Photo Friday, Little Bill

My last electric bill was $280. This is what my electric bill was in 1974 and 1975. These old bills were in my ex-boyfriend's stuff that he sent me before he died.

Video Thursday, I'll Have What She's Having

Good parts written by Nora Ephron. Added dialogue by Alexis.

Debbie Does Florida

For three days last week it rained around here, and by Saturday the cluster of clouds that drenched us had turned into Tropical Storm Debbie. Well on Saturday, Debbie Downer upped the volume, and dropped enough rain on us to overflow the swimming pool, and flood the back yard. At one point, armed only with a dustpan, I had to run outside in my underpants to fight the water lapping at the back door. As I scooped and bailed the water, a voice called from behind me.
"Alan, Alan, excuse me."
It was the nice young lady who rents the front apartment. I stood up, strategically placing the dustpan in front of me.
"What's up Ms. Tenantinthefront?"
"Our air conditioning isn't working, and I smell something burning."
Yes, there was a smoky smell in the apartment, and yes, the air conditioner was not working, and yes, I did put on some pants before I went over there to investigate. What I wasn't ready for, was spending three thousand dollars on a new air conditioning system. They came and installed it yesterday. At least it has stopped raining.

Sign Language

A nondescript, gray car, shaped like a bar of soap, and the occupant is waving at me. I have absolutely no idea who the hell it is. Almost every car here in Florida has those tinted windows, and almost every car here is similar in design. I wave back dutifully, so as not to piss off who ever the hell just waved at me. At least they're being friendly. When I was just a squirt, I could tell which neighbor was coming down the street from a quarter mile away. 1959 Chevy with those gull wing tail fins, Mr. Bonner. 1956 pink and gray dodge, Mr. Friese. 1956 Ford sedan with matte primer and no chrome trim, the punk kid who used to live across the street coming over to visit his girl friend three doors down.

Yesterday though, there was one car that stood out. It came barreling down the street as I was walking Sasha. As it came close I gave the signal. My hand, palm down, moving towards the pavement in little increments while I looked the driver in the eyes. He didn't seem to care and continued speeding towards us, so I screamed out, "Slow down!" as he passed. A skinny arm came out of the drivers side window, at the end of that arm was a fist with one finger sticking up.

The next day I asked the 'mayor' of 17th Terrace, Miss Diane, if she knew of anybody with a black Mustang. Miss Diane has lived on that street since 1956. She knows everything going on down there.
"Oh sure, that's Mr. Smith. They live down there by that basketball hoop next to the driveway."
So Sasha and I took a little walk down that way. Just as we got near that house, the black Mustang came pulling up in the driveway.
"Do you always give people the finger?" I said as the man got out of his car.
"Excuse me?"
"Were you driving this car yesterday. Somebody was speeding down here in that car, and gave me the finger when I yelled at them to slow down."
"My son had the car yesterday. What did he do?"
"Speeding. Gave me the finger."

I was a little asshole when I was a teenager. I once told a neighbor that I could speed down our street because there was no posted speed. He about blew an artery. He told my dad, and my dad said to me, "What the hell's wrong with you, you stupid asshole. It's a goddamned residential street. The fucking speed limit is twenty, you moron."
So I was very happy yesterday to have returned the favor. Unfortunately I doubt if that kids dad will have the flowery language my dad had.

Going Postal, Part Three

Me; "Did you get the mail?"
Mark; "No."

That of course means I have to go out and get the mail. So I went out to the mail box, and, well hooray, there is no mail. That means there are no bills, and no junk mail in the mail box. You remember the mail box, the single one that the crazy mailman wouldn't let us replace with one for each address on the building.
"You no can have. You get my permission. I say what mail box you have."
Said the crazy mailman who can't speak English, and I suspect cannot even read English.

The next day.

"Did you get the mail?"
"No."

Once again, there is no mail. The next day, the same thing except that this time Mark noticed something.

"Where the hell is my Netflix? Netflix is never late. I should have got my movie in the mail two days ago."

Which got me to thinking. One of my tenants has gone away on vacation for two weeks, and he mentioned that he put his mail on hold at the post office. So I called the post office, and asked.
"Do you have mail on hold for #### NE ##th Street?"
"Please hold."
Ten minutes later.
"Yes we do. We have mail on hold for Mr. R. Oh, and we also have some mail for Mark and Alan, oh, and also Mr. and Mrs. Tenantinthefront."
So I asked.
"Was the mail put on hold for everyone in the building?"
Surely Mr. R. didn't do that I thought. That would be quite stupid.
"No, no, it's only on hold for Mr. R."
So once again, our crazy mailman has screwed with us. That really pisses me off, but what pisses me off even more, is that the lady at the post office snickered when she told me that our stupid mailman had held everyone's mail.

Photo Friday, La Cage Aux Folles

Mark and I went to see our old friend George Hamilton in La Cage Aux Folles last evening.

Who would have guessed I would have a darker tan than George.

Video Thursday, Dizzay

This is a video of a kid who has just come out from under anesthesia.