Water, baby

Hot babes in bikinis manning drive-through coffee stands ... welcomed, judging by their popularity.

Bikini babes at fireworks stands ... not so much. Especially when it’s next to a park.

Tacoma’s neighboring town (where LOIL resides) is taking heat from residents over a bikini fireworks stand that was less than a block from a park popular with families and children.

It wasn’t only the bikini-clad employees but the business sign, “Nearly Naked Fireworks,” flanked by female silhouettes that they also found objectionable.

More objectionable to me is the sign inside that read: “Don’t be afraid to stare ... that’s what there here for.” WTF?! Pick up a second-grade English textbook will ya?!?!!! Dumb dumb dumb we are so damn dumb!

Anyhow, in view of the complaints, whether the nearly naked will return to sell fireworks at the site next year remains to be determined.

* * *

A blurb on the radio mentioned that thieves are utilizing Google Earth maps to detect homes with ponds to steal costly koi as well as pond equipment.

Google’s satellite technology is stunning and detailed. Try it on your own place. It's a perfect tool for criminals to scope out the scene or locate goodies. Just one of many examples: A guy in England stole about $141,000 worth of lead from roofs by identifying the structures with Google Earth. Got me thinking that if I were among the wealthy or a celebrity, I would NOT want my place viewable on Google Earth. Reportedly you can contact them to have it removed or “blacked out," dunno how it works.

* * *

I went to yesterday's Freedom Fair, considered one of the best in the Pacific Northwest. It's an excellent event with a lot going on and all very laid back and cool in true Tacoma style.

This year, for the first time in 30 years, they requested donations due to the recession and dearth of corporate sponsorships threatening its continuation. As usually occurs, Tacomans rose to the occasion and showed their dedication and loyalty with few complaints and donations that at last report assure the fair's return next year!

This all-day event along the waterfront, capped with fireworks, is immensely popular and traffic is a bitch. Walking my way down, I passed a house about three blocks from the entrance that was selling parking for $30 (38 AU). Thirty bucks!!

That struck me as pure opportunistic greed. Made me sick. Where's the neighborliness or community spirit in that? Or sensitivity in these hard times? Maybe I'm old-fashioned but I believe this is the time to be generous and helpful, not greedy and self-serving. Got me thinking that if I lived there, I'd charge maybe 5 bucks -- certainly no more than $10, which is what the city was charging for parking along the waterfront! And I'd put the money on my gratitude dish, not in my wallet. Somehow I don't picture that house having one. It really rubbed me wrong. I wanted to go TP their place after nightfall.

Apart from that, a very fine and relaxing day was had by me and thousands of others. The Taste of Tacoma has soured in recent years but the Freedom Fair rocks (and gets better every year). So take a bow, Tacoma, it's well deserved, you did good.

Not one to post vids, I couldn't let this cool one roll by.

I've got hats in my head in this hot* weather.

*hot = not really. A high of 85 F(29.4 C) is forecast today. I've lived in climates where it was 90 F. (32 C) at midnight, so 85 ain't hot except in a climate where it's usually a cool gray 50 (10 C). It's all relative.

So, hats. It's a perfect day for chilled lemonade, pulling the hat boxes from the closet, opening them up and seeing what the ladies at Royal Ascot wear.

This one cracked me up. Is she toting the napkin from high tea with the jolly green giant? Her own tablecloth? A rug perhaps?

It’s hard to get excited about a job interview when you know there’ll be hundreds of others. And the pay is minimum wage.

That sums up today’s scenario. A grill restaurant’s holding open interviews this afternoon. If prior experience is any indicator, hordes of the unemployed will show up and I won’t get the job. I’m not being pessimistic, just never once landed a job that way. Plus I know that none of you do but it’s fucking hard to live on minimum wage. So I’m going because it satisfies the weekly job-search requirement, not for a song in my heart.

Update: There was no interview, only a man taking resumes for a new restaurant to be opened in the next town. They'd collected a stack three inches high, some 135 resumes, in just the first 45 minutes and they'd only just begun. Ain't gonna happen, this one.

* * *

I wanted to kiss Julie yesterday. She’s the middle-aged co-owner of a downtown restaurant. During a lively chat about how dumbed down and illiterate we’ve become as a society, she informed me that she knows the difference between “lay” and “lie” -- and so do her kids because she taught them! I was jubilant, grateful, impressed, I honestly would've leaned over and kissed her cheek had I not been sitting across a counter.

* * *

A friend was in the news. Well, not him but his garage was:

EL CERRITO — A hungry Hayward man landed in jail Sunday after he stuffed about $100 worth of supermarket steak and shrimp in his jacket, pushed aside a store clerk and fled, then broke into a garage to swipe a change of clothes, police said.

An off-duty federal air marshal flagged down police after tracking Reginald Sherman, 50, who had fled the Lucky store in El Cerrito Plaza at about 11 a.m., police said.

Sherman allegedly ran more than a mile north, then dumped the bag of surf-and-turf into a yard as police pursued him. Police said Sherman ducked into a garage and switched clothes before his arrest after a short foot chase through residential yards.

Sherman was booked into county jail in Martinez on suspicion of robbery and residential burglary.

Should you wonder what happened to the stolen goods, the police returned them to the store, which dumped them.

Once Mr. Sherman starts on that jail food, he’ll regret having gotten caught. Plus for him food court takes on a new meaning.

Blame it on Rio Cat.

Her comment yesterday got me thinking even more how I hate popcorn chomping, and crowds, in theaters. And since I was going with group, there was certain to be at least one popcorn person plus it's a small theater with few to no escape avenues.

So I bowed out of the movie.

And instead linked up with the dog-walking group. Which is just like it sounds, folks with dogs who go walking at various parks and such. I looooove dogs and while my lifestyle's all wrong for one, I just adore being around them. I get my doggie hit this way.

That coupled with  my own strolling and I put in about 7 miles yesterday. And in weather that couldn't have been better -- crisp clear blue skies, warm sunshine, a tickle of the breeze. It beat sitting in an air-conditioned theater crawling out of my skin from the popcorn sounds. (P.S. This is how my sister and I eat it in public: suck first, chew, swallow.)

*  * *

I awoke to a story in the paper a couple days back of a robbery at the drugstore that I frequent. Just before 2 a.m., a black man jumped over the pharmacy counter, pointed a gun and demanded Oxycontin, aka hillbilly’s heroin, then took off.

One more wrongful way to make money in this fucked economy.

* * *

A few days prior was an article of a theft at the mall. Some folks were collecting donations for the Susan B. Komen cancer cause. A black man walked up to the table, put in his donation, suddenly grabbed the jar and fled into a waiting car.

Like with the pharmacy, both thefts occurred moments before closing so obviously well timed.

I get so damn angry when jars of donations get stolen. Why must people be so bad?

I can see stealing pharmaceuticals. Which is not to say that I could do it or that it is right. No way. I'm saying that because it's less "personal." Donations, on the other hand. ... there are people and animals who need help and that help is enabled by the donations from the wallets and hearts of others.

If you're gonna be a thief, show some goddamn class and go rob a store or a bank.

People. They break my heart over and over and over. By the time my time comes, I'll be a million pieces of heart lying in a pool of water and trying to remember why the hell I chose to reincarnate.

In closing, while I had no personal involvement, I'm so sorry, good folks working on behalf of Susan B. Komen, for your loss. 

I’m cleaned out. On cleaning. On the professional level.

I’ve intuited that for a while and yesterday it was confirmed when I went up to L.’s former apartment (she being the one with all the clutter whose abode I agreed to clean).

Well, the entire place had been repainted and new floors laid so it wasn’t a massive job, only a couple hours.

Still, my enthusiasm was as flat as a Coke left sitting in a can for a week.  I’ve got a good handle on why. I still love to clean -- my space. And really think I’m done cleaning spaces of others. I’m not nearly as passionate about it as I once was. Chalk it up to been there done that, wholly and fully. Time to move on.

* * *

There’s a movie on tap tonight. “My Life in Ruins,” from the same writer of “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”

One site summarizes it thusly: Georgia (Nia Vardalos) has lost her kefi (Greek for mojo). Discouraged by her lack of direction in life, she works as a travel guide, leading a ragtag group of tourists as she tries to show them the beauty of her native Greece. While opening their eyes to an exotic foreign land, she too begins to see things in new ways — finding her kefi in the process.

It’s just opened at the historic Blue Mouse theater and I’m going with a hodgepodge of fellow movie fans. On Tuesdays it’s $4 - a steal! Dunno whether I’ll be able to sit it through. I don’t like more than half a dozen people in a theater and I HATE the sound of popcorn being eaten (my sister shares this same affliction of sensitivity). So it’s a gamble going. Any film titled “My Life in Ruins” is one I should see.

* * *

My building’s witnessing an exodus, like many others; people are on the move. My two girlfriends have vacated. An unknown fellow with a studio that I looked at and won’t take. And, I’ve learned, the dude right above me. His is also a studio. I’ve not yet been given the tour and I can’t wait!

On the one hand, it’d be a move up, literally and symbolically, and out of these old maid’s and very haunted quarters. On the other, I'd no longer be in direct line of the birds feeding and I so love that. There’s no harm in checking it out.

He anticipates leaving in July - nearly already here! Where’s the year gone? Seems like only yesterday in January I was lamenting the lack of jobs. Oh, I was. I with millions of others. Never mind. Enjoy your day. Especially you lucky dogs with employment.

I'm a little ticked at Tacoma. Just a little.

Yesterday completed the Taste of Tacoma, an annual three-day event held at Point Defiance Park. It's basically a food fest with vendors from area restaurants paired with businesses and artists promoting or selling their wares.

There are bands on scattered stages, a couple beer gardens, a comedy tent, the wine and roses garden where for a price you can sample five wines and keep the glass or simply listen to the light jazz while strolling and enjoying the beauty of the roses.

There's no entrance fee and you can spend the entire day. The event always draws the crowds, especially on luscious days like yesterday. In case you hadn't heard, we are a severely sun-deprived bunch in the Pacific Northwest so when Mr. Sol makes an appearance, we flock like dehydrated desert survivors crawling toward the water.

Years ago, before my time here, Taste of Tacoma was evidently just that: an event where visitors could sample from the vast array of vendors for a few bucks a pop.

My the times have changed. Now there's hardly a sample to be found. Most plates run 6 or 7 bucks. Some constitute meals (namely those loaded with Asian noodles). Most are ridiculously overpriced for the quantity and quality. Understandably, you don't expect fine fare at the faire, but to my thinking let the prices reflect that.

I intentionally saved my appetite for the event. Mistake. My friend and I strolled surveying the booths for an hour for a dish that was affordable (especially to the unemployed) and healthful. I examined the contents of plates as diners pulled away from booths, occasionally stopping them to inquire what they were eating. I needed a snack, not an entire meal.

The most appetizing was the alligator on a stick. So I asked the price: $7. For that, they should be haulin' tail, not munching on six fried pieces skewered on a stick. A crab cake, which also appealed, was 5 bucks. One crab cake.

That's how it was up and down the corridor. My poor little body was aching for food. I finally gave up and told my friend "let's go find a place to sit down and listen to music." She was wanting a snack though too so bought two small plates and we shared a stick of yakitori chicken and four little eggrolls. Hardly a meal for $6; still, it was better than starving and kind of her (as the employed one) to pick up the tab.

My beef with the Taste of Tacoma is that it is no longer that, certainly not in any affordable sense. In fact, I was a little surprised and disappointed at the prevailing high prices in these times of severe hardship and unemployment. I understand that it's an opportunity for restaurants to introduce their foods to the public and that they've got costs to cover and profits to realize. By the three-day turnout, I'm sure they do very well.

Nonetheless, I can't help feeling changes are in order. I'd like to see the Taste of Tacoma return to its grassy 'n' gritty roots by offering tastes at half the prices of recent years. That opportunistic approach that now marks the Taste of Tacoma leaves a bad taste in my mouth and a lump in my throat.

Signed,
WB, an ardent Tacoman

Is Brad Pitt cut out to be a cop?

Russia thinks so.

Perhaps you’ve read that the city of Omsk, in South Russia, has placed life-sized cardboard cutouts of the actor dressed as a cop at key intersections to curb speeding and reckless driving.

I dunno, could be trading in one problem for another as drivers slow to gawk, then end up in fender benders. They do say accidents are down.

Imagine the maximized results had those Russian authorities used these cutouts:

I've been waiting for this day for a week. Or more.

Today brings the first meeting of a group entitled by its facilitator "Belief in the Unknown." Her goal is to bring together people with a belief in the beyond, the paranormal, experiences that can't be explained by reason and logic for spirited discussions (I couldn't resist). She also mentions hoping for possible excursions into haunted places if there's interest.

Well, there's definitely interest on my part. She's bringing structure and vision along with flexibility and openness to the group. It's sounding like we're on the same page and I'd love to partner up with someone(s) attuned to haunted spaces and willing to go there.

I've really been looking forward to the gathering and feeling its chemistry and meeting the founder. Her name's Aubrey. If name association's any indicator {that means you, Ms. Aubrey}, we'll get along fine.

UPDATE: So the first meeting, held outside a Barnes & Noble bookstore to take advantage of the sunshine, went splendidly. Eight folks total, inc. two guys, ranging from newbies in the paranormal and psychic arts to the old-timer (that'd be me). So glad I went! Had a hunch it'd go well; it did.

The closing of the Black Water cafe has left a hole in my coffee heart.

There are no substitutes; the void is real and palpable. Whereas before I awoke to the happy prospect of venturing to the Black Water with laptop and Berr Symon in tow for a leisurely sit over the town's finest espresso, cruising on Vox and watching the world ebb and flow, now there's a thud in the room.

There are three cafes within equal walking distance of the Black Water and each pales for its own reasons. None fulfill the thirst for coffeehouse culture.

Oh Black Water, ye are missed.

* * *

I'm distressed as I sift through my cupboards and refrigerator each day, generally as the coffee's percolating, for food for the large birds and find nothing. I am Mother Hubbard.

My dilemma's resolved as of yesterday when I found this on the Goodwill shelves:

I've never owned an air popper so I stopped a shopper with a motherly look  to inquire about its use and quantity of corn. Popcorn's cheap and giant jugs are available at Costco at a price that won't break the piggy bank.

I'm joyful to have found a way to keep the food coming for the birds. It's win-win; the feedings help them and bring broad smiles and chuckles to me.

I still must continue learning how to feed myself.

* * *

It's said that finding coins on the ground is how the angels alert us to their presence. If that be the case, angels are circulating about me in numbers lately. Either that or I look down way too much as I walk.

Such melancholic countenance has its rewards, beyond the obvious. Such found coins are never put into my wallet. Instead, they're placed on my special little gold Buddha dish, my gratitude dish. In time they'll be rolled and taken to the bank in exchange for bills that are ideally channeled into a special fund.

Ideal, however, often conflicts with reality. However, the thought's there. I've collected as much as $12 in loose change. That's a lot of looking down. Like I said, gloominess does bear fruit and in ways unthought.