Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Silent Partner

I’ve aged. The neighborhood has aged.  Everybody I know has aged.  So it seems to me a little strange that hte guy I’ve never spoken to dosn’t seem to have aged a day.  I’ve dwecided to find it encouraging.  Otherwise I might hav eto kill him, but that just seems like an overreaction adn he doesn’t strike me as the overreactive type. 

I guess I first saw him not long after moving in, back in the early ‘90s.  I was somewhere near the house, on my block or thereabouts, when he caught my eye.  His thick jet black hair stood in striking contrast to his easy gleaming smile.  His dark eyes flashed brightly and his shoulder dipped slightly with a courteous nodding bow as we passed on the sidewalk. Dusky olive skin, low-key casual attire, and a firm steady gait - he greeted me so naturally that I had to ask myself if I already knew him from somewhere.  I didn’t, I concluded shortly, but I could have easily enough. Maybe I’d never see him again, but at that moment when we passed each other on my new sidewalk, his warm natue reached out to welcome me.  I appreciated it, and decided to introduce myself to him if ever I ran into him again. 

That chance came within a few weeks, when our paths crossed a second time a block or two from my home.  But I was busy or had a mouth full of food or something, so I forebore to say hello.  Same thing the next time, a few weeks after that.  It became a pattern.  Morning, afternoon, evening, night; right at my front door or down the block or out on the boulevard, our paths would cross and we’d share a smile and a nodding salutation.  In my tangential way I acknowledged with regret his infirmity when he broke a leg and was tottering around on crutches.  One morning we exhcanged grins as I loaded into the car before dawn for a trip to the gym, and then again late in the evening as I came home from some random soiree.  The synchronization of schedules would have perturbed me had I not already considered him an ally, a silent partner in my embrace of my community. 

And yes, the partnership was silent.  Beyond a syllable or two of greeting at most, we never spoke.  This is not to say that I was parochially asocial.  There were lots of people I spoke to - some friends, some mere neighborhood familiars like that guy who walks his dog or the lady with the cactuses.  We’ll chat for a minute, if we have the time, and then go on with our lives.  But not me and that guy I’ve never spoken to.  We never actually spoke. 

Not so long ago some friends from college visited town and we pulled together a bit of a supper out with as much of the old gang as we could assemble.  It weas a fairly big meetup for a bunch of guys who’d lived together twenty-three years ago. We gathered at a coffee house across the street from Q, where we’d be eating.  The Blue Danube is authentically eclectic, a tightly-wound, tightly-run bohemian hangout for going on forty years or more.  It’s pretty popular, too, so when we walked in, Jon and Brian and Billmo and Mande and Dave (and maybe Kim?) and Kel and me, we were walking into a small room already very full of furniture and people. 

One of those people, as fate would have it, was the guy I’ve never spoken to.  He was standing by the far wall, sipping a cappa and looking very comfortable.  Our eyes met again, as always; as always, we exchanged a congenial nod and grin.  We had never spoken but the circumstances seemed propitious.  The moment was ripe. It was time to speak to this stranger-friend, and I was going to make it happen. 

As I resolved to sept over and break our mutual silence at last, he started walking across the room toward me.  He had reached the same conclusion as I had, at the same time. I raised my and to greet him with a handshake in the middle of the crowded room.  He raised his hand too.  Then he seemed to veer to the left.  Things were happening quickly and not quite correctly, it seemed to me.  He was not meeting my gaze and his outstretched hand reached at an angle away from mine.  Was he going to miss the handshake?  He was!  He was walking right past me - and into the friendly handclasp ... of ... some random guy?  I glanced back into my group of friends and noticed another couple standing with us, strangers, a little younger than us maybe, but normal enough.  They looked for all the world as if they were part of my group, except of course that I’d never seen them before.  The guy I’ve never spoken to was shaking hands with this dude and greeting gladly the woman with him who’d arrived with us, but who were not actually part of “us.” He joined these interlopers with with obvious delight. 

As they peeled off for another part of the crowded coffee lounge, he did look back toward me for a moment and I thought I saw wry rue flash in his eyes. If so, it was reciprocated.  I fully intended to have a chuckle with him over it when next we had a co-locational moment, but that turned out to be inconvenient for some reason.  As were the next few chances I let go. Now it’s been quite some time since that night that I almost shook hands with the guy I’ve never spoken to, and it would no longer really be appropriate to make that an initial subject of conversation.  It’s not current any longer.  We have news to catch up on.  If we ever catch up on anything, I mean. 

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Cell-phone Photos: The View from Inside My Calling Plan

I may not be good at taking hints but maybe y’all would like a little something less wordacious while you gear up for a pre-pre-election monday, or whatever kind of monday you’re having in your neck of the woods.  Let’s start with a few photos of the chalk graffiti that shows up at Z’s favorite local playground:
One child left behind:

A warm welcome to RoboCat:

And it goes without saying:

As for this last one, when I was snapping the phone-pic a youth was watching me and read out the words, “I like pie.” I asked him, “who doesn’t?” He answered me with disarming frankness, “pie-haters.” He had me there. 

And now, some photos that are a little more intense:

These two are some photos of tents I saw in the presidio on my way from dropping Z off at preschool, heading to my shuttle bus.  You can see the old barracks in the distance, and one small sturdy square building, windowless and red-roofed.  I’d overlooked it many times in the past, it was just another little outbuilding and not terribly impressive.  But this particular day I took a moment to check it out a little more closely, from its heavy masonry walls to its arrow-slit windows, to the plaque by the front door that reads: Old Stone Powder Magazine: Constructed by the US Army after the Presidio was occupied by American forces.  Built of materials salvaged from earlier Spanish and Mexican structures, it dates back to the period of 1847-1862.” Now it seems like a much more interesting building to me, full of history and ordnance, a place seemingly built of other places that got blowed up.  It’s older than most anything else around town, and pretty sober and somber with its lack of poetry and extra staunchness.  It looks good with the historic tents.  It looks good anyway.  (Additionally, the artillery piece in the lower photo was taken from the Philipines after the Spanish American war - they blowed it up instead of letting us get their good thang.  Pungent stuff to view on my daily way to the bus stop.)

Finally, these pics are from the waterfront near my office - an old pier ("ghost piers,” they call them) and a new walking pier with the bridge behind it and a sculpture in front of it.  It’s a nice place to go if you need some pretty instant relaxation.  Or a giant metal spider.  I’ve had both kinds of days lately, to be honest with you.

Final note: on my way from a parking garage to a playground and kid’s creativity museum yesterday, Z and I walked past some guys gathering signatures and money, one with an “Obama/Biden” button, and one with a big poster of a black man with the word “HOPE” written under it.  I complained to them: “That guy is NOT Bob Hope!” They were laughing so hard they didn’t even ask me for money. 

Time to hit another playground and grab some grub for me and the youngster.  I’ll bring the words soon.  As if you were waiting. 

Thursday, October 23, 2008

DISASTER!

When my vitamin water burst last week in my messenger bag (and yes I clearly earned the karma, see if I learn anything) the casualties included my charming old writing notebook, which is okay because it was much less charming than old and really ready to be switched out.  Now the front cover is barely hanging on and I’ve already started toting a cool new book with pockets and a mellow retro look.  I got a lot out of the old notebook but this is not the time to be nostalgic.  It goes in the drawer with the others and I’m ready to move on. 

Except of course, I’ve got to transcribe what’s left in it.  That gives us three remaining old-book posts: something dumb, something painfully overwritten, and something surprisingly charming.  Let’s start with my strengths: today we will have something dumb. 

DISASTER!  I scared you, didn’t I?  No, it’s okay, but really, DISASTER! stalks us at every turn, lurks behind every tsunami, loiters ever more agressively in these days of nuclear proliferation and resurgent piracy.  Whether by fire, flood, tremor or EMP, we can be pretty sure that our world will soon be laid waste - and that our only salvation will be our own survival skills and preparation.  It’s all well and good to be a licensed ninja who can converse in all terrestrial languages, but if you don’t have what you need to get through the aftermath of devastation attendant upon all DISASTERS! worth the capitalization, all your multilingual ninjaism won’t help you for squat.  You need to prepare for DISASTER! if you want to survive.  You can bet that DISASTER! is preparing for you already. 

The problem with DISASTER! planning is that it is dull.  Checklists, buckets, tarps and latrine-sacks notwithstanding, some of the things people need to be prepared for DISASTER! are not as exciting as they could be.  They lack panache.  They lack bling.  They bore me, and of course they bore you too.  Consequently, none of us are prepared for DISASTER!.  So we will be incinerated with all the other losers, and that would be socially unacceptable.  A conundrum, would you say not?

Would you not say not, indeed!  But I have put my inconsiderable cerebral horsepower to this question, and have come up with the following ideas that will appeal to those who will only take action if it is the biggest action possible, and who would only care to survive DISASTER! if they could do so with style:

THE IMPRACTICAL GUIDE TO DISASTER! PREPAREDNESS!

* Take no chances with stockpiled water that tastes flat and lifeless - holy water never goes bad.  Make sure yours stays holy by having it blessed by the pope.  It won’t go stale in solid gold vacuum tubes.

* People store canned food but forget the can opener.  More effective and flexible is a thermal laser.  It opens food and cooks it at the same time, and you can use it for keratotamies after dessert. 

* If things are generally going well, a first-aid kit will cover your needs.  In a DISASTER! it will fall far short of requirements.  Instead, a full ER/OR combination should be constructed in your rumpus room, perhaps folding out from behind the dartboard or revealed by flipping over the air hockey table.  Hire professional medical staff or, better yet, install medical robots.

* Batteries wear out and have limited utility.  However, refining your own uranium and initiating cold fusion reactions as you shelter in place will provide you with both effectively unlimited power, and a fascinating project to keep you occupied during the long days ahead. 

* People get bored of board games and cards.  Far better for entertainment purposes as you wile away an indeterminate environmental recovery period, would be cryogenically frozen-and-defrostable operatic porn-star acrobats.  Alternatively, multi-purpose your medical androids, if space and food are at a premium. 

With these five tips in you mind, I suspect you consider yourself so well-prepared and impervious, that you will seek to trigger a DISASTER! just to try them out.  Well, don’t.