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contours provocations
journal - 2000-0723 - sun 2000 Beep! Overheard at the sushi bar, "Want a ride little boy?" Last week in the midst of the telephone troubles, the battery of my alarm system bit the dust. Of course, it decided to do this at 3 am. And when this happens, the control panel emits a highly irritating beep that can only be deactivitated by disconnecting the battery. The alarm box is in the attic, and the only way to the attic is with a ladder. But fortune was kind for within a few minutes the battery went completly dead, and the beeping ceased. Several years ago in a similiar case, I had to have someone come out and make repairs - to the tune of $150! But this time around I relized that it was the battery and not the entire system. I called the alarm company, and they said I could pick up a new battery at their office. Friday, I left work around 11 and drove across town to their office. I seldom travel in that direction, so I zigged and zagged to get there. Many of the neighborhoods have seen better days, so for most of the the trip I was struck by the urban decay. Narrow streets, boarded up houses, deserted stores, disused parking lots. The offices were not what you could call upscale: a mix of ratty buildings that have a semi-abandoned look and a gravel parking lot. But there were about a dozen security cameras - the kind high up on the poles and encased in a steel box. (When I was in Washington, I remember seeing cameras like that outside some of the embassies.) It took only a moment to grab the battery and split. By now I'd figured out I was only a few blocks from an Interstate exit, so the trip back was much simpler and quicker. Friday evening, it took only a few minutes to replace the old battery and re-activitate the system. As per custom, Saturday's lunch was at Little Tokyo, and the only seat was at the sushi bar. The people to my right included as follows. A middle-aged man, with three kids, who is diabetic and takes insulin shots three times a day and discovered he was diabetic because he had a severe yeast infection. Next to him a small, very loud ten-year-old boy. Next, the boy's father. And then Melvin, a friend of the father, whose daughter is diabetic. I learned all this by having to listen to the various discussions that transpired. The boy would scream something unintelligible, the father would mutter in return, and then the other two would talk back and forth across the father and son. I sat silently with my computer magazine and wondered what it would be like to have sex with the young, assistant sushi chef. Around nine Saturday evening, I received a call from a friend who had returned to town from a business trip. The person with keys to his car was missing in action, so he needed a place to roost until his sister could arrive with a spare set. Our friendship goes back ten years or so. And somewhere along the line, we decided we could never be lovers because we're both too independent. However, that does not mean I don't love him. He told me where he was, and I jumped into shorts and shoes, and zipped out the door. The location was one of those new streets that have sprung up around the mall. One of those streets with lots of new buildings, so I was not certain exactly where I was going. Once there, I had to poke along in the dark trying to figure out what was what. I think I would have missed the turn had he not been standing in the drive. "Want a ride little boy?" Once back at my place, and after a call to his sister, I mentioned the accusations that my cats were a wee bit chubby. He wandered back to the bedroom to take a look. He returned and said, "What is that word for a situation in which you try to help someone? Is it 'intervention'?" I agreed not having the foggiest idea what he was talking aobut. Then he said, "Your cats need intervention, and you're in denial!" My response, "I am not." His comment, "Minerva is fat. Her legs rub together when she walks!" My comment, "Humppph!" Until another day! PAX!
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