Up on the roof, down here on the ground

As I turned the corner to head west on Leland Ave., there was a very angry man. He was yelling down the alley. "Hey, you guys just dropped a brick right next to my head!" He was addressing what looked like the crew leader of a bunch of Mexican workers on the roof. There were close to twenty of them and they were looking over the edge of the Mission style three story building to see what all the fuss was about. The crew leader was not really paying attention to what the man was saying much like the brick dropper hadn't been.

The angry man was a hipster of sorts wearing a stingy brim and clear plastic horn rimmed glasses. He talked very articulately, was about 6 foot tall and fairly thin. 

"You guys just dropped a brick right near my head!" Finally, the crew leader perked up and yelled right back. What? Like he was really bothered.

"One of your guys just dropped a brick this close to my head." He used his thumb and fore finger to show a distance of about two and a quarter inches.

I immediately crossed the street. "Do you want me to call the city?" The crew leader just stood there. "What are you guys doing up there? Are you playin'?"

Still no reaction from the crew leader. "Do you know how to do the job? Are you playin' up there?" The crew looking over the edge were smiling and chuckling. It was a comedy act performed by a hilarious gringo.

"Do you want me to call the Police? Are you playn' up there? Do you know how to do the job?" Everything stayed the same. When it was obvious this was it, the angry man walked east shaking his head in disgust. The comedy routine was over. The crew resumed their roof work. Now knowing exactly how to spice up a dull day.

September 10, 2010

Too marvelous for words.
Maybe I'll just hum.
Make someone happy,
and you'll be happy too?
I don't know if I believe that.
Smile, even though your heart is aching.
Good morning heartache.
Bom dia, tristeza.
These came out of speakers big and small
and rattled around in my head for days.
They turned Billie off and put on something horrible.
It's true that nothing is sacred. I wonder why.

Words

Seems I have too many words.

Cut things in half?

Someone once told me,

Listen twice as much as you talk.

That's good. Maybe.

I had something with a lot more words.

I've painted myself into many corners with these.

Moose Lodge

Ron wanted to stop at the liquor store to purchase a case of Budweiser Select. It was closed. He pulled into the Moose Lodge right next door. I thought he was just turning around to get back to the main road. There were quite a few cars in the lot. I said that it looked like there was something going on at the Moose Lodge. Ron parked the truck and said, "there's always something going at the Moose Lodge." I followed him into the lodge. He had a key card that he had to swipe to get in. That place was really secure. Just inside the door to the left was a huge stuffed moose head mounted to the wall. Underneath it was a small table with a book where guests had to be signed in. Ron signed me in and put an "honored guest" sticker on my chest. A sign on the table read, "guests are not permitted to purchase items from the Moose Lodge store." I guess if I had really wanted a Moose Lodge sweat shirt, mechanical pencil or key chain, Ron could have purchased it for me.

As we approached the bar (which was about half full), a few older men greeted Ron and either nodded or smiled at me. We sat down. The bar tender put a Budweiser Select in front of Ron and asked what I wanted. Miller Light.

As we drank these cans of beer, A guy about sixty was talking loud enough for most people on our end of the bar to hear. He was complaining about Obama.

He had been in a branch of the service. "He's not my commander in chief!"

Most of the other guys seemed to agree with him. "He'll never be my commander in chief. I didn't vote for him." Then, he told a story about a guy he knew in the service that was a total prick. He told him that if he ever came through his town, he was going to kill him. He ended that story by saying, "I told him, that's not a threat, that's a promise!" An older guy with gray hair and a pony tail sitting next to him exploded in laughter. These were the best of times at the lodge. Then, he told about taking care of JFK's plane and how JKF came and shook every body's hand. He really liked JFK. Maybe if Obama could just shake his hand. The beer was gone and it was time to leave. Ron said his goodbyes the guys nodded or smiled at me and we walked through a thick cloud of cigarette smoke to the door. As we were driving off, I asked Ron what the story teller's name was. He didn't know. I told him that I thought he looked like Ted Koppel.

Ron laughed in agreement and said, "yes, he did."

There's always something going on at the Moose Lodge.

Walgreen's

me: What's the difference between baby powder and talcum powder?
stock girl: Baby powder is for the babies.
me: Thank you.

Clark and Diversey

An older homeless man in white patent leather shoes stared at a telephone pole covered with handbills. He was particularly interested in a square blue one. He held onto the bottom of the dangling sheet and read it aloud. "Archers Of Loaf." He then tore it down and let it fall to the ground. Thomas said, "hey, 'sno littering!" The man looked at him and said, "snow littering. Snow. Get a haircut." Then, the homeless man joined a crowd of people walking south as Thomas crossed to the east side of Clark st.

Speak Low

Speak Low sounds like burning hot July nights

where all was still except for trees swaying gently in the breeze

the absence of the sun painted everything in black and white

I remember those nights and the quiet lonely feeling as I hear the sirens