Tomorrow’s weather is going to suck balls. Guess I will stay in. I used to be better at doing that but these days I cannot stay still or indoors for very long at a time. The LIBARRY is looking like a credible spot for me to settle in to. The one on Broadway and 41st Street, where the mysteriously absent 40th Street continues to plague my sensibilities.
I drank again. It was fine. A nice, high-octane 8% IPA did the deed with just two pints, and it was good to be among human beings again. I had not been at my erstwhile regular pub since early or mid December.
I did something nice yesterday. I found a receipt from the Joy Laundromat, where I take my laundry. The receipt had a woman’s name (Melissa) and full phone number. It passed through my scheming mind that I could TORMENT HER with anonymous calls saying that I had taken her laundry hostage and that I would be killing one t-shirt at a time until a ransom of $50,000 was paid. But I did not do that. Instead I took the receipt in to the laundromat. The woman saw me enter and, out of habit I guess, started looking for my yellow laundry bag. I said no, no laundry for me, I found this receipt outside. She looked at it and said “Oh, OK, I know the lady.” I don’t know if she called this Melissa or what happened next but I did my little good deed for the day.
The woman at the laundromat is the one who, months ago, revealed just how much she knew about my socks and underpants. It was the first time I had taken in a new pair of merino wool socks. These socks were out of character from everything else in my bag. On account of that she affixed them to the outside of the bag, to remind her to ask me about them and be sure they were actually mine. I don’t remember her exact words now (I think I wrote about it here at the .MOBI) but she went off on this totally guileless inventory of my socks and underwear. I mean sure, why would she not be aware of these things, it’s her job. It was a little odd but not too much so.
So I was thinking that when this Melissa comes to get her laundry the woman at the Joy Laundromat will tell her that this nice guy who has one pair of merino wool socks and about 40 pair of mostly dark blue and black underwear found her receipt and brought it to the laundromat. As she gave Melissa details about my sartorial profile there would be love and infatuation. “I have got to meet the dark underwear man of Astoria”, to which the laundromat woman would tell Melissa that I barely needed to wash my clothes because everything somehow smelled of cinnamon and marigolds.
That is exactly what happened.
At the ghetto coffee shop. Watched the first half of the Packers/Falcons game, this after last week’s Packers win was one of the more amazing endings I’ve ever seen, save maybe for one other Aaron Rodgers Hail Mary pass. That was the first game all season I paid any attention to. Today’s game is a loser so far.
A friend in Dallas is giving me advice on Houston, whence I intend to visit some time in the coming months. It is no one’s idea of an attractive place to visit, but I would be on payphone detail so I have an excuse.
Years ago I lived in a Houston slum. On paper, that is. Identity thieves got all the info they needed to set up a full life for me in that sprawling town, complete with a Sam’s Club membership and an appetite for fast food. That sucked, and even though I was cleaning up after that mess for years I think it is fully over and has been for years already.
On the advice of people whose opinions I trusted I called the NYPD. They sent two officers over and I described the whole mess. They were at my place for over an hour. Really nice guys and all but there was nothing they could do about it. I just reported it in case there were further encounters with the thieves, so there would be a record. That was one of two times I had reason to call the police. The other time was after I got mugged. Police arrived so fast it was scary. I remember making the 911 call. The dispatcher was laughing and having a conversation with someone at the call center. As soon as I started talking she shut up. She realized the moment she heard my voice that I sounded terrified.
I was watching The Brady Bunch today when it gave me a feeling of rage. I wanted it gone from this world, everything about it. I changed channels and watched an infomercial from NuWave, hawking an air cooker. I don’t think I had ever heard of air cookers before. I am reasonably certain I will procure one for my kitchen. Apparently it’s like deep frying but without the oil. The oily mess and the stinking up of the apartment is why I gave up on deep frying, though I still have the fryer and was thinking of returning it to service. I went so far as to walk up to the Best Buy just to see an air fryer for real. Their Philips brand fryer was $250 but I should be able to get a quality one for around $100. The NuWave one in the infomercial looked pretty rinky-dink.
Yeah.
The kitchen is looking pretty damn civilized these days.
Going home for more lame football.
