A Turd's Eye View

I was up "at the crack of dawn," and heard right away, the sounds of some of my neighbors, still up, smoking crack, at dawn.

I immediately pressed "play" on my SMPlayer, to hear what I am considering weaving into the tapestry of my "morning routine," as a morning song; an "up and at 'em" kind of little ditty to get the blood flowing:

I will have to ask my friend, Jacob, to use an app he has which, for lack of knowing the name of, I will refer to as his "Siri, what song is this?" application. That might help satisfy my curiosity about what this song is and where it came from. From there, the reason it's in my music folder might unfold.
I am not ruling out that it landed there through some amazing coincidence whereby the universe had selected the perfect wake-up-song-to-start-the-day-with for me, and then had drawn my attention to it after I had aligned myself with the positive energy that provides such things to those who are on the right path in life...

Of course it would be ironically hilarious if the translation of the song's title, which sounds very French to my ears, turns out to be something like "Life Is Futile, Just Give Up." The melody could conceivably fit that sentiment, come to think of it. There is a wistfulness to it that suggests it was written during a time of war.

A Turd's Eye View

So, yesterday, my lighter died, and I didn't have any matches. Matches seem to be becoming a relic of the past. Maybe the effort of having to strike them each time you light up a cigarette is too much to ask of the GenZ-ers. Maybe the sulfur that goes into them has increased in price to a point prohibitive of them being given away, like used to be done in motels and bars. Maybe the Bic lighter people have lobbied Congress to regulate them on the grounds of them being "dangerous," (despite the "Close cover before striking!" warnings that used to be on every book of them). 

So, I didn't even bother to go into the corner bar, The Holy Ground, to ask them if they gave away free Holy Ground matches -I just went past there, along my "sniping" route on my bike, looking for half smoked cigarettes on the ground in certain key spots. I would just have to wait until getting home to light them off my stove (since I'm also out of candles; a dereliction of hurricane preparedness, to be sure).

I had only made it a little bit past The Holy Ground, which showed evidence of having had its grounds swept of all snipes (there used to work there a bartender who would come out brandishing a baseball bat and yelling: "Get out of there!" at the sight of anyone picking snipes out of the ashtrays in front of the place. Maybe he is working there again, and has swapped his bat for a broom...)

There is a whole essay I could write about the cultural conditions that shaped the psychology of that bartender [and the rest of his ilk] but that might be the subject of another blog post.

Except to say that: I think it stemmed from his having had to work long hours at the bar just make ends meet; and he probably deemed the American Spirits cigarettes ($9 a pack) that he was thus able to afford as being one of the consolations his miserable life provided. And to see "some homeless guy," [barely distinguishable from "some guy from Sacred Heart Apartments] just reaching into an ashtray to collect the same tobacco that he has to pour drinks and change TV channels for; ((and doing so right in front of him!)) was enough to spur him to come out of the place, swinging for the fences) but, again, that might be a whole other blog post...

Ester From Israel

Just 100 feet beyond The Holy Ground bar, where I hadn't even bothered to ask for a book of matches, I espied my friend Ester coming my way along the sidewalk.

Ester is from Israel. I met her in the Quarter, where she works at a cigar shop. 

She motioned me to stop, and in her broken English asked me if I knew of any good Social Security Disability attorneys. She has a "hard working" friend, who has recently become injured or ill, and he needs to speak to a disability lawyer. "It's emergency," she said.

She had correctly assumed that, living at Sacred Heart Apartments, I would know people who know the inside scoop on all things related to that specifically, and money-for-nothing, in general...

I told her that I indeed had had certain attorneys recommended to me by well meaning friends who were trying to help me negotiate the path to getting 800+ dollars every month -you know, because the water circulating through my air conditioning unit has started to articulate phrases in English to me, that are discernible above the gurgling and hissing; things like: "Hissss-strangle-gurgle-gurgle Jackie in A -hiss- 109 -gurgle-gurgle- do it, hiss hiss strangurgle-her-gle-gurgle-hiss...ring her neck, glug-glug...gurgle!!"

I told Ester that, after I got home from the grocery store (my sniping) run, I would ask my friend the name of the attorney again and would call her. She said she was going to be working that evening at the Nawlin's Cigar and Coffee place.

"Call me any time after 5, this is emergency, please!" 

Then, reaching into her pocket book she said: "Here is number," and then pulled out a nice...wait for it... book of matches with the name of the business and the phone number on it (just no warning about closing the cover before striking).

That was a couple days ago, and I am proud to say that I followed through on that and placed a call to her around 7 p.m. "Oh, I thought you forgot," she said.

This morning, I acquired a lighter in a similar manner that would warrant another 500 word story to describe but which was equally serendipitous and also seemed to be a reward for being on the right path.

Maybe for having gotten up at the crack of dawn, listened to the morning wake up song, and with it still ringing in my head, gone for a walk.

It's been years since I have started a day like that; it reminded me of Army basic training, when the whole platoon was aroused at 4 a.m by a drill sergeant clanging two Wheeling Steel trash can lids together like the cymbalist in a marching band, yelling something like: "You've got 5 minutes to be out front in formation, maggots, and God help you if I can't see my pretty face looking up at me from the toes of your boots; now, move it, you pathetic worms!!" And the day would start with a quarter mile march to the mess hall, similar to the walk I took to where I found the lighter. 

New recruits might still receive that treatment today, except, instead of "Wheeling Steel," the trash can lids now probably say "made in China," and "God" would, of course been struck from her stricture. And she probably would have been born a biological male....and, instead of the enemy being painted as the Russian Army or, in my day, the North Vietnamese Army, the focus might be upon "the enemy within," with the invective given that "If you suspect that someone in this platoon might have voted for Trump, then bring your concerns to me in private, and the Army will handle it! -type of thing...

 Oh, yeah...

A Toilet's Eye View

Today is the day that they just might come and fix the leak that is coming from a stopped up drain behind my talking air conditioner.

Seen in the photo is the fan that appeared at my door about a week ago, delivered by the maintenance guy after I had fallen asleep while pondering where I might acquire a powerful fan to blow across my sopping wet rug.

The foreground shows how I have slid broom handles under the rug to prop it up so that air can get under it. There is no telling how much damage to the hardwood floor has occurred over the past month or so, since the water started coming out from under the wall by the air conditioner. There is a squishy sound with every footfall on the rug now.

There is the laptop, playing the morning wake up song, and the flash from my phone's camera seen in the mirror, obfuscating the image of me sitting on the toilet that was there before the flash went off. It was 6:06 a.m., Wednesday August 17th; and I have a feeling that today is the day that the Heating and Air guys will come in and probably just remove a hose and blow it out, then replace it and tell me; "It should drain now.."

Putting my life together, slowly, but surely...

After almost a month of sloshing through a small pond just to go to the bathroom. I wonder if I should talk to attorney Greenbaum about benefits available to "mold victims."

I've gotten to the blog post today -check- and now must move on, before succumbing to the temptation to ramble on about the jigsaw puzzle, or the music projects I now need to get to; after cleaning the kitchen and doing the Wim Hof breathing method...