Tangled Up In A Twist Of Fate 51/ Bugs and the landlord, the Murph, Esperanza Spalding, Happy Birthday, supermarket anarchy and what’s for supper.
Posted on February 25, 2013
Saturday’s grocery run was turning out to be a not so good experience. A visitor blocked the Murph’s garage. That didn’t piss me off. The asshat didn’t pull far enough forward so I had to do the parking lot ballet. K-turns, backing up and finally getting out onto the street. The trip was uneventful (see below). When I got back a pick-up blocked the driveway. So, I unloaded my groceries and blocked the truck in. I suspected it was the landlord. It was. When I went downstairs to move my car I told him about my bug war. He told me that he was visiting the third floor tenant about the same thing. It confirmed my suspicions, a lot of bedding in the trash and mattresses leaning against the building. We chatted. Mostly about why I hadn’t called him. I told him about my on-line research and the progression from BB&B spray to green alternatives to chemicals to the next step, pesticides. “No sweat”, the landlord was making a run to mix up a batch of a solution for bed bugs. I put groceries away. The landlord was back in an hour. He and his assistant sprayed the third floor and my apartment. He explained the spray and told me that I’d have a slight uprising then the spray would kick in. He said call Thursday and I said Okay. Mision accomplished. He ran into the Murph on the way out. Hence the second part.
The Murph came into the apartment and after he’d settled in he explained to me everything the landlord said. No matter how I tried to politely tell him that I knew he nattered on. By the time he shut up I was looking for duct tape. He does that. Explains things to me. Stuff he reads or sees on TV. He pops into the living room to enlighten me about a snowstorm that had been on the radar for a week. And how it would affect my trip to the supermarket on Wednesday or Saturday. I’ll deal with it when it happens. Another one is “What’s in the pot. It smalls good as hell.” I don’t have a complete idea of what supper is going to look like until I finish making it. Asking me doesn’t help. He’s got a girlfriend. He comes home late/early? after going out. I wonder what he says in those intimate moments “You showered before you got into bed? You smell good as hell.” That’s not nice.
I’ve had a crush on Esperanza Spalding since I saw her do a PSA for PBS. I Googled her, listened to her on YouTube and got her music. She’s become the prototype for a character in a short story I’m working on. She’s beautiful, has a great jazz voice, is articulate and she’s a bass player. Saturday night it paid off. Austin City Limits had her and her group on for an hour. I was rapt. I actually paid attention to the television for an hour. I couldn’t do that drunk and at a strip club. I watched it again on Sunday. I don’t want to run away with her. I just want her to keep writing and playing the music that makes me happy.
Happy Birthday: George Harrison, he was part of a drastic change in the lives of my generation. When he was part of the group he kept quiet and did his job. When they split up, he became spiritual, not in the faddish way but a complete immersion. His music was gentle but he could rock, after all he was a kid from the Liverpool streets.
Chelsey Handler, beautiful blonde, profane and testing boundaries. Any man who thinks he can tame her will wind up on the roadside. She’s got the money. the power and our attention.
About Saturday’s trip to Stop and Shop; I tried to be nice and for the most part succeeded. I didn’t play bumper cars with the other patrons and kept a nice jazz riff running through my head. I swerved and swayed through seniors window shopping in the produce department and waited as housewives compared prices between store brands and national brands. I was making good time and hoped to be out in a record time. Then I saw me. Not me, me. But an evil reincarnation of the slamming, rude lout who terrorized the store. This a**hole was cruising the meat department, probably looking for the wrong cut of meat to cook the wrong way. He wrenched a little old lady’s cart, she was checking chicken, and sent it down the soda aisle. He pressed on side-swiping carts and cutting off really attractive women. I checked his cart out. Two twelve packs, chips, assorted guy food. He needed something else. When he abandoned his cart to forage, I made a stop in the women’s hygiene section. A couple store brand douches, extra strength maxi pads and panty liners. He deserted his cart in frozen foods and gained a few extra items. I wanted to watch him at checkout. The eruption and blathering would have been priceless. But us anarchists got to move on.
Tonight’s supper is a step toward what my doctors have been hoping for, my abandonment of meat based meals and the embracing of more veggies. I’m trying. Saturday’s pizza is mostly veg and cheese (no vegan cheese here). Wednesday steak is supplanted with grilled chicken. Okay, marinated and spiced, but not a steak. Brussels sprouts lurk in the freezer and vegetable crisper. That brings us to tonight’s supper. I
stole borrowed it from Semi-Homemade With Sara Lee. I like watching her cook. Go to her site on FoodNetwork.com click through the stuff and find Corn and Black-Eyed Pea Salad. I watched the show it was on but the bathroom called and I missed it. So I went on line. It needed something. I found out what on Saturday’s shopping trip. Smoked ham hocks, a fave from my pea soup making days. I bought a bunch, okay eight. While I’ve been composing this they’ve been steaming and cooling. In a few lines I’ll be in the kitchen breaking them down into succulent bits of smoky goodness to blend with Sara’s recipe. Thank you Sara. As for you who went “Eeyu, ham hocks.”, shut up and try them. The entire south can’t be wrong.
See you on Wednesday.