Sometimes I Drive Too Fast

 

Richard M Daley is probably the worst mayor Chicago ever had. He sold off the parking meters for one billion dollars. Actually a seventy five year lease that will return the company that got the lease well over five time that much money. Then Daley sold off the Chicago Skyway, a toll/expressway/bridge that is a shortcut to Indiana. Once again, a bad deal for Chicago because the people who now control it can raise the tolls to whatever the hell they want. Daley also sold off the parking garages under Grant Park downtown. In each of these cases the city would have made many times more money than the purchase price of the leases if they had kept control. What cost a quarter to park on the street now costs two and a half dollars. The toll to Indiana was two dollars. It is now six dollars and sixty cents. I'm not sure how much it costs to park under Grant Park, but I'll bet it isn't cheap. Oh, and Daley spent all that money immediately while he was in office. One more thing, the city is riddled with empty lots. Lots where houses and businesses used to sit, now empty and not returning any real estate tax money. Finding a way to improve those neighborhoods apparently just didn't sit well with the politicians.

I like to drive fast. Not all the time, it is inappropriate sometimes. But on the expressways, especially the Dan Ryan, I like to drive fast. Unfortunately, the City of Chicago realized the they could make a lot of money off of my driving. Before Lori Lightfoot the previous mayor of Chicago left office, she dropped the grace speed on speed trap cameras so she could meet her budget. Ever since, I have been a regular contributor to city funds. This is over and above my property tax, ten and a half percent sales tax, and parking in front of my favorite bars. Hey, this last ticket was because the green light was about to turn red, so I sped up to catch the green. Think about all the fuel I saved and exhaust that wasn't pumped into the air by sitting waiting for the light to turn green again. I'm very eco-friendly. 

Daisy, Daisy

 

When I hear the name, Daisy, I think of the HAL 9000 computer in '2001, A Space Odyssey' singing the song. Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do. But this is not about HAL 9000 or the song. It's about a dog. On Saturday a small dog named Daisy should be coming to stay with me and Scout. Yes, another foster dog. Her present foster mom brought her by last Saturday to see how she'd get along with Scout. They got along just fine.

A lot of people ask me how I can do that, foster dogs without falling in love with them. I can't. I do fall in love with them. I look at it like this, Bucky had a very happy time while he was with me. He became a star in our neighborhood almost immediately, hopping around on those three legs. We walked twice a day until he couldn't walk anymore. Yes I was sad when he passed away from the cancer, but I knew all about that going in. After Bucky there was Cricket. Never a sweeter dog in the world than that little terrier. A real cuddly love bug who went to a very nice couple. Once again, I knew going in that Cricket was already adopted and I was only a short stopover until her new family was ready. She now has the undivided attention of her new human mom and dad.

So now I'm getting Daisy to foster. She's small, about one fourth the size of Scout. She's also a bit older than Scout. Mature is the word. At least she has all four legs and hasn't been already taken for adoption. So if I fail at being a foster father to her by adopting her myself, all will be fine. Because I'm half crazy, just like in the song.

 

Daisy

The Heartbreak of AOGS

 

Angry Old Guy/Gal Syndrome.

The other day I was walking Scout and at the intersection where we cross to take our 'long' walk, a car whizzed through without stopping. There is a large red octagon made out of metal at that corner, and it says 'STOP'. Not, slow down. Not, speed right on through. Not, gently roll through and hope you don't hit somebody. It clearly says 'STOP'. So I did the right thing and screamed "Asshole" at the guy as he disappeared down Thorndale Avenue. His windows were all down, so there is a chance he heard me. However, this being Chicago. This being the United States. There is a good chance that asshole could be driving around with anger issues and a loaded gun. Also, I know better. A couple of summers ago the guy across the street took it upon himself to scream at all the assholes who sped down our street. At one point he ran after a car and threw something at it. It didn't work. It only got him into a very dangerous argument with possibly, a very dangerous asshole. Cars still speed down our street. Just today a UPS truck flew by the house, at least ten MPH above the limit followed closely by a woman in a small gray car. I think she was trying to pass him. We live on a very narrow street.

There is an old guy around the corner on Washtenaw Avenue who once yelled at me while I was walking Scout. He told me that the tree in front of his house died because Scout peed on it. The tree was old and very tall. Probably forty feet high. I think it just got tired of listening to that old guy. Scout still pees there. I think she's leaving her condolences to the tree.

Anger is a very bad emotion. It doesn't do anybody, any good, ever. People charge into wars because they're angry. People get killed every day because somebody is angry. So much of what is bad about human life is caused by anger. I should not have let the car that ran through the stop sign rile me up. There's not a thing I could do about it. I have called the police and told them about the cars going through that stop sign. The cop on the phone at the local precinct was very respectful and promised to let the proper people know. I'm sure he hung up, took a sip of coffee, and a bite out of a donut, then answered the next call.

So I now have a new outlook on things. If I can't actually make a difference, fuck it. Screaming at speeding cars will never slow them down. The police are very busy with assholes shooting each other, so I won't bother them with minor details. Oh, and I also stopped watching MSNBC. They market in anger. Just like Fox News, they market in rage. I know, MSNBC mostly uses facts while Fox twists facts then tells you a lie, but they both are doing the same thing. Getting people enraged over things they cannot control. I can vote, and I do. That is my responsibility. Hating people, neighbors, politicians, gets me nowhere. I vote and I trust my vote is counted.

By the way. On Monday I went to a cookout at a friend's house. Afterwards, when I returned to my car in the parking lot to leave, a big pile of steaming human poop was sitting next to my car. Right next to the driver's side door. I stepped over it, and got in. I could have got angry, but there was not a thing I could do about it. No matter how angry it could make me, it would still be there after I drove away.  

What I Did Over My Summer Vacation

 

All those films in the upper photo, are now on one thumb drive

I'm seventy three years old and I still get a bit melancholy at this time of year. Summer is over and next Tuesday I will have to go back to school. Not really, but those feelings still come back. I did not like school. One thing some teachers did to welcome you back was to immediately give you an assignment. Write an essay about what you did over your summer vacation. I suppose that was to drive home the fact that the good times were over and for the next nine months it would be dreary work, in school and for homework. Anyway, here is my essay about my summer.

There were three dogs besides Scout. Bucky, Cricket, and Eddie. Bucky was a three legged dog with cancer who passed away soon after I started fostering him. I still cry when I look at the photos of him. Cricket was a sweetheart. Fostering her was pure love. Maybe too much love. Scout seemed just a bit perturbed that Cricket spent so much time in my lap and sleeping in my bed. Cricket found a great home with somebody who will give her that undivided attention she craved. Then there is Eddie. I did not foster Eddie, Eddie is just a fun old friend who I get to babysit while his daddies are on vacation.

Way back in April I picked up two boxes of 8mm movies from my uncle. Around one hundred and fifty, three minute rolls of movie film from around 1960 until 1982. My job was to convert them to mp4 digital files. I just finished the last one on Sunday. It kept me busy, and was educational. That's because the movies were full of my cousins, who I never really knew very well. After all, I was at least thirteen years older than the oldest of my uncle's children. So while they were having vacations, first communions, little league games, and birthday parties, I was living in hippie communes, hanging out in gay bars, and moving around a lot. Now I feel like I know that part of the family like I never did before. They seemed to be really great kids.

I also finished another summer task only yesterday. I repainted the wheels for my 1929 Ford Model A. They look fantastic, considering I did it my way. No sandblasting of the old paint. No powder coated paint job for me. I didn't even take the tires off the wheels. Just two spray cans of 'Roasted Corn' yellow paint from Home Depot, and a fitted bed sheet to keep the overspray off the tires. Anyway, like I said, the wheels look fantastic... as long as you're ten feet away. At least ten feet away.

So that was my summer. Now, bring on autumn, dead leaves, Halloween, and dark evenings.

Trees

 

This is my eighth summer in this house. When I bought the place there were no trees in the yard. Not in the back, not in the front. No shrubs, no flowers, just grass and a chain link fence. The dogs loved the wide open spaces, but I was not brought up that way. My mom and dad filled our muddy yard in the summer of 1950 with trees and bushes. Five apple trees, two or three... maybe four elm trees. A dogwood tree, poplar trees, and rows of lilac bushes. The trees grew as I grew and before long we were living in a little forested yard. Oh, and the weeping willow tree. We had one of those too, which was fun to climb but full of bugs. So starting in 2016, the first summer here in this house, I started to plant trees and shrubs. Not as many as my mom and dad planted, but enough to already give us shade in the backyard. Out front, the maple tree is as tall as the building and the Japanese maple has filled out nicely. The thing is that trees attract birds. We get a lot of birds hanging around now. So many that Scout doesn't even chase them anymore. Squirrels yes, but not the birds. As much as I love the birds and the trees there is only one drawback. That's what the umbrella is for. It usually catches most of it.

Dad Always Said, "Pee Before We Leave"

 

Here in the Chicago area they have these stores called Menards. When I moved away in 1989 there weren't any. When I moved back in 2016 they were a big thing. A big thing in more than just them being everywhere. The actual stores are gigantic. They're about the size of two football fields side by side. Along the same lines as Home Depot and Lowes, but more. They sell hardware and lumber, also clothing, food, furniture, and probably a lot more only I've never been through the entire place. It's like trying to see the Louvre in one visit. Anyway, I went to Menards on Tuesday and it brought up two problems that I've always had.

When I walked in the place I was overwhelmed to the point of forgetting most of what I had wanted to buy. Just the massiveness of the place put me so in awe that it wiped my brain clean. Also, I had to pee really bad. I had peed before I left the house knowing the tendency of my bladder to fill rapidly. I don't know why, but when I get in the car every bit of liquid in my body starts racing to the bladder. So I peed at home, peed at Menards, and in a final insult from my bladder, I had to pee by the time I returned home. All this was within about an hour and fifteen minutes.

You might think this is all caused by old age. I don't think it is. I've always had problems remembering things, like shopping lists, people's names, what I did yesterday, and I've always had a weak bladder. In fact I got arrested one night in Henry County, Illinois for pulling over on a country road and peeing next to the car. I have no idea what the cop was doing parked in the bushes with his lights off only a few feet away.

Screw It

 

Just in case you don't know, a lag bolt is a large screw-in bolt used for putting two large pieces of wood together. I need three of them.

The other day I drove up to the big blue hardware store to buy some plants. Sadly, the heavy rains we had over the past few weeks drowned some of my flowers to the point of killing them. Because we're months into the growing season, I assumed the big box hardware stores would have some bargains. They didn't, their plants seemed a bit over priced. I put three large pots of flowers into my basket anyway because I'm lazy and didn't want to drive all over looking for cheaper stuff. Also, while I was there, I went over to the nut and bolt aisle for those three lag bolts I need. In a little drawer marked 3/8 x 6, I found a jumbled mess of different sized lag bolts along with a few regular bolts. After digging around I got the three I needed and headed for the checkout. One more fact you need to know before I go on. The bolts had no labels on them. No markings, no prices. I had looked for an employee to see if they had little bags and a pencil like real hardware stores have, but there wasn't one anywhere near nuts and bolts. I pushed my cart up to the row of checkout counters. They were all closed. Down at the end were four self-check counters with two of those closed. I know they were closed because the only employee near the checkout counters told me, "Thems closed." I then handed her the three unmarked lag bolts, told her what the price was on the little drawer, and asked her to ring them up for me. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, she walked over to one of the regular old fashioned checkout counters and picked up the phone. Over the store loudspeakers I heard, "I need an associate from hardware at the checkout." Minutes later a slow moving old guy showed up. I was still standing over in the self-check area waiting as the old guy slowly walked back past me holding the three bolts. As he disappeared off into the bowels of the big blue hardware store you could hear my voice nearly as loud as the checkout lady's voice was over the loudspeakers. "Oh, hell no." as I walked out the door, leaving my cart with the plants behind.