Planet Poptart

I received a call out of the blue from an old friend who has been living 'off the grid' for many years now somewhere up in NE California. Color me dumb, but if he's calling me from a cellular phone, then is he really off the grid? Anyway, he called because he wanted to tell me (warn me?) of what's to come here in the San Francisco Bay Area and in other major urban centers across the country supposedly in a few years' time. 'When I tell you what I know, you're going to think I'm from the planet Poptart, but it's all true.' He then proceeded to tell me things that absolutely, truly and totally made very little sense. I won't clog your brains with them here, but, suffice to say, he believes that anarchy will reign in a handful of years and we'll all be resorting to cannibalism in order to survive. I did not laugh when he said this to me, mind you, but I did wonder how someone who seemed fairly together when we met some thirty years ago could now be so muddled in his thinking. I told my hubs about the call and he said that it sounded like QAnon stuff. QAnon? Weren't those the same kooks that brought us Pizzagate and the January 6th US Capitol attack?

There have been conspiracy theories lurking in the shadows for as long as there have been civilizations, I suppose, and a certain percentage of the population will always fall prey to them. It's not a stretch to think that with the advent of the internet those who are predisposed to believe things like the earth is flat and that there never was a moon landing in 1969 are easily brought together via the internet. What's that old saying? There's a lid for every pot? You believe that Paul McCartney was replaced by a fake Paul way back in the mid-1960s? Well, there are probably loads of others out there in the world who believe the same thing and they are just a mouse click away! 

For those of you who can't believe that 'Faul' exists, as the conspiracy nutters have named him, here you go: FAUL.

I actually grew up down the street from someone who believes that Macca was replaced by a look-a-like back in 1966. This deeply held belief of his that Paul isn't Paul pre-dates the internet. I can only imagine how thrilled his was to find his global cohort once he was able to cruise the 'information superhighway'. I bumped into this old neighbor the other day at the post office in our hometown. I asked after his mother and found that she is alive and well at age 90. We were talking about our respective families while waiting in line when he pointed out the window and blurted, 'Look at those chemtrails!' I know this to be a hot button issue among the conspiracy crowd, so I said that I didn't want to discuss chemtrails with him. Then he asked me how many times I'd been vaccinated. I said, 'a hundred and ten' and redirected to talk of his mother. (She was kind to me after the divorce of my parents when I was little; I have fond memories of her.) I asked him if I could have the spelling of her surname as it's either Kelly or Kelley and I couldn't remember which one was correct. He didn't know either. Um, WTF? I then asked if I could give his mom a ring and asked for her telephone no. He gave it and then said, 'You could take mine as well.' 

I didn't yell in his face: Are you fucking kidding?

However, I did say something like: No, I don't want to as I don't think we would have anything in common to talk about. He said, 'Oh, but I'm not a Trumper.' 'It's not that I think you're a Trumper, it's that I think you don't participate in the system at all. You don't vote.' 

'Well, it's all a sham anyway,' he said. 

I'll be sending his mom a holiday card including no mention of her son, mind you. 

VW whoopsie

The folks who design Volkswagon vehicles do not know nor would they care that we here in California have a law that states all motor vehicles, in order to be road ready, must be affixed with both front and back licence plates. The front of my VW has a decorative grill with no area set for an easy installation of a No. American licence plate. What this means for consumers is that we are left to purchase after market do-dads--usually online--to use in putting a front plate on a car that doesn't really have place for said front plate. (I could drill holes in the front of my car for a plate holder, but I don't want to resort to that, to be honest.) There is a wee tow hitch found just at the right of the grill that one can rig in order to use as a plate holder. I only know this trick because I called the local VW dealership and asked if their maintenance dept would install a plate on my car. The plate I had affixed to the car's grill with zip-ties, industrial strength glue and a plastic plate frame inevitably failed me and the plate went missing recently, I think. I hadn't cottoned on to the fact that the front plate was gone until a meter maid pulled up in front of my house last Saturday afternoon in a very residential area of town (read: one never sees meter maids out here) to issue me a 'fix it' ticket to the tune of $121.00. Thanks? 

I was able to secure an appointment at the local Department of Motor Vehicles in fairly short order--there had been a cancellation yesterday--and purchased a new set of plates. One is surrender the remaining back plate and start anew. -kind of a bummer as I'd easily memorized the last plate no. and the new one doesn't quite roll off the tongue, if you will. Although I've not yet put the new front plate on the car--it's resting comfortably on my dashboard--a friendly cop signed off on my ticket and the fee went from over a hundred bucks to ten, so there's that. 

Tow hook aka No. American plate holder

November 13, 2023

A digital sign was placed along highway 280 about 30 miles south of San Francisco stating: SF event Nov. 14-17, take transit. Honey, if we had something good, then I would! The sign has been standing along the roadway for about the last week; I see it every time I come home from work. Not knowing what the event in question could be, I looked it up. APEC, the Asian Pacific Economic Cooperation, is holding its summit in town starting tomorrow. World leaders, dignitaries and delegates from 21 countries will converge on our fair city over the next few days. From what I understand, the area in which the APEC summit takes place--south of Market St.--will be blocked off to through traffic for the duration. Motorists (delivery vehicles, taxis and the like) wishing to travel through will need special permission. Fortunately, I neither live in nor need to travel around that area, so I'll be missing all the hoo-ha. 

***

Last Saturday's memorial for newly-found-Aunt Meg was very pleasant. It was held at Meg's daughter's house which also happens to be the house in which she grew up, so that made the day especially poignant. Meg and her husband were married in the house in front of the fireplace fifty years ago. There were photos of Meg through the years hung on the wall in the dining area. It was so nice to see her in various phases of life: student, newlywed, parent, grandparent, etc. I met a few of her chums from the local pool where she'd spent a good deal of time prior to the pandemic. They were lovely. There were a few dear family friends in attendance as well. Interestingly, there were no members of her adoptive family present. It was just us newly discovered folks--my mother, me, another niece, and a nephew. 

***

The cats got out today. I hadn't properly closed the front door after coming home from a litter pickup volunteer gig in the Mission District. After about ten minutes of being home, I noticed that the cats seemed awfully quiet, so I went looking for them and found the front door WIDE open. Those little scallywags are always so desperate for time outside, that they carpe diemed their way to freedom. Fortunately, freedom for those two meant skulking around the neighbor's yard looking for voles to hunt and what-not. As soon as they saw us coming for them, Marcel, the littler one, went scurrying to our front door and Bart, the beefy one, jumped a fence or two and met us at the house where we promptly ushered him inside. 

Post foray into the world...

October updates

My somewhat newly found aunt died last month. Her memorial is this upcoming weekend and my mom and I will be in attendance. Aunt Meg's health had really taken a knock during the pandemic and it just didn't seem that she could come back from the challenges faced. She entered hospice care at the beginning of September and was gone two weeks later. The fact that we found her at all was a tremendous gift. Thanks, 23 and Me! I'm grateful for the time spent with her since our first meeting back in 2019, but I surely would have wished to have had more time together.

I've not been working this past week as my brother, unfortunately, finally contracted Covid. He's still in the thick of it, so work will continue to be on hold this week as well. My first bout with the virus was last month and it sucked hard. Listening to my bro share what his experience has been--lack of taste/smell, chills and muscle aches, chest congestion and MAJOR headaches--I can say I feel his pain. 

Yesterday, I volunteered to pass out candy at The Great Hauntway, a now annual Halloween event started by two local Dads during the pandemic. Costumed kids and their parents were able to traverse about a mile's worth of roadway along the Pacific Ocean while trick or treating. The weather was more than cooperative, in fact it was somewhat unseasonably warm! I was glad to have brought both some sunblock and a large bottle of water with me. And I wound up stashing my cold weather clothes in a bag under the treat table for the duration. There were some really clever costumes on the Hauntway among the usual suspects. Someone came dressed as a massive grater with a cute piece of cheese on the side (parent and child, I suspect). And I saw two adults dressed as these beloved Sesame Street creatures from another world--

Yip, yip, yip!

Their costumes looked so spot on and I couldn't help but laugh really hard while pointing and giving a big ole thumb's up. The aliens, in turn, gifted me with a rousing chorus of 'yip, yip, yip, yip!' It brought me straight back to childhood and was probably the highlight of my day, to be honest. 

More money, more problems?

The median income of the town where we worked (and often work) this past Monday is $250,000 a year. The approximate value of the property where we worked is 6 million dollars. The woman of the house, with all at her disposal felt the need to 'rant'--her word, not mine--about those whom she hires for various and sundry around her property. We were not spared her ire, unfortunately. 

We were gutter cleaning on one side of the house when I heard her yelling. She'd pause, slam something, and then yell some more. At one point I needed to go to the work vehicle for something passed by her standing on the front porch, cell phone in hand, speaking loudly, I think, to no one in particular. I can't recall the words she used, but felt that her outburst somehow included our job as well. I asked 'Is this about us?' She then said with a sweeping flourish of her arm, 'It's about the whole game. And I'm SICK OF IT.' 

I returned to what I was doing, but made sure to tell my workmates what was going on.

The client is upset about something. And I think we're included. I just want to let you know she's not in a good way and to be prepared. 

Greg, whose client this was, said: What? We haven't done anything wrong. 

I know, but I just wanted to give you a head's up in case she comes round the corner and starts yelling. 

Unfortunately, she did come round to our side of the property to yell. She seemed to be deeply mistrustful of those who worked on her property. She said she felt the house, too, had let her down (thus needing workmen and the like to be at the house more than she would like). Even though she'd already told us at the start of the job not to bother with the gutters on the guest house, she reiterated loudly that we were not to 'touch the guest house' and that she wanted our work vehicle to move from the driveway as she felt 'penned in'. My other workmate and I said we would move the van 'right now' trying to keep a lid on the pot that was clearly already boiling over, but then came Greg's response and it was out of left field. He said to the client, and I kid you not, 'What's your problem?'

He kind of kept repeating that question and I don't recall her response. We kept telling him to 'leave it' and I think at one point I just blurted out 'Greg, shut up!' -not my finest moment, but it was clear to me that the client was not doing well and to provoke her further would be a mistake. 

At this point, I wanted to throw in the towel and leave, but we wound up staying and finishing the job. It was also fairly hot out, so instead of forgoing a break, so we could split sooner, we sat in the shade on one corner of the driveway and ate lunch just past midday. The client came out as we were eating to 'rant' some more, but the upset was directed at the bin men who had apparently not picked up the recycling that morning. It still made for an uncomfortable break, but at least she wasn't yelling about something we'd done. 

At the end of the work day, the client paid Greg even leaving a small gratuity. I sort of don't get the gratuity bit, but maybe it's about her trying to normalize what happened or pretend that it did not. Of course, I have no idea of knowing what was really going on for the client to make her behave appallingly toward us, but found it illuminating to be reminded that regardless of one's tax bracket, shit can still be super fucked up. And you can put that on a t-shirt!

Not the actual house, but you get the point, eh?

Nerves

I find that I keep thinking about recent the jaunt abroad...two weeks isn't forever, but I hadn't really been anywhere so far afield since 2018 (and before a foot injury had me sidelined for a spell), so the whole affair felt pretty monumental. And while I was looking forward to the trip, I was also nervous to fly. -nervous because of Covid lurking seemingly around every corner and nervous because I hadn't had to rely on my feet to the degree that I knew I would have to since for about six years. My stomach was in knots en route to the airport the day of my flight. The hubs dropped me off and I really didn't want to get out of the car. He kept having to reassure me with 'You're going to be all right. Everything's going to be great.' That became my mantra as I made my way through TSA. 

As is my wont, I was WAY early for the flight. I hadn't remembered to bring any reading material, so spent a good deal of time wandering around the international terminal looking for print media. I could have sworn that there were more options for book buying and the like the last time I flew to Europe, but it's all gone now. Junky gifts, overpriced grub and duty-free stuff seemed to be the only purchasing options. On my way back to the gate, sans newspaper or magazine, a person walked by me on the moving sidewalk thingie just to my left. It was an old uni chum--we had both dropped out of the same German grad program--wearing United Airlines garb. In surprise, I shouted out his name and he turned around and recognized me. I don't think we'd seen each other since about 2006. At the time, he had been living in the German Ruhrgebiet and I flew over to see him. We took a road trip from Essen to Hamburg together in his groovy sports coup. I remember feeling nearly every bump and dip in the road in that wee car. I felt like the Princess and the Pea! Anyway, the trip was fun, from what I recall. 

-turned out that my old chum was also early for his flight, so we were able to catch up a while before shoving off. He wasn't working my flight, sadly, as I was bound for Zurich and he Munich, but he very kindly let his work mate on my flight know where I was to be sitting and she came by to say, 'Hello!' She also very kindly gave me a large bottle of water and a wee bum bag with toiletries in it compliments of my pal (and United Airlines). Just having that bit of human interaction both before the flight and en route to Europe helped me calm down quite a bit. 

Me and my old school chum.

Except for actually coming down with Covid (it felt like a gnarly flu) and having a wee disagreement with my travel partner toward the end of our journey together, the hubs was correct. It was a great trip and I was all right, feet and all!

Tidbits, Sept. 27, 2023

Recently, a lawyer buddy of mine asked me to help him out with one of his cases. He has a German-speaking client whose English is rather rudimentary and he wanted me to interview this person in German. I agreed to help and the client and I spoke on Monday by telephone. In sort of mentally prepping for the upcoming chat, I knew that there would be delicate topics discussed and that I, of course, needed to keep it professional. This is not the same, but I recall having a therapist for a time who would cry at things I said she found upsetting. Way to take your client out of the room, lady! I didn't want to have to worry about someone else's feelings as I'm worrying about my own, if that makes sense. Anyway, I knew, at least, not to do what my old therapist did while conducting the phone interview. All in all, I think the convo went well. I got what was needed, wrote it down and sent it to my lawyer pal. 

What I didn't expect, or didn't think about, really, was how sympathetic the client would come across. I'm still thinking about the client's plight and hoping things go the right way. Fingers crossed. 

***

The above images show the same house 101 years apart. For those of you in the Old World or even on the East Coast of No. America, a century ago may be just a drop in the bucket of time. For those of us living out west, a 100-year-old building is considered old. A lot, if not most of the homes in this particular area of Bernal Heights were built around the turn of the last century, my great-grandparents' abode included. Our old digs is not the above home, but rather one that stands right across the road from where these pictures were taken. It's still there, but doesn't look as it once did--unlike the blue beauty above. The reason for the side-by-side comparison was that I was recently thumbing through one of the old photo albums inherited from my pops and found loads of old family shots taken along Andover St. in Bernal Heights, where a majority of my family lived at the time. In the above picture, circa 1922, my grandmother Elsie, the little blonde girl, is standing across the street from her parents' home with neighbors, I assume. Looking at the house behind them, I thought if it still stands, then I could easily identify it by its groovy wood work. So, I took a walk up Andover this past Sunday and there she still stood. -looking to be in pretty good nick, I might add. Part of me thinks it would be neat to show the current owners the old snap from 'yesteryear', but I don't think I'll be ringing any doorbells anytime soon. Who answers the door to strangers these days? And it may just seem a little weird to do so anyway. 

'Hi, I have this photo...' SLAM! 

Maybe the woman with whom I'm friendly who lives in our old family house on Andover St. knows this particular neighbor. If so, I could ask her for an introduction!