Cruella DeVille

I'm beginning to suspect that the man who pressure washes the sidewalks in front of my building isnÂ’t actually employed by anyone; he just enjoys pressure washing. I just find it hard to believe that they would order the sidewalks to be washed every day. Do sidewalks really get that dirty, and more importantly, does anyone really care? I know full grown people, albeit stinky ones, that take less baths than the sidewalks in front of my building. And given my building's inability to keep an elevator functional or match the carpet and tile, I just don't buy it that they care that much about the sidewalks.

I know that after X weeks with no post, a post about sidewalks seems random, but I decided to lead with this story and follow it up with my feel good story about a fireman and a lawnmower.

There is a fire station about five blocks from my house. It sits on a corner lot with a big lawn, some trees and a flower bed. The firemen (I haven't seen any women) do all of the lawn maintenance themselves. I find it both adorable and kind of hot to see them out there in their matching shirts and slacks pulling weeds, watering flowers and mowing the lawn. Normally, it is a group project, with four or five guys out doing yardwork. Yesterday, though, it was just one very young looking fireman pushing the lawnmower at like 8AM (poor firehouse neighbors). I was watching him criss-cross the lawn and then, all of a sudden, he bolted off toward the firehouse, leaving the lawnmower running. Three minutes later, I heard the sirens and had to pull over to let the fire engine pass. I knew I could have a free lawnmower if I turned around right then.

Speaking of firehouses, we were discussing strange city/state laws that are still on the books, and apparently, Dalmatians do not have to be on a leash in San Francisco as a token of the city's appreciation of their service during the fire of 1906. That is why I chose the title Cruella DeVille for the rant, since I was going to be talking about Dalmatians. Plus, I wanted to take the time to mind or remind everyone that I almost ran over her and her daughter...in cold blood.

Since we are talking about fire stations, Dalmatians, and movie stars, I'm going to paste in a relevant passage from the movie State and Main.

Joseph Turner White: Ever wonder why the Dalmatian's the symbol of the firehouse?
Ann Black: First organized fire department was on the border of Dalmatia and Sardinia in the year 642.
Joseph Turner White: That's why the Dalmatian?
Ann Black: It was either that, or a sardine.

Feathers and down

I’ve had a rough weekend; one spent contemplating life and death and hearing aids. I’ve thought about loneliness and ugliness and all the other conditions of life that make people feel lonely and ugly. I kept thinking about these things and I would almost start to write about them, but then it was time for my steroid or my antibiotic and all I wanted to do was crawl under a down comforter (get it? down, as in sad) but then even that joke fails because I am allergic to goose down and that is what my bout with my body is all about – allergies, and I can’t seem to laugh about it.

I’m allergic to my house and to my dogs. I’m allergic to my car and my kitchen and the bed that I sleep in. My life is, apparently, one big allergen, causing all sorts of chronic pressure and pain in my head until my body’s only response is to close ranks around my acoustic nerve until I can’t hear anything. Sitting in the doctor’s office on Friday night, watching the doctor watching me and telling me he “wants to see how the muscles in my face move” just in case I was showing signs of a stroke. I left the office, my hand bandaged from where they gave me an IV and read the doctor’s notes. I called my mom and tried to not to cry as I told her, matter of factly, what they doctor had said. Follow up with an emergent care provider if you experience: headaches, fever, facial drooping, pain behind the ear, or other worrisome symptoms. I just thought my body had disowned me - writing me out of the will and cutting my face out of all the family pictures, but it seems more sinister than that after this weekend.

You just pissed off the wrong mongoloid

Drinks on Friday and Saturday, per usual, were lots of fun (supplying the rant title). You’d be surprised, though, at how much joy an $8 mullet wig can add to the night’s festivities.

Not a whole lot new in my life. I did get summoned for federal jury duty, which one of my co-workers likened to probation. Starting September 29th through November 3rd, I have to call in every Friday and see if I have jury duty the following Monday. Knowing my luck, I will get assigned to some giant tax evasion case and end up doing jury duty through the end of the year or something awful. Denver Federal Court does handle Utah’s federal crimes, so I guess if I was really unlucky, I could get called for the Warren Jeffs’ trial. I’m sure I could summon enough irrational hatred towards fundamentalist Mormons to get excused from that trial. Especially since you know his creepy followers will be there harassing and threatening people and possibly dressing up like native-americans and ambushing jurors. See, the simple fact that I know about the Mountain Meadows Massacre should exclude me from service.

My ear is still humming and hissing and it doesn’t appear to be clearing up. It is a little worrisome, since my hearing is so very important to me. I can’t count all the times a day that I listen to stuff. To lose that ability, or continue on my annoying trend of yelling ‘what’ after everything, would be most frustrating and sad.