albadger: (Default)
I know I did something interesting last Wednesday evening, but truth is, so much has happened, not least the sadness of losing Richard Tuck yesterday, that I can't remember a thing about last Wednesday now.

Bye, Richard. Thanks for bringing so much fun and laughter to our world.
albadger: (Default)
I know I did something interesting last Wednesday evening, but truth is, so much has happened, not least the sadness of losing Richard Tuck yesterday, that I can't remember a thing about last Wednesday now.

Bye, Richard. Thanks for bringing so much fun and laughter to our world.
albadger: (Stephen Gough)
Ya ever find yourself at a Trader Joe's with a basket of apples and bananas and some English muffins, and you qualify for the "express" line, but that line's way too long, so you see one other line where a customer has a whole pile of stuff, but there's nobody else in the line, so you put your basket on the little shelf at that cash register, and only then -- only then -- you realize that the guy you just got in line behind is the most stunningly gorgeous guy you've seen in months? Just your type too, short, a bit paunchy, scruffy beard, long, very long hair, cute eyes? And it's when you get to "cute eyes" you realize that you're staring at him in slack-jawed awe, and he noticed that? But he doesn't get upset or anything, but you feel awkward and clean your glasses, and he does what people who don't wear glasses do when they feel awkward? And you avoid looking directly at him again until he finishes checking out and he leaves, but then you see him in the parking lot, putting his cart in the cart area like the decent citizen he is, and you seriously contemplate talking to him but then you chicken out and spend the next week kicking yourself?

No? Yeah, probably just me.
albadger: (Stephen Gough)
Ya ever find yourself at a Trader Joe's with a basket of apples and bananas and some English muffins, and you qualify for the "express" line, but that line's way too long, so you see one other line where a customer has a whole pile of stuff, but there's nobody else in the line, so you put your basket on the little shelf at that cash register, and only then -- only then -- you realize that the guy you just got in line behind is the most stunningly gorgeous guy you've seen in months? Just your type too, short, a bit paunchy, scruffy beard, long, very long hair, cute eyes? And it's when you get to "cute eyes" you realize that you're staring at him in slack-jawed awe, and he noticed that? But he doesn't get upset or anything, but you feel awkward and clean your glasses, and he does what people who don't wear glasses do when they feel awkward? And you avoid looking directly at him again until he finishes checking out and he leaves, but then you see him in the parking lot, putting his cart in the cart area like the decent citizen he is, and you seriously contemplate talking to him but then you chicken out and spend the next week kicking yourself?

No? Yeah, probably just me.
albadger: (Named Death the Streetcar Is)
Monday night, I was at work and got a call from Sharon. "Liz wants to visit San Francisco, can we pick you up on the way?" Well, of course they can, but I was a little disappointed at being deprived of the excuse to visit the Palo Alto Fry's Electronics. So, Tour Guide for San Francisco I become. Until we actually got there.

I know part of the problem was that nobody was really sure exactly what in San Francisco they wanted to see -- Union Square, Chinatown, Fisherman's Wharf, etc.? Certainly added to my confusion, but I went well past that, and found my brain drained of any information about San Francisco whatever. Chinatown -- how you get there? I've forgotten. It's through a tunnel I think. I can't remember the street names. Pier 39? I couldn't even have told what other two piers that would be between. I actually panicked a little bit, hyperventilated, and babbled lame excuses. Somehow I did get us into Fisherman's Wharf, which I'm not sure was my intention. My God that place is dull.

In the off season at least. The real joy of FW is tourist-watching, and the first Monday in April doesn't see a huge crush of tourists there. At least the Musee Mecanique is worth the time, and it's free, if you can resist feeding quarters into the machines, which I can't. Andrew spent far too long looking into the machine that promises you film of a real live electric chair execution. I thought that was more of his brother's bailiwick.

We locals tend to take the tourist traps for granted, and despite my fears the party enjoyed promenading past moronic souvenir stores and stinky restaurants. Except for Liz, who spent the whole evening taking business calls on her cell phone. And to my relatives' and friends' credit, nobody even thought about ordering clam chowder in a bread bowl.

We did spend about half an hour auditioning sea gulls to be the new AFLAC spokesmodel, though.
albadger: (Named Death the Streetcar Is)
Monday night, I was at work and got a call from Sharon. "Liz wants to visit San Francisco, can we pick you up on the way?" Well, of course they can, but I was a little disappointed at being deprived of the excuse to visit the Palo Alto Fry's Electronics. So, Tour Guide for San Francisco I become. Until we actually got there.

I know part of the problem was that nobody was really sure exactly what in San Francisco they wanted to see -- Union Square, Chinatown, Fisherman's Wharf, etc.? Certainly added to my confusion, but I went well past that, and found my brain drained of any information about San Francisco whatever. Chinatown -- how you get there? I've forgotten. It's through a tunnel I think. I can't remember the street names. Pier 39? I couldn't even have told what other two piers that would be between. I actually panicked a little bit, hyperventilated, and babbled lame excuses. Somehow I did get us into Fisherman's Wharf, which I'm not sure was my intention. My God that place is dull.

In the off season at least. The real joy of FW is tourist-watching, and the first Monday in April doesn't see a huge crush of tourists there. At least the Musee Mecanique is worth the time, and it's free, if you can resist feeding quarters into the machines, which I can't. Andrew spent far too long looking into the machine that promises you film of a real live electric chair execution. I thought that was more of his brother's bailiwick.

We locals tend to take the tourist traps for granted, and despite my fears the party enjoyed promenading past moronic souvenir stores and stinky restaurants. Except for Liz, who spent the whole evening taking business calls on her cell phone. And to my relatives' and friends' credit, nobody even thought about ordering clam chowder in a bread bowl.

We did spend about half an hour auditioning sea gulls to be the new AFLAC spokesmodel, though.
albadger: (Fabulous Ones)
My Sister-in-law Sharon (un-lj'ed) drove up from San Diego last Sunday, with her friend Liz, my two nephews Michael and Andrew, and Liz' son Daniel. What an opportunity for me, I thought! I've had a very heavy box full of Magic: the Gathering cards in my storeroom for years, and the young fellows have taken up the game. I get to clear out part of my junk, and they get a windfall! Added bonus: to get the box up the steps from the storeroom, I had to cut down and clear out the weeds that had grown up there, so I can say I did yardwork.

They were staying at the Quality Inn, "in the 3900 block on El Camino in Menlo Park," or so I understood Sharon to say. It took me something like an hour to confirm that there is no 3900 on El Camino in Menlo Park, East or West (I'm not counting the half hour I spent on Middlefield thinking it was El Camino). The Quality Inn was actually in Palo Alto, of course, and of course I drove into the Comfort Inn parking lot first, because is there any difference really? No matter, I finally hooked up with the travelling party, 2 hours late.

All worth it because, when that box came out of the trunk, I was instantly promoted to my nephews' favorite uncle. "Uh, you already were," Michael said. But then Daniel said, "Now you're my favorite uncle too," so it was all worth it again. Then they took me out for dinner. Since it was Palo Alto, gourmet pizza.
Yeah, I got more of these, I'm going to be posting my adventure from one week ago every day this week. Tuesday's is kinda weak.
albadger: (Fabulous Ones)
My Sister-in-law Sharon (un-lj'ed) drove up from San Diego last Sunday, with her friend Liz, my two nephews Michael and Andrew, and Liz' son Daniel. What an opportunity for me, I thought! I've had a very heavy box full of Magic: the Gathering cards in my storeroom for years, and the young fellows have taken up the game. I get to clear out part of my junk, and they get a windfall! Added bonus: to get the box up the steps from the storeroom, I had to cut down and clear out the weeds that had grown up there, so I can say I did yardwork.

They were staying at the Quality Inn, "in the 3900 block on El Camino in Menlo Park," or so I understood Sharon to say. It took me something like an hour to confirm that there is no 3900 on El Camino in Menlo Park, East or West (I'm not counting the half hour I spent on Middlefield thinking it was El Camino). The Quality Inn was actually in Palo Alto, of course, and of course I drove into the Comfort Inn parking lot first, because is there any difference really? No matter, I finally hooked up with the travelling party, 2 hours late.

All worth it because, when that box came out of the trunk, I was instantly promoted to my nephews' favorite uncle. "Uh, you already were," Michael said. But then Daniel said, "Now you're my favorite uncle too," so it was all worth it again. Then they took me out for dinner. Since it was Palo Alto, gourmet pizza.
Yeah, I got more of these, I'm going to be posting my adventure from one week ago every day this week. Tuesday's is kinda weak.
albadger: (Killing Spree!)
Friday night I worked late, and I left my wallet on my desk at work. So, Saturday morning, I got up "early" and drove back to retrieve it. On my way down Hesperian Boulevard, I pulled into the Wendy's parking lot to take a call from [livejournal.com profile] scottasf. Since I was stopped anyway, I thought, it's a lovely day, I should clean out the crap from the back seat of the car and put the top down for the rest of the drive. So I did. Even the crap in the well that the ragtop folds into, and that stuff had been there for ages, including a 2-year-old San Leandro Times, yellow and brittle. It all went into a plastic bag from Target and into the garbage can next to the Wendy's door. Proud of myself, I strolled back to the car, and the keys weren't there.

Not in the ignition. Not on the seat or the floor of the car. Not on the ground around the car. Or under the car. And not in my left front pocket, which is where they live. Not even in my right front pocket, where they visit my loose change now and then. I panicked. I spent 10 minutes ripping through the Wendy's garbage can hoping I'd let the keys fall into the gathered trash. No keys. (A note to Wendy's patrons: when you throw your drink cups in the trash, please empty the liquid onto the pavement first.)

I would have called AAA if I'd had my wallet, but I was where I was because I didn't have my wallet. I did have my phone, so I called [livejournal.com profile] scottasf back. "What's the number you call if you want to get AAA for help?" I asked.

"800-AAA-HELP," he replied, a little surprised by my tone. And my inability to remember that the number you call if you want AAA for help is AAA-HELP. Well...

I called AAA, and they were able to pull up my account just fine. "You have two options," said AAA agent Amy. "We could send a locksmith out, which would cost you $60, or we could have your car towed." Neither option acceptable really. "Or, maybe you have another set of keys at home?" she continued. "You could get somebody to bring them to you..." Much better idea.

I called [livejournal.com profile] scottasf back and explained my situation. "Could you drive by my house and pick up my spare keys? [livejournal.com profile] bestbear_icanbe is there, he can give them to you. Lunch at Wendy's, my treat." He was okay with that.

I was so relieved, I only then noticed how heavily I was sweating. I pulled my handkerchief out of my left rear pocket to wipe my brow. My car keys fell out.

Fortunately, [livejournal.com profile] scottasf was still on the line, so he didn't have to make an unnecessary trip. I was left contemplating the human capacity for screwing up. Do we do it so often, I wondered, because it feels so good when you come out the other side. I was also left contemplating the mural on the side of the hot tub place next to the Wendy's. Hourly rates, it says. Bring your own hooker, it means. It's wonderful and horrible at the same time.

albadger: (Killing Spree!)
Friday night I worked late, and I left my wallet on my desk at work. So, Saturday morning, I got up "early" and drove back to retrieve it. On my way down Hesperian Boulevard, I pulled into the Wendy's parking lot to take a call from [livejournal.com profile] scottasf. Since I was stopped anyway, I thought, it's a lovely day, I should clean out the crap from the back seat of the car and put the top down for the rest of the drive. So I did. Even the crap in the well that the ragtop folds into, and that stuff had been there for ages, including a 2-year-old San Leandro Times, yellow and brittle. It all went into a plastic bag from Target and into the garbage can next to the Wendy's door. Proud of myself, I strolled back to the car, and the keys weren't there.

Not in the ignition. Not on the seat or the floor of the car. Not on the ground around the car. Or under the car. And not in my left front pocket, which is where they live. Not even in my right front pocket, where they visit my loose change now and then. I panicked. I spent 10 minutes ripping through the Wendy's garbage can hoping I'd let the keys fall into the gathered trash. No keys. (A note to Wendy's patrons: when you throw your drink cups in the trash, please empty the liquid onto the pavement first.)

I would have called AAA if I'd had my wallet, but I was where I was because I didn't have my wallet. I did have my phone, so I called [livejournal.com profile] scottasf back. "What's the number you call if you want to get AAA for help?" I asked.

"800-AAA-HELP," he replied, a little surprised by my tone. And my inability to remember that the number you call if you want AAA for help is AAA-HELP. Well...

I called AAA, and they were able to pull up my account just fine. "You have two options," said AAA agent Amy. "We could send a locksmith out, which would cost you $60, or we could have your car towed." Neither option acceptable really. "Or, maybe you have another set of keys at home?" she continued. "You could get somebody to bring them to you..." Much better idea.

I called [livejournal.com profile] scottasf back and explained my situation. "Could you drive by my house and pick up my spare keys? [livejournal.com profile] bestbear_icanbe is there, he can give them to you. Lunch at Wendy's, my treat." He was okay with that.

I was so relieved, I only then noticed how heavily I was sweating. I pulled my handkerchief out of my left rear pocket to wipe my brow. My car keys fell out.

Fortunately, [livejournal.com profile] scottasf was still on the line, so he didn't have to make an unnecessary trip. I was left contemplating the human capacity for screwing up. Do we do it so often, I wondered, because it feels so good when you come out the other side. I was also left contemplating the mural on the side of the hot tub place next to the Wendy's. Hourly rates, it says. Bring your own hooker, it means. It's wonderful and horrible at the same time.

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