Coffee heat rising

Life in the Desert

Balmy Summer Day(s) in Arizona

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Tuesday: A hot, damp day in June

Sooo…yeah. Come late afternoon, I go to throw a little chow on the grill.

DayUM, but it seems kinda warm out there.

Check the back porch thermometer. Ayup: 115 degrees.

In. The. Shade.

Well…really, I didn’t need to toss the shrimp on the grill, did I? All that was necessary was to set them on a plate out in the sun for a few minutes.

LOL!

Stumble outside. Retrieve shrimp.

Incredibly, the damn things are done unto perfection. They’ve been on the grill for…ohhh…about two minutes on each side.

It worked. That’s all that matters. I guess.

***

Vast banks of white clouds are piling up to the north.

Cool OFF, little grill, so we can close you and toss your cover over you, because pretty quick now we can be sure it’s gonna rain like Hell.

Why, in the name o’ God, would anyone want to live in this place?

The nerve — the NERVE, I say — of my parents to drag me here when my father saw a chance to quit his hated job and “retire” to this gawdawful venue!

***

Friday…Another Day: Absolutely Positively NOT Another Dollar…

Lost track of time…probably because the brain fried.

One o’clock in the afternoon:

108 in the shade of the back porch

Rented a PO box for all the sh!t that comes in (and goes out)

Contemplating my mother’s “career” as a real estate agent; thinking holeee sheee-ut

Contemplating my mother’s “career” as a Wife and Mother: Thank you, God for delaying my birth into the mid-20th century

Sitting in the air-conditioned living room, sweating like a pig.

Do pigs sweat? Why? Dogs don’t sweat. Cats don’t. On the other hand…horses do.

Cruised around North Central Phoenix this morning & early afternoon, ogling real estate.

Do I want to become a Realtor?

My mother tried that. Flopped.

Unholy flop. You have to be a lot more dedicated, a lot more hard-working, and a lot smarter than I am to succeed in that game.

Especially when it is as GAWDAWFUL HOT as it is today.

Pushing 110 in the generously ventilated shade of the back porch.

The nerve — the NERVE, I say — of my parents to drag me here when my father saw a chance to quit his hated job and “retire” to this gawdawful venue!

Damn! Whatever possessed the man?

*****

Tempus Fidgets
and
Now it’s 6:20 p.m.

HOTTER THAN THE HUBS in the backyard! It’s 111 degrees in the shade. Five percent chance of rain.

(Does boiling water qualify as “rain”?)

A couple of peakèd-looking cumulus clouds lurk to the north — way north of the Valley, it appears. So the alleged chance looks mighty remote.

Ruby is conkered out on the bed. Good thing we managed to get in our DoggyWalk along about dawn this morning. No chance we’d be able to go out this evening. The sidewalks are too hot for her to walk on now, but even after dark, when the concrete will cool some, the asphalt roadways will be WAYYY to hot for her dainty paws.

***

Saturday
5:00 a.m.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Annoyances of the 21st Century: Beeping goddamn phones.

The land line — which remains much easier for me to use than an accursed cell phone — has to be kept charged up. This is because its handsets are battery-operated, just to add another hassle to daily life.

To accomplish this, you have to set the handset on a base unit, which has a charger. When you do that,it “reminds” you…by going BEEP! about every five minutes after it’s fully charged.

Profoundly annoying!

*******

Sunday
Mid-afternoon

Almost got a nap in...til the damned phone rang. Friend/erstwhile client on his way over. He wants to hire(?) me to help with his latest book.

ohhhhkaaayyyy…

Outta the sack. Throw on some rags. Go out front to find irrigation hasn’t come on. Plants are frying. Neighbor across the street is out puttering in the 110-degree heat.

This is the spouse of the formerly beloved neighbor who for reasons unknown has cut me off. Flat.

Yes: She will not speak to me! If I call, she hangs up. If I go to the door, she won’t answer.

Why?

I. Have.NO. idea.

Ohhhh well. We already knew I’m not a nice lady. Apparently I’m even MORE not-nice than we thought.

Hotter than the hubs of Hades out there.

*******

Client/Friend in. Client/Friend out the door. He left several chapters of his new manuscript, a rumination on the way political and social power has shifted over the past century. I’m looking forward to reading it.

Evening rolls in. Put the BBQ away: cover it to repel the coming rain.

Ten after 7 at night: 103° and overcast.

Should go swimming. Why, after all, do I have this swimming pool???

But nay: it’s just too, too HOT. A hundred and three degrees with gray skies — thickened by wet-looking clouds. Ugh! What a place!

{sob!) Bye-bye, Amazon!

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For several years, I’ve loved Amazon deliveries. A bit pricey, but the convenience of having this excellent retailer drop everything at your door can NOT be beat.

But today undid all those years of superb service. Not through any fault of Amazon, but because the ‘Hood is…well…a ‘Hood. Once or twice in the past packages that supposedly were delivered haven’t shown up. But I haven’t thought much about it: they’re cheap and I’m busy.

But today, for cryin’ out loud!

I ordered a stupid little metal sprinkler. Not expensive — yea, verily, pretty cheap. But for that very reason, it was NOT something I wanted to traipse across the city to get from Home Depot or Lowe’s.

Off to dinner with M’Hijito this evening. When I get back, here’s an email from Amazon with a photo showing exactly where their delivery person placed the package. Exactly where she or he should have placed it: good job.

Problem is: no such package appeared out there.

Translation: one of the local porch pirates must have stolen it.

One of our techie neighbors set up some cameras with which he actually recorded a thief FOLLOWING an Amazon truck, stopping where each delivery was made, jumping out, running up to the door, grabbing the package, and running back to her car with it.

I should have known better, then, than to pay Amazon to send something I could’ve picked up at the local Home Depot. But ohhhhh no! I just had to save a half-hour or 45 minutes of driving time and stand-in-line time.

Dumb, huh?

Welp. It’s not Amazon’s fault. But I can’t afford to pay for things I never receive (supposedly they’re crediting my account with a refund…we’ll see!). And when I need something, I need it NOW, not after it’s been delivered and stolen and then I’ve had to drive to a store to get it. Might as well go direct to the store: hold the time to order it; hold the theft aggravation; hold the time to report the theft to Amazon.

Too bad: Amazon has been an enormous convenience. But when convenience turns to frustration…what’re ya gonna do?

Lancaster, PA, USA – December 15, 2017: Two Amazon Prime brown boxes package delivered at a residential home front door.

 

{pant! pant!} Hot…???

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Gadzooks! It feels like it’s hotter than a cookstove on the back porch…but it’s only 111.

WTF?

Guess it’s because it’s kind of humid this afternoon. Wunderground pegs the humidity at 15%, which is kinda high for our parts. Ohhhh well.

Trying to get a steak and a fistful of French fries cooked on the backyard grill before a storm comes in. But…truth to tell, it doesn’t much look like any storm is y-cumin’ in. We might get a little rain around sunset or after dark tonight…but I ain’t puttin’ any money on it.

Contemplating a li’l investigative reporting. Subject: the funeral industry in our garden state. Customs and regulations here seem designed to make it easy to clip survivors of the Deceased.

Some of this stuff, I reckon I really don’t wanna know. But truth to tell (and to stare at, dead on), some of this stuff really pisseth me off. Somebody needs to bring this to the attention of the public, and keep it in the attention of the public .

Hm. How to go about that….

Losing What Little Remains of My Mind…

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At this rate, it doesn’t take long to lose it all….that’s f’r sure!

GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! 

How can I say how baroquely I have had it, had it, HAD IT with life in the fu*king 21st century?!???

* How do I hate the electronic detritus?

* How do I hate spending day after day after day without seeing another live human face?

* How do I hate wrestling with hardware — of all varieties?

* How do I hate wrestling with software — of all varieties?

* How do I hate struggling with chores that used to be done routinely by workmen?

* How do I hate having the car’s mechanical work done by some chain-store operation, instead of at the defunct small-town-style Chuck’s Garage, with the trusted, reliable, and faithfully HONEST Chuck in charge?

Gerardo (Yard Dude) and his guys trimmed the effing palm trees that some idiot prior homeowner planted around the effing pool.

Every time they do that, they dump equipment-busting detritus into the drink. It takes a good hour to fish it all out and vacuum the leaves and grit off the bottom of the effing pool. In 110-degree heat. The result: I’m not only at the end of my rope just now, I’m far, far beyond it.

That is literal truth. Just now I’m sitting in the family room, sweat rolling off my face and soaking into my shirt, YELLING at the goddam computer because my fingers will NOT hit the keys and all I want do is MAKE IT GODDAMN STOP!!!!!!!!!

arrrrrrrhhhhhggggg

I need to run down to the Sprouts and pick up something to eat. But honestly…I’m afraid I’ll kill somebody (possibly myself included) if I get in the car and drive off down the road.

grrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I ask you. What kind of MORON plants PALM TREES around a flicking swimming pool?

An Arizona gringo moron (probably imported from Ohio), that’s what kind.

Mr. & Mrs. WonderAccountant had their accursed poolside palm trees cut down. No doubt…uh oh. ….Ohhhh shee-ut. Has the accursed pool pump cut out? Hold the phone…

*****

Nope. It’s still running.

Why does it look, from here, like it’s stopped dead?

Optical illusion, apparently.

If only all of life in the desert were an optical illusion…..

MAKE IT STOP, LORD!

by

7:14 a.m., and it’s already ONE OF THOSE DAYS!

Out the door with the dog as dawn cracked. We try to get an early start by way of avoiding the Dog Parade: everybody and his little brother, sister, cousin, aunt, and uncle is out by dawn at this time of year. Especially on a day like this: it’s hot, humid, incredibly muggy.

Around the circuit we go, dodging dogs as we trot along. Hotter. Muggier. Ickier. After an hour of trudging, we round the corner up the street from our house, and….

DAMN!!!!!

There’s Gerardo and his guys up in the palm trees, hacking out dead fronds and dropping them into the pool.

The pool that was just cleaned the day before yesterday, to the tune of a bracing bill.

Heh! Today the tune is ROAR ROAR ROAR ROAR ROOOOOOOAAARRRR: blowers and gasoline-powered saws going full-tilt.

Now I’ll have to call Pool Dude and pay him AGAIN to clear that mess out of there. Gerardo’s guys will try to clean it out as best as they can, but they don’t have the equipment to really do the job.

Fine way to start the day, hm?

Already tired, hot, sweaty, frantic-made, and depressed.

Walked by my friend Marge’s house while we were out. Pretty clearly she’s no longer there: either she’s passed, or they’ve dragged her off to the dreaded old-folkerie.

It’s kind of a cute house, in a bourgeois way: classic Southern California tract house. The neighborhood is nice, occupying what once were horse pastures and cotton fields. This area was all rural when I used to drive through it on the way from my parents’ house in Sun City to my job in downtown Phoenix. Now: all Mittel-America.

Marge had paid off the house, figuring to leave it to her son when she died. But he pre-deceased her. So presumably it will go on the market in the near future.

It’s a ways from the Bosnian Empire. But…frankly, I wouldn’t want to live there, even though the street itself is extremely pleasant.

* It’s just a block from Main Drag North, once a country lane…now more like eight lanes. It’s a major commuter thoroughfare in from the west side now, just PACKED with traffic during the rush hours, and pretty frantic any other time of day. Too much noise, to much carbon monoxide, too many fruitcakes.

* The houses are pretty old, and so require constant maintenance and repairs. My house is expensive enough in that department…and in comparison to Marge’s place, it’s a mere youth.

* Speaking of expense, all those houses up there are on irrigated lots. While this keeps the water bill down — flood irrigation doesn’t use city tap water — it means you have to maintain a third of an acre (or more) of grass. You don’t even want to know what Gerardo is gonna charge for working on those damn palm and citrus trees this morning. And I have gravel landscaping…so he and his guys don’t have to mow every week or two.

With increasing frequency, I contemplate where I would like to move, if I could get away from here.

SDXB and NG are in Sun City — last I heard from him, he appeared to be about on his last paws. He’s not answering the phone and not returning calls…so I figure if he’s still living, he’s probably in a hospital or old-folkerie.

Personally, I’ve lived in Sun City, and I ain’t a-doin’ that again.

Truth to tell, there really isn’t anywhere I’d rather be than here. And…for what it costs to get yourself into one of those warehouses for old folks, I could hire someone to come in and take care of me.

With the Baby Boom Generation entering senilitude, there are more and more businesses and organizations that will come to you and keep you going until you’re on your last paws. Recently learned about an outfit that will come to your house and bring food to you. Plus we have an army of freelance cab drivers out there in the form of Lyft and Dial-a-Ride — on top of the traditional taxi services. Frankly, I think if you know what you’re doing, you probably can arrange to get all the services that you’d need delivered in your home.

Now, I expect, is the time to find out about those businesses and create a list of them, with contact info.

“Good” Morning, America!

by

Holeeee mackerel! 6:42 in the morning and it’s already a Day from Hell!

Big Hell-ism: At 6:40 a.m., temp was slated to reach 112; humidity is already 26%. It’s like a swamp out there.

Just back from the daily doggy-walk. Got out early in an effort to avoid the Dog Parade.

FAIL!

Cassie-off-leash
The endless doggy walk…

Come dawn each morning, everybody and their little brother, sister, aunt, uncle, and cousins are out there traipsing their dogs through the ‘Hood.

And that means a potential dog fight about every 20 yards.

At least we didn’t run into too many morons who think of their dogs as kiddies who “just want to pwayyyy.”  So I didn’t have to drag Ruby out of any dogfights. That’s refreshing.

I guess.

Homeward bound, we pass the entrance to the alley behind the Funny Farm. Glance down there…

HOLEEE sh!t. Someone has piled a HUGE stack of yard debris up against my back gate!

So I can’t take my trash directly out into the alley. To empty the garbage, I have to go out through the garage (front of the shack), traipse through the front yard, and hike around two corners and then up the alley to the garbage cans that are parked next to other neighbors’ back gates.

Yes. In 110-degree heat.

And yes: leaving the garage door hanging open, even for the brief period required to traipse around the block, invites every passing bum and burglar to c’mon in. That means I have to retrieve the keys and lock the door into the kitchen…not that big a deal, but another addition to the Hassle Factor.

Assuming Gerardo’s boys did that (they were just here a couple days ago), I called him and asked them to have them pick it up.

He was puzzled: that’s not the kind of thing his guys do. They have a big trailer for the purpose, which they haul to the county landfill several times a week.

Chances are they didn’t do it: some asshole who didn’t want to be bothered with hauling it off probably dumped it outside my gate. But he did say they would come and get the stuff.

Besides blocking access to the garbage can, that pile of dried brush out there makes a huge fire hazard. And if you don’t think the bored bums and the bored teenagers around here will toss a lit match or cigarette into it…well…think again.

Makes living in a high-rise apartment look might tempting, doesn’t it?