The men and I have finally finished prepping this house for its listing. Painted inside and out, sod put down, backyard mowed. Lots of furniture moved, much junk thrown away.
I was putting down the sod alone by streetlight at midnight last night.
Painting touch ups one room ahead of the photographer this morning.
It’s been 20 years since the class of ’91 graduated and I’m back in New Hampshire for the reunion. I caught up with a pal who runs a sharpening service and he showed me some of the latest styles in hair trimmers. Note the faux bamboo pair, and the three holer.
Josh took me down to Wentworth Scrap Yard to sift through the metal pile. A guy named John bought it recently, he pulls treasures out and sets them in this garage. I bought a pair of brass door knobs and an old lobster buoy.
Glenn the carpenter is working downtown building out a store. A random neighbor stops by and asks Glenn if he can build him a sex club in his basement.
“I was just telling someone San Francisco used to be a lot weirder. Guess it still is but what happens is we get older. Freaks go directly to the young ones. When’s the last time a stranger gave you drugs or tried to rape you?” Glenn says.
I remember the older man, my age now, asking me to go to the beach and throw the frisbee around when I was 19 and hanging out on Haight Ashbury. Glenn had a point.
Later, at a garage sale in the sleepy avenues an older woman is reading a magazine waiting for customers. I’m the only one.
She is so happy to talk, reveals that her mother passed away and she’s fixing up the hardwood floors and getting rid of junk and she is a teacher’s aid since she got sick from the improperly vented x ray room at a clinic where she worked with women with breast cancer.
It was a lot of talking. Then she said, “At some point you become invisible.”
She was talking about her sexual attraction, her feminine charm ceasing to broadcast to the outer world. Which is the same as weirdos leaving you alone.
Why do we stop fucking? The arc of intercourse in a long term relationship describes a steady diminishing in frequency and intensity. We become familiar (less weird?) to our partner just like we become familiar to the general public. Another grouchy truck driver, another guy who works construction and his coffee smells like whiskey.
San Francisco is still weird, but I’ve been dating it too long to notice any more.
The neighbor bought a house with a five foot tall safe installed in a closet. He tried grinding it in half but safes are built with fireproofing sandwiched between metal layers and he didn’t want to send toxic dust all through the kids bedroom.
So he hired a crane company to pull it out through the skylight. What an awesome afternoon. He eventually busted it open and found a Byzantium icon. Still waiting to see if it’s real and what it’s worth.
Having drinks in the mission for Rachel’s birthday. Someone got shot on the sidewalk across the street. Darn gangs.
This guy is a forward thinking safety conscious cardboard cowboy riding the frisco prairie rounding up loose boxes.
I pulled a Curtis cutter #19 out of a pile of junk in a garage last week. Didn’t know what it was, and neither did most of the old men passing through today – until this guy saw it.
It holds a blank car key and punches the cuts according to a code you find in a book.
“There’s a number on the door handle that you use, so you can make a key without the original.”
Anyone here bored with blogging? What a terrible picture I posted last. Looks like a bunch of dudes went wading, not a nude beach.
I was drunk on tiki drinks and don’t remember even taking that one.
We were celebrating Doug’s birthday and his departure to Los Angeles. What better way than being so drunk you don’t remember any of it….
The two of us are doing comedy tomorrow nite, open mic in my hood.
“Do boogers smell? They should, because they have a taste…”
Yes, that is the caliber of comedy you can expect.
Ok, one more:
“I don’t have any dick jokes, but I do have a handful of gism…jokes.”
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