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Urban life

The Weirdness of People

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Okay, here’s the Question of the Day:

Why would somebody steal a bag of clothespins?

Old clothespins, for that matter? The thing has been hanging out there for YEARS, probably since I moved into this house, and nobody has ever bothered with it.

This morning I stumble out into the rain and find, there on the covered side porch, that the bag of clothespins that’s hung — yes, for years — from the covered porch’s little laundry line is GONE.

* No, it’s not in the garage
* No, it’s not on the back porch
* No, it’s not anywhere in the house

So…presumably, some yard guy or repairman stole it. A bag of clothespins. Can you imagine?

What possesses people? Forgodsake! A package of 50 only costs about $6.00 from Amazon. Presumably they’re cheaper in a local grocery store or dime store that doesn’t have to ship them to you.

****

WHOA! Just found a brand-new package of classic wooden clothespins, sitting in the garage.

Certainly wouldn’t want a morning to pass without some stupid PITA, eh? 😀

Ahhh, decrepitude!  What fun gettin’ old is!!!

Says a lot about my own senility: that I didn’t even remember I’d had to buy a whole new package of clothespins!  And if that ain’t scary, I’d sure like to know what is….

Also says a lot about people: What kind of jerk steals a bag of clothespins off a backyard clothesline?

Can you imagine? Now I’ll have to stash this new trove in the garage…they cannot be left to hang on the porch clothesline.

So. Now that we know I can’t leave clothespins on the clothesline, we need to find someplace to keep this recovered bonanza. Dayum! What a nuisance.

They’ll have to go in a box on top of the dryer in the garage, I guess. Thereby taking up space normally occupied by laundry detergent and bleach and whatnot.

*****

Disturbing.
Seven Ways from Sunday!

Lovely Sodden Walk!

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Ohhh, my goodness!  It’s SOOO HUMID out there — hideously reminiscent of sodden, ugly Saudi Arabia — that after a few blocks of idle strolling through the morning doggy-walk, I came back to the Funny Farm absolutely DRENCHED!

Drenched in sweat? Drenched in dew from the humidity?

Dunno. All I know is it’s hot, it’s wet, and I’m soaked from head to foot.

Walked past our new  friend Josie’s house: she of the recent homeowner’s disaster. She’s the one who moved into SDXB’s house after he moved to Sun City: the county actually gave it to her! It’s a very nice house…or…uhm…it was. As we passed, we saw all the carpeting pulled out and dumped, higgledy-piggledy, in the yard.

Yeah. A pipe under the kitchen sink sprang a leak. By the time Josie noticed it, water had POURED out and flooded the kitchen the  laundry room, the dining room, and the living room.

Basically, the house was ruined.

Presumably, though, Big Brother in all His taxpayer-funded generosity will cover the repairs. Sure hope Our Benefactors will buy her some new carpeting, too.

***

This sort of thing leads me to wonder, every time some such fiasco occurs, if I should move somewhere else. Maybe where the houses are newer, or at least not so cheaply built? Maybe someplace further away from a dangerous, crime-ridden slum?

I dunno. Unless you decamp to Scottsdale, Fountain Hills, or Sun City, anywhere in Maricopa County is gonna bring you elbow-to-elbow with the high-crime set. And frankly….I’m just too lazy to pack up a four-bedroom shack and move 20 or 30 miles across the Valley. Nor do I want to end up that far from my son.

Yet…yeah, maybe I really should. 

But where would I go that I could afford and that would also take me away from the High Drama? And how, after all, could one live through the boredom without Tony the Romanian Landlord, all our pet burglars, the drag races six blocks to the north, the oglers and the rapists in the central park,…seriously! How boring!

No, as long as M’hijito stays in Central Phoenix, I’ll probably keep this shack. It IS a nice place, after all, with a gorgeous pool and overall pleasant neighbors and public transit coming out the wazoo and an outstanding regional hospital within walking distance. In many ways, it’s actually better than any other place I’ve ever lived.

Weirdness of Widespread Ignorance

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{Chortle!} After I went on and on yesterday about the silliness of my own stupidity, now it’s my turn to bellyache about others. To wit:

Have you noticed that people no longer can follow directions that include words like “north,” “south,” “east,” and “west”?

No kidding. Many, if not most, people do not know which way those are. If you tell someone to “turn north” at a four-way intersection, they really and sincerely do not know which way to go.

Once again, I explained to some babysitter whom my son had hired to ride herd on me that to get here she needs to come west across Neighborhood Lane, turn south on Innumerable Road, and then come one block down to Erewhon Alley. And by golly…once again the person could not find Erewhon Alley. BECAUSE she did not understand which way is west and which way is south.

Substituting “left” and “right” presupposes that the errant driver is going in a given direction as she approaches the ‘Hood. But…after she gets on the desired entry street, she could be coming our way from any of three directions!

So…once again, yesterday’s babysitter ended up in NeverNever Land. And I never ever did see her.

It can’t be THAT hard to figure out which way is left and which way is right; which way is north and which way is south. Almost all the repairmen find the place with no problem. Then I realized: these women are driving their own private cars. A guy whose job is to drive all over the city, going to addresses where he has to fix air conditioners or barbecues or plumbing, probably has a GPS in his truck.

Questionable whether a woman whose job is to sit in a chair all day and watch you sit in a chair all day is bright enough to learn how to use a GPS. But measurable IQ or no measurable IQ, without a doubt the problem is that most of them don’t have a GPS in their car. 

Geez! Problems of the 21st Century, eh?

Egad!! No Doggy-Walks Here…

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Get this! Wunderground says today’s high is supposed to be 111 degrees. You saw that right: a hundred and eleven degrees! 

Where does this damn place think it is? Saudi Arabia?

As we scribble, the back-porch thermometer reads 110 degrees…in the shade of the north-facing back porch. A covered porch. A ventilated covered porch…

Holeee sheee-ut!

We do have salmon and shrimp and accouterments that can be cooked up on the barbecue today. But tomorrow…well… Tomorrow I’ll have to walk(!!!) to the Albertson’s or the Sprouts to restock the supplies. And that will be a challenge.

I may see if I can get the neighborhood Uber driver to tote me over there…but…whaddaya bet that guy won’t feel any enthusiasm for getting on the road as dawn cracks?  And I sure don’t wanna be slamming around in the heat.

Let’s see…what time do these worthy retailers open?

  • Albertson’s:  6:00 a.m.
  • Sprouts: 7:00 a.m.
  • El Rancho: 6:00 a.m.

Hmmmm…  The El Rancho is closer. But the Albertson’s is a far better store for a middle-class shopper.

If I leave the house at 5:45, I could get to the store just as they’re opening. Grab the loot. Pay up. Gallop out the door…and maybe get back here by 7:00 a.m.

Or so…

Actually, that might not be too bad. Except that I don’t wanna start charging around at that hour. And toting groceries six or eight blocks through questionable territory doesn’t sound like much fun.

Also, one thing I’ve discovered over the kerjillion years that I’ve lived here: there’s a route through the neighborhood that comes out on the back side of the Albertson’s shopping center. That would allow me to get down there and yet dodge the jerks screaming obscenities at me.

Hm. They open at 6:00…okayyy… I might get back here by 7:00 — surely no later than 7:30. It would still be hot outside, but not yet hotter than Hell.

Dare not walk down there in the evening. For one thing, it’ll be hotter than the Hubs, all right: after a full day of Arizona sun blasting. But more to the point: whatever the weather, it’s just not safe. Too many jerks, assholes, and predators roam around between here and that shopping center.

Been there, done that, ain’t doin’it again!!

Really: what a place to live. If my son weren’t just down the road, I’d pull up stakes and head for either north Scottsdale or (un)lovely Sun City. Sure wouldn’t stay in central or north Phoenix: it truly isn’t safe.

I don’t wanna live in Sun City. Been there, done that, ain’t doin’ it again. BUT…at least in a ghetto for old folks, you don’t have a$$holes screaming obscenities at you as you walk to the nearest grocery store.

Movin’ On! Or is that STAGGERING On?

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LOL! So the Human took it into its pea-brained head to walk down to the nearby supermarket to pick up some stuff for itself and for the dawg.

That was what we call “Not Too Bright.” For godsake, as we scribble, the thermometer mounted in the deep, dark shade of the back porch reads 110 degrees. 

Really? What d’you suppose Wunderground thinks?

Yep: the same. A chilly 110. 

Welp! It’s a good thing I grew up in Saudi Arabia, there on the fringe of Hell. This kind of weather was par for the course there. Most of the time….

My guess is, this afternoon I survived BECAUSE the Arabian desert acclimated me to it.

So… As we’re staggering through that heat, our thoughts turn to…what if?  As in what if we dwelt somewhere else? Somewhere more civilized, someplace where humans were adapted to live?

Ohhh…kayyyy…. So, where would we go?

My cousin, a lovely and brilliant young woman, lives with her family in a suburb called Fountain Hills, over on the east side of the Valley. The area is somewhat elevated, enough to be noticeably cooler than my parts. Yea, verily: in the wintertime they’ll actually get snow.

Whatever THAT is.

It’s a bitch of a long way from my son, though. If he didn’t live in Central Phoenix, I might very well be in Fountain Hills as we scribble. But…f’r hevvinsake! It’s an hour’s drive from there to his house!

Nope. Not doin’ that.

SDXB moved to Sun City, in the wake of our brain-banging quarrel with Tony the Romanian Landlord. He tried to get me to go out there with him. But having lived there with my parents, I wasn’t bloody well about to go through THAT again! So…I felt bad to lose his companionship….but frankly, I can deal one helluva lot better with Tony than with roaring jets, bigoted neighbors, cheesy construction, and grocery stores that don’t carry real food.

Yea, verily! Here’s a terrifying revelation: I’ve come to rather LIKE ol‘ Tony the Romanian Landlord. In addition to being the single hardest-working man I’ve ever known, it turns out he’s remarkably intelligent. This is One…Smart…Dude. And that, alas, is a character trait that strongly attracts me.

So, here we are in a state of détente, quietly and slowly drifting toward truce. And maybe toward — hang onto your hat! — even friendship. We shall see what develops…and hope a move to Sun City is NOT that development. 

Soggy Doggy Day!

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Echhh, is what I say to that!  Ruby and I foolishly went out for the routine morning doggy-walk, under a sky padded with thick, high gray clouds.

“Thick”? The air itself is thick! And no: I exaggerate not. It actually feels like you’re breathing something that’s not quite air and not quite water. Ewww!

So after several blocks of trudging, we turned around and came back.

Can’t tell that the dog is exasperated: she may have been as close to melting as her human was.

Speaking of humans, we passed a fine young gringo professional wheeling his beautiful little adopted Black boy up the sidewalk. Oh, my! What a cutie!!!!  The kid, I mean.

One wonders how an African-American child fares, over the course of 18 years, when adopted by a White family. Dollars to donuts, this one will do pretty darned well…he’s landed in a very upscale neighborhood, served by the best public schools in the state. To say nothing of the very fancy private schools that also thrive here.

Anyway, it was a delight to see the ole’ man and his adopted kidlet. 😀

Now the Human is half-starved, but too lazy to get up and thrash around fixing breakfast. So we’re faced with a conundrum:

  • Whether to stagger into the kitchen and dig something to eat out of the fridge; or
  • To go back to bed.

The latter is a sore temptation. 😀

But…

Coffee

Must…Have…Coffee

And so, away!