overheardinmyhead

Bald Eagles on Lake Coeur d'Alene

The Wrong Kind of "Cents"

I made a purchase this afternoon at a bodega. Paid with cash. The change due back was forty cents. The guy behind the register gave me four dimes. There was plenty of quarters and nickles in the cash-drawer.

"Just a question," I started "why did you give me four dimes instead of a quarter, a dime and a nickle?"

His face was blank. "'Cause your change is forty cents. That's four dimes."

"Okay. But so is a quarter, a dime and a nickle."

"What?"

"A quarter, a dime and a nickle-- they add up to forty cents."

"So does four dimes."

"True, but a quarter, a dime and a nickle is fewer pieces of change to carry around."

"If you don't want to carry around change-- use a credit card."

"Why would I use a credit card for a $2.60 purchase?"

"Don't know. Probably because you don't want to carry around change."

"Okay. Makes sense" I was just going to give in and leave. But then I saw the little sign at the register that read: $5.00 MINIMUM ON ALL CREDIT CARD TRANSACTIONS. "But according to this sign, I couldn't have used a credit card here on $2.60."

"You'd have to buy more stuff." At this point he was annoyed. I, however, having had an adult beverage earlier, was now just amused.

"Okay, okay, one last questions, then I promise to leave you alone. So if my change back was seventy-five cents-- what would you have given me back in change?"

"Seven dimes and a nickle."

I started laughing like a crazy man and walked out the door.

RIP Elizabeth Taylor

"...they directed the driver to find the nearest White Castle hamburgers stand and go in and get them doughnuts and hamburgers and coffee. When Taylor unwrapped her order in the back of the car, something was missing, so she and Halston decided to go into the deserted White Castle and get it themselves... 'Pardon me,' the counter girl asked, 'are you really Elizabeth Taylor?'...

Taylor said, 'Yes, I'm fucking Elizabeth Taylor. Now, where's my ketchup?'"

source: people.com from Steven Gaines' Simply Halston

 

Sadness

Saddness is Playboy Penguin's tear ice cubes.

In 5 minutes...

I've decided to do this. My theme is: In 5 minutes...

Happiness

Happiness is Pussyfoot on the back of Marc Antony.

so bad it's good

Mendocino

Recently I returned home to Mendocino County. I want to recount my time there but haven't had a chance to sit down and write. Hopefully I get around to it soon before the memories fade.

'Hood Watch

A few moments ago I pulled up in front of my building and parked. A woman, in her late forties, was out for a stroll. As she walked past my building she saw my neighbor going through his mail, tossing a bunch of it into the blue recycling bin. She stepped out into the street and hid behind a car all the while spying on him.

My neighbor pulled a piece of paper out on an envelope, folded it up and placed it in his jacket pocket. He walked up the steps to the sidewalk and headed off down the street towards Douglass.

The woman noticed I was heading for the steps to my front door. She said, "Excuse me--"

I cut her off. "Don't worry. He lives in downstairs." It was obvious why she was worried. My neighbor is an immigrant from Central America. He has brown skin and our neighborhood is a predominately filled with affluent whiteys.

"Oh. Thank. God. I thought identity theft!" she sang with a gravitas often reserved for an operatic tragedy.

"No worries" I said in a tone I hope conveyed: you're a racist-- just keep walking down the street to the cleaners to pick up your white robe with the pointy hood.

I can understand why she thought this guy might be going through someone's mail trying to steal their credit card statements. It does happen. But I wonder, if I were going through my mail and tossing it into the recycling bin would she have even paid attention? I doubt it. But hey, everyone's a little bit racist, according to the puppets on Avenue Q, so I'll cut her some slack.

Suitcase Monster

Do you have a monster that lives in your luggage? I do.

One of the unexpected surprises of not traveling very often is opening up an extra suitcase to see what's been stored in there. My mom used to make these monsters in the late '70s. I think this one was given to my grandmother. I forgot I had him. He deserves to live on my bed-- or under it if that's his preference.

It's easy to trace the tracks of my tears

There's almost always that scene in spy shows where a bug is placed on an operative so his or her whereabouts can be tracked. It used to be the good guys would have to follow a succession of beeps throughout the city.  It was the beep version of the Hot/Cold scavenger hunt we all played as kids: the more rapid the beeps became, the closer they were to the target.

But this was before GPS enabled maps. Nowadays in these kinds of shows a map comes up on a screen and a little red blip of light pulsates around the target. We get to see on the map where the target is moving without the expense of a location shoot.

This morning I was tracking a package via the UPS website. I thought, Wouldn't it be cool if I got to see in real time where my package was? It'd be downright thrilling! A little red blip would start pulsating somewhere on a map and I'd start squealing with delight. "It's on the move! I can't wait for it to get here!"

Every time the red blip would stop I'd become a mess. "What's taking so long?! Why hasn't the blip moved in five minutes?! Don't they know I'm completely incapable of processing anxiety the anticipation of waiting for this package requires?! MY GOD I'M GOING TO EXPLODE! HURRY UP AND DELIVER MY PACKAGE!"

By the time package actually showed up at the door, I'd be curled up on the floor in a self-soothing state of rocking back and forth muttering to myself covered in cuts with a bloody knife by my side. I would have no energy to get up and even sign for the package. The driver would leave one of those fancy Post-It Notes saying he would try to deliver the package the next day, between the hours of such and such and such and such, knowing full well he wasn't going to adhere to a real time schedule. I would have to log in again, if I had the energy, and start the whole tracking process over again.

Oh my god, this is the worst idea I've ever had. Well maybe not the worse but I can write with some certainty I never want real time tracking of packages now. I really do have a hard time processing anxiety the anticipation of waiting requires. Every time I order delivery my life is cut short by a few months because I worry a lot about being able to hear the door bell ring.

God, I need some Xanax, stat.

I don't understand

Today I walked over to Harvest Urban Market to grab some soup, in a container obviously, because cupped hands + hot soup = hilarious story with 2nd-degree burns and I don't need the burns. Normally when I walk to Urban, I walk down 8th Street's west sidewalk. Normally it's shadier, as in blocking the sun, but today it was shadier, as in debauched, because there were a lot of drug addicts and hobos waiting in line to get food from the Lutheran Brothers' Services. I crossed to the east sidewalk after getting to Folsom because I didn't want to deal with them.

Up ahead of me was a guy carrying a duffel bag by his hand, but up over his shoulder and on his back. This is how I carried my duffel bag in 6th grade and what caused me to have some serious wrist issues, though those issues could have been from chronic masturbation. Who knows, except for Jesus, for he was in my fantasies. Anyway, this guy also had some serious high water jeans going on. The cuff of the jean stopped a good two inches above his ankles which were Fritos Chili Cheese colored.

The guy turns around when I'm about six feet behind him and stops. He looks me up and down. I keep walking. He is muttering to himself. After I pass he yells at me, "Are you with the KGB?! You're a fool for following me! Especially when the FBI has me under surveillance!" He started laughing maniacally. "They'll get you! You fuckin' commie!"

I did not engage him. I did not turn around. He started singing "We Will Rock You." I got to the corner and of course the light turned red. I was going to have to stand at the intersection with this crazy guy. But as soon as he got to the corner, he made a quick right and walked down Howard Street.

*sigh of relief*

I'm standing there at the intersection and in the left hand lane of 8th Street, closest to me but across the intersection, is this 20-something tranny wearing moon boot platforms running in that lane.  She starts running through traffic and I'm just staring at her thinking "she's going to get killed."

She looks at me and yelled, "What are you looking at, commie?!"

I was like, what the fuck? I'm wearing what I always wear, except I have on my Kangol navy blue cap instead of a baseball cap. Maybe they think it's a beret.

So my question is: where do babies come from?

You don't say?

No Photoshop required.

See You Next Tuesday at Rainbow

I just got in from shopping at Rainbow Grocery. As much as I love the products the store sells often I cannot stand my fellow customers. It was the last day to use the January 20% off coupon, and this year, Rainbow is only doing those coupons every other month. I should mention, complaining about Rainbow is a favorite past time.

Today the checkout lines stretched all the way back to the produce department / dairy & frozen foods. It was nuts. As the set-up has been for the past couple of months you have to line up in the aisles, waiting behind the taped limit lines. You keep the alley between the checkout stands and the aisles open to cross traffic.

In front of me in line, by three people, was a very old Asian woman. Her cart was filled with produced. She moved very slowly. I would guess she was around 90 years old. I'm notoriously bad at guessing ages. Maybe she had Progeria and was really sixteen. She made it to the checkout stand and struggled to put her bags on the conveyor belt. Produce kept falling out of the bags. Her movements were as slow as a two-toed sloth. They were as slow as if she was doing Tai Chi in slow-mo. I'm being insensitive. She was totally Japanese so she'd be doing what, Aikido or Taikiken in slow motion?

Everyone just stared at her struggling. She placed a bag of apples on the conveyor belt and they started tumbling down onto the floor. She braced herself, one hand on the cart and one hand on a display case and strained to pick up just one apple. It was obvious she was going to fall flat on her face trying to get the others. No one was doing anything. I put my basket down on the ground to keep my place in line. I made my way over to her and started picking up the apples. I unloaded the rest of her cart for her. She was very smiley and bowed several times to thank me.

I walked back over to the line and the lady who had been behind me had pushed my basket out into the aisle. She wouldn't make eye contact with me. I picked my basket up, said "excuse me" and tried to move into front of her. She had the audacity to tell me I lost my place! I had to use every bit of impulse control not to punch her in the taint!

I did an over-the-top exaggerated eye-roll and laughed at her. The guy I was behind turned around and gave her dagger eyes. He looked at me and said, "I think you were in front of me, no?"

"That's right, I was. Thanks." I said as I moved in front of him.

The lady pitched a fit. She was so pissed she started screeching about line cutting. Over walks one of the security guards. The lady said I was taking cuts. That's when one of the cashiers from another line pipes up by saying the lady was mistaken which just made the woman more irate. It was capital A Awesome! She just kept huffing and puffing and saying how it wasn't fair.

As the cashier was checking me out she looked over at the woman and said to me, "That lady's a real bitch. Coupon days bring all the cunts out."

Indeed!

I'm Going Away Smiling

I've watched this video a million times. I'm obsessed with three things: 1) Antony Hegarty, 2) Yoko Ono, and 3) the Thermin played deftly by Pamelia Kurstin.