…my problem with Sun City is that I don’t wanna live in a mausoleum. And that’s what the place feels like. The silence of the tomb reigns. Plus you have that generation’s 1950s-style hatred of minority: the place is Whiteyville with a vengeance.

One of my friends moved out there from the East Valley, delighted at the prospect of living in a place designed for retirees. Problem is, it’s a place designed for white retirees…and he ain’t one of those. The locals ganged up on the poor guy and hounded him until he moved out!

Guess I should have warned him. But as a practical matter, it’s been over 60 years since my parents moved to Sun City. And frankly, I assumed the locals would have come into the 21st century by now. Wrong!

That notwithstanding, I find it a dreary and depressing venue. Weirdly enough, I like the sound of children playing. And even of an occasional teenager blasting the car radio as they cruise up the street. That, plus it’s a 40-minute drive into central Phoenix, where my son lives. I’d never see the guy again!

Well. You don’t have to move to a ghetto for old folks to escape the constant whiz of flying bullets. Other areas of the city are reasonably quiet and safe.

Problem is, they’re a lot more expensive than this part of town. Plus they’re further from M’hijito’s house.

I kinda doubt that I could get enough for this house to buy another house in points east. Might be able to get into a fairly tony North Central high-rise apartment…but then what am I gonna do with Ruby?

Plus…truth to tell, I love this house. It’s a couple of bedrooms too large, but otherwise it’s perfect for me.

  • It’s in a moderately safe neighborhood.
  • It’s close to my preferred shopping venues.
  • It’s easy to keep clean.
  • It has a nice pool…one that, for an exorbitant price, responds with Pool Joy to the ministrations of a hired pool dude.
  • It has gorgeous mature trees. And desert landscaping.
  • It has adequately nice neighbors.

Why on earth would I want to move?

Lovely Uptown Phoenix

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rrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrr HONK HONK HONK RRRRRRRRRRR beep beep beep thwack thwack thwack thwhack…. Ahhh, the lovely melody of the ‘Hood! Major wrecky-poo to the west of us on Conduit of Blight, just as Ruby and I stepped out the front door for a doggy-walk.

So we head out in the opposite direction. An hour later, the cop copters are flying away and apparently most of the mayhem is cleaned up.

Hm. This might not have been a wreck. It may have been yet another moment of mayhem: apparently a shooting incident took place over there. Hmmmm… No, don’t think it’s the same episode. The shooting thing took place on or near the freeway itself. This afternoon’s moment of fun looked like it happened on a surface street. Probably.

Then we have this little bit of fun: Apparently the water in our parts is contaminated with lead from the pipes that the city has no intention of replacing. Guess Ruby and I should be drinking bottled water. $$$$

And this one from yesterday…

Starts to make Sun City look good, eh?

Never a Dull Moment in Crime Central…

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So Ruby the Incredibly Fierce Corgi and I go for a walk along about dark. We circumnavigate the lower reaches of Upper Richistan and then roam back to the Funny Farm. As we reach our street, I notice a cop copter circling around over the nearest intersection with Conduit of Blight Blvd, about three lots in from were we used to live.

Charming. We trot along briskly and get back to the FF before anything happens. Into s. the house. Lock the doors. Go on about our dog & human business.

Dinner consumed, we climb onto the sack and prepare to loaf before turning out the lights. And that’s when I learn, from the local Play-Nooz accessible on the laptop computer, that the ruckus down there was no mere fender-bender. The cops were trying to chase down a dangerous, armed fugitive.

Charming.

Luckily, he missed us. Otherwise instead of playing with this computer, I’d be (again!) in the middle of a hostage situation.

We should be used to this stuff by now, eh?

And I guess I am. My li’l heart is not even going pitty-pat. What? Another gun-slinging perp? BFD!

One reason I moved into this house is that my previous home was just about four or five lots down the street from Conduit of Blight Blvd. In addition to carrying all sorts of drama to our doorsteps, that thing was (still is) very noisy. So much so, you couldn’t leave a window open, security screen or no security screen. The present Funny Farm is far enough away from CofB that we don’t hear much traffic noise or a lot of weee-uu weee-uu  weee-uu  from cop cars, ambulances, and fire engines.

But…the crime rate, one has to admit, seems to be increasing. A few months ago, the kids arriving at the grade school across the street had to step around a dead body laying on the sidewalk to get onto the campus.

Now, if I had a kid, we would be sooooo gone after a performance like that…

But I don’t have a kid. I have a dog and a pistol. So we’re still here.

So far…

How Do We Love Hallowe’en?

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Let us count the ways….

Seriously: I get SUCH a kick out of the annual Hallowe’en shindig! And I believe most of the neighbors do, too.

The WonderAccountants and I have made an Annual Custom of sitting out on their driveway and handing out candy. It is SUCH a hoot! The kiddies are as cute as can be, and the teenagers are as goofy as they can be.

😀

We have a low-income neighborhood to the north of us. The kiddies in those parts know that Riches are to be had in our parts. So they descend upon us in all their adorable masses.

Most of them are dressed up in goofy costumes, which are more fun than life to see. But even those who don’t gussy themselves up are having a great time, and THEIR fun is contagious to us driveway-sitters.

Meanwhile, the locals buy or make elaborate outfits for their kids, and those are a great deal of fun to eyeball, too.

In short, it’s our chance to enjoy the kids, which we all do with great delight.

Happy Hallowe’en!!!
NOW AND EVERMORE

A Balmy Afternoon in Lovely Phoenix

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Speaking of garden spots where you duck for cover as the local F16’s blast by you (as we were this morning), jet planes have been roaring over the back yard half the afternoon.

Bored with that racket, I got in the car and went for a real-estate-ogling drive. Frankly, I didn’t see much that interested me — a few districts in North Central Phoenix are better than this one, but none of them outrank it significantly. Did find an area in the shadow of the North Mountain that I’d never noticed before. Drove around and around…kind of a nice spread.

But not so nice that I feel any interest in looking at the real estate offerings there. Certainly not to the tune of another hundred grand…

Like Southern California, North-Central  Phoenix is gifted with a monotonous sameness. The houses are much the same, the road layouts are much the same, the neighborhoods are much the same, the schools all look alike. Ugh.

* Berkeley, this place is not.
* San Berdoo, it is not.
* San Francisco, it is not.
* Hollywood, it is not.
* San Jose, it is not.
* Santa Barbara, it is not.

One could go on and on. Any city that is not like any other city: that’s a category into which Phoenix will never fit. The boredom factor is astonishing! 😀

By and large the whole place is monotonous, dull, middle-class, and boring.

It’s four in the afternoon, and jet airplanes are still roaring overhead. Most of these are now passenger planes, coming into or flying out of Sky Harbor Airport.

I’ve been home less than an hour and the phone has jangled three times, bearing exciting messages from phone solicitors. How can I say how sick and tired I am of jerks who call me on the phone trying to peddle stuff?

They must be able to sucker people in…otherwise, their employers wouldn’t waste money hiring them to dispense phone hustles.

Yes, the damn phone CAN be turned off or disconnected. But that means I’ll miss calls that matter — a call from my son or a friend, for example. How do I resent having to disconnect a service that I pay for to block the constant hustle? Lemme count the ways….

WEEEEEEEEUUUUUU! WEEEEEEEEUUUUUU! WEEEEEEEEUUUUUU! WEEEEEEEEUUUUUU! WEEEEEEEEUUUUUU! WEEEEEEEEUUUUUU! WEEEEEEEEUUUUUU! WEEEEEEEEUUUUUU…. HONK HONK HONK!!!

Another ambulance or cop car roaring up Conduit of Blight Blvd…on and on and weeeuuuing on and on…

What a place!

Duck! Cover! Or something….

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Pour a cup of coffee; prepare to sit down on the back porch to take the morning air; and you get RRR-R-O-O-O-A-A-R-R-RRR!!!!

Cop copter charges over the house. Circles around the ‘Hood,. Roar roar roar….

Meanwhile, twenty miles away, out at Luke Air Force Base, a squadron of fighter jets practices take-off and landing: rrrRRR-O-O-O-A-A-A-R-R-R-R-R-R!!!!!

My mother, who used to take her morning coffee on the back porch of their little Sun City house, professed to love the sound of fighter jets taking off and landing by Dawn’s Early Light. All very patriotic, no doubt…but definitely not my favorite symphony score.

The atmosphere has quieted down a bit now. Whenever it gets to be after 9:00 a.m. — at which hour I can turn left out of the ‘Hood — I’m headed to AJ’s, there to buy some more coffee. And melon. And bread. And dog treats… and… Argha!!!  The endless grocery list!

The Sprouts, which carries far more fake-gourmet items than the Albertson’s supermarket across the street, leaves enough to be desired to make the 20-minute trip to the overpriced AJ’s worth the journey. For one thing, I do NOT like being pounced and panhandled in the parking lot — pretty much inevitable at the neighborhood Sprouts. The Albertson’s has posted an armed, uniformed guard out front, which makes one feel safer there. Now…if only they’d carry a larger array of yuppified products, they’d never get rid of me. 😀

But they don’t. To get the fancy treats and overpriced dog food, I have to travel to the AJ’s. To get the rich black coffee: AJ’s. To get a piece of steak that’s worth the exorbitant prices most stores are now charging for beef: AJ’s.

****

SDXB on the phone. He and New Girlfriend live in Sun City, directly under the flight path of those Air Force jets. And like my mother, they regard the racket as “The Sound of Freedom.”

No doubt they’re right.

Too bad, though, that Freedom can’t turn down the volume a bit! 😀

SDXB loves living in Sun City, as my mother did when she was holding forth out there. It takes, I think, a certain mentality to like that lifestyle. Personally, I’ll take the sound of kids playing over the melody of F-16 engines blasting. But whatEVER: each to his/her own, eh?

Speaking of the which — sound, that is — the serenade of not one but TWO emergency vehicles wafts in through the screen door…. WTF d’you suppose is goin’ on out there now?

Looks like it was a good thing I dawdled over this blog post and killed time yakking with SDXB before I started out for the store. Fifteen or twenty minutes earlier, and I could’ve been in the middle of whatever that mess is.

***

And I would have missed the beloved Pool Dude, who just showed up at the door to collect his well-earned wages.

What a nice man! Probably a paroled murderer…but what the heck. He does a primo job of murdering pool algae.

Seriously: when a dear friend’s son got in trouble with the law (irrationally: not his fault!) and was thence thrown in the slam, we learned that one job regarded as “good” for paroled convicts is pool maintenance.

And considering what Pool Dude is earning — f’rgodsake, I just paid him $400!!! — if you worked at it and were even moderately competent at handling money and billing, you could in theory make a decent middle-class living at it.

Well, OK: part of the 400 smackers was for a large bucket of chlorine tabs. That stuff is expensive as hell, and if you’re buying a better quality product, it’s even more expensive than that. And the bucket the guy got — presumably from a pool product wholesaler — weighs more than I can pick up. So presumably it will be some months before we have to buy more chlorine.

Welp. I’d better get up and get outta here before the lunch crowd gets on the road.

And so, AWA-A-A-A-Y!