Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The People on the Bus

The Pittsburgh Ave turnoff, part of the 15 route.
I've been off of work a few days this week - between assignments. The special project ended early, and it's too early to start filling in for vacationers. The special project ended early partly because we are such an awesome team - worked myself out of a job... but i'm catching up on the Project O' the Day at home. I've been installing light fixtures, cleaning up the studio, I've got a ceiling fan to install (I hate ceiling fans - you get close enough to adjust them and WHAP you get it on the side of the head.)

In my travels this morning, my old familiar 7am Number 15 bus passed the corner exactly on the 41st ring of the Immaculate Conception church bell, as always.  Why does God have to ring the church bell 41 times every morning at 7 o clock? Although I've had some pretty nasty bus rides on the way home, the ride downtown in the morning is usually very pleasant, and the same people get on and sit in the same places every day. We don't talk much, but if we meet in the course of the day downtown, we exchange a look of "Hey, aren't you, you know, from the 15 bus in the morning, yeah, that guy who sits in the bench across from me in the back?"

Real life characters like the Expectorator - He gets on the bus at the same stop that I do.  He works for some logistics company headquartered Downtown.   Explaining that he has sinus problems that medical science cannot remediate, while we're waiting, he proceeds to cover the entire bus stop area with loogies.To his credit, he doesn't do this on the bus.  Wipe your feet, everybody.

And the Engineer. The engineer always sits in the same spot, right behind the side door.  He always has his nose in a very technical looking manual, different manual every day, but it's always pages of very technical diagrams and tables. He's probably the one they come to when one of the big machines starts going "Pocket-a-pocket-a" 

The Packer Guy - He Dresses in Green and Gold year round, and makes me wonder whatever happened to Jeff Kaufman, a guy I went to grade school with. It's not him - Hey Jeff, where the #$%# are you nowadays?  Packer Guy will cheerfully engage anyone in conversation about the Green Bay Packers. There's always something new in Packer Land.

Madame Librarian. She wears a skirt just below her knees, thick glasses, and very heavy looking boots. She sits oblivious to her surroundings constantly reading a different book every day.

Tall skinny young guy,  lanky, big thick glasses, usually wearing horizontal stripes, and a scarf in winter - Tell them the search is over - we've found Waldo.

Garlic Man - 'nuff said. We feel your presence, Dude.

Der Kommisar - He never speaks, he never smiles.  Tall, wearing a beret. He strides purposefully, with a sense of divine right to his seat, sits down, pulls out a tablet computer and with a regal flourish gestures the computer to do his bidding.

The Snow Queen - This is a case of extreme body language. This woman seems to know me, and makes a point of ignoring me.  I come in all full of  "Good morning" to the bus driver, with nods to some of the other regular passengers, but even this slight bit of camaraderie, though not directed at her, causes her stiffen in her seat, and her head snaps over to look out the window. I have never spoken to her. She works in my building, but always uses the elevator to the upper floors. In her 50s, meticulously well-dressed, straight blond medium length hair combed into frightening symmetrical regularity. At the bus stop, she stands on the line of the curb, staring straight ahead. I guess she's just shut herself off from all of us, it's not directed at me particularly. Hello, in there!

And, as I'm writing this, the agency called, asking if I can start working again, day after tomorrow.  Here we go again!

Monday, July 28, 2014

puppy biscuit

I got there early - the perfect start to the day. Made some coffee and headed out to the courtyard area in back of the store. The morning sun filtered through the verdant green of the asparagus ferns. Outside in the fresh morning dew, the ferns and kalanchoes were doing just great after their recent re-potting. The marigolds have
recovered from their recent battle with rabbits who thought it was the breakfast buffet.  It's been a traumatic season for the white marigolds; their first week out, they were dug out and cast aside by a squirrel who thought there was a damn nut down in the pot. Squirrels are evil vermin, and Syd (the wonder cat) spends a good deal of his day looking out of the window, just hating them. 

And, then there are the "flowering cacti". Regular readers of Excelsior recall that last Winter, I purchased a packet of "flowering cactus" seeds from Amazon, and finally, in late April, they germinated, and turned out to be these furry-leafed things.  These look nothing like the "flowering cacti assortment" pictured on Amazon, but, I'll welcome the little dudes. They're very enthusiastic, and have very deep root systems. 

Then my morning photo-expedition was slammed back into reality. Puppy Biscuit. "We need to move those patio edge blocks. They're ugly just sitting there"  If that means nothing to you, follow this link and read The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.  Do it now. It should open up in its own window.

And so - by order of Her Excellency - the beautiful scalloped patio edge blocks have been listed for liquidation at a shamefully sacrificial price on Craig's List. For details, and more exciting photos of the blocks, follow this link.  

And thank you for shopping at Gar*Mart!

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

gentlemen, please

My cousin Percy will be coming to visit the States this summer. Perceival J. Thudbury, Viscount Lord Duke of Slackenshire. "Lord Percy", his chums call him. 

Lord Percy lives across the Pond, you know, that's what the Brits call the Atlantic Ocean. He didn't want to arrive for Independence Day. Percy gets kind of skittish when the conversation turns to whom we are celebrating independence from. The course of human events, you know.
Lord Percy is a gentleman's gentleman, of course. His title requires that he keep up the appearances - polo ponies, fox hounds, livery (I think livery is a sausage, similar to a Banger). One never knows when Prince William will drop by for tea. He always keeps a few crumpets in the larder at Thudbury Castle just for such an occasion. 

Well, I'm planning a real Royal Welcome to show him that we Americans are not all those back-slapping, beer-swilling, loud, friendly, gun-toting John Goodman type characters you see in American movies. We have our gentlemen, too, and I'm going to prove it to His Lordship.  

There's a place I'd like to show him. I saw it from the bus on the way to work. (Yes, Percy, we take the bus here in the USA, too. Although most of them don't have the Upper Deck).  One visit to this place should show him once and for all that we also have gentlemen in the US. Why, yes, Your Lordship, here is where our gentlemen congregate in Milwaukee. There are enough gentlemen, in fact, that they have formed a Gentlemen's Club, and on occasion guests are welcome.

Imagine, a place where a Gentleman can feel at home. I've never been inside, but I'm sure that this club is just overflowing with politeness and Gentility. At every doorway the gentlemen tipping their tophats, "No, after you"  "No, please, after YOU" "Rather.  I INSIST". 

And surely, the gentlemen are all queuing up in the pump room, in their top-hats, adjusting their monacles, and quaffing ales while exchanging pleasantries about the weather, and relating tales from the last fox-hunt. "Tally ho, old sport!"

I didn't have time to visit the Gentlemen's Club in advance, to check it out (I have to stand in queue this week to renew my concealed carry permit).  So I rang them up (called them on the telephone).  I talked to the owner, who said his name was Seymour Heine. Fine German gent, you'd expect that in Milwaukee the Germans will lead the way to gentlemanliness, home of the Beer Barons, and all. He said of course there was a "cover charge". Certainly it's gracious, though, for them to extend temporary memberships to gentlemen and their guests - collecting a few token shillings at the door to keep out the commoners. Bully strategy, that.

And, besides the camaraderie of being with other gentlemen, the Club furnishes entertainment - folk dancing! Some of the finest dancers from Eastern Europe will present their routines. In the main hall, the Pole Dancers step through the traditional Eastern European dances of Poland.  And then, in the annex, the best of Scandinavia. Seymour said you'd have to pay more to see a Lapp Dance. No doubt the colorful costumes that Laplanders wear for their dances are quite costly, or quite dear as Lord Percy would say. But how often does my old chum visit?  Nothing too good for his Lordship on his occasional visit. I'm sure everything will be just as smashing as Seymour described it. I can't wait for our Gentlemen's Night Out.  Percy will be so surprised...

Tuesday, July 15, 2014


The "4th of July" Parade - Independence Day. Childhood memories, family traditions, and perhaps a quiet moment of patriotic reflection - examining the ideal and renewing our responsibility, because liberty is a constantly created privilege, and not an entitlement. It is a delicate balance not maintained by trampling on the liberties of others. "I pledge not to take yours, and you will certainly not take mine."  

Or as General John Stark, a revolutionary general from New Hampshire put it: “Live Free or Die. Death is not the worst of evils.” 

Here's a take on our annual Independence Day Parade, set to excerpts from one of my favorite compositions "Night Passage" by Kamran Ince. I was trying out a new version of my favorite video editor "Power Director 12" by LG. I highly recommend it, it's versatile, and inexpensive - Power Director gets the most from your computer.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Chariot of the Damned (damnatorum quadrigae)

I was still getting over last Wednesday's bus ride home from Downtown.  You know, the one where the bus is SRO, mostly due to the selfish people who believe that their backpacks have a right to a free separate seat, to allow their hands free to flick their fingers at their cell phones. And then a guy and three ladies get on.  He looks like the fat guy from Hangover, and he's joking loudly with the ladies, who are trying to get him to control himself. So, encouraged by all their negative attention, he starts singing West Side Story - the whole thing.  He doesn't sing that well, but he's very loud.  The Jets, Tonight Tonight, but by the time he got to Maria I had to get off the Ship of Fools.  He tried to get his women companions to do backup vocals, but they were too embarrassed

So, now, every time I step on the bus, I've been dreading the encore performance of  "I Feel Pretty".  Well, I was about to learn, there are worse things happening on a crowded buses than choreography in the aisles. 

Today's bus was monumentally late - more than 20 minutes. This bus almost crossed the line where it becomes The Next Bus.  The bus was Standing Room Only again, though only half full, because of the back pack people. Stinking Room Only, thanks to the bus's air conditioning being broken, or maybe it was set to some boardroom's idea of a temperature that would ensure a sustainable future for the planet.  The board-room fat-asses who make such decisions about bus climate should be required to ride in the buses they are controlling. And it stank (stunk?) - - we're talking Cleaning Cages Day at the Monkey House of the County Zoo.  The windows in buses no longer open. And oxygen masks do not drop down from the ceiling.

I found a sideways seat near the back and sat down. After I had sat down, a guy on the back bench tells me "Just so you know - there was a guy throwing up in that seat just 20 minutes ago. I think they got it all cleaned up, but just so you know..."  Oh, great, The More You Know, eh buddy. I can't wait to get home and burn my clothes. At the next stop, someone in front of my seat got off, and I slid into that seat instead.  Someone else sat in the seat I had previously occupied.  I counted down - 3 - 2 - 1 , and right on cue behind me I heard  "Just so you know, there was a guy throwing up etc.", and the next victim of the throno et vomens jumped up and stood for the rest of the ride. 

Meanwhile, the bus which is already running over a half-hour behind, is being over-run by Special Needs. Bicycles coming on and off the front rack.  A wheelchair - that means at least two minutes lowering the ramp, clearing out the handicap area, fastening the wheels, folding the ramp back up.  That's OK, nothing the bus line can do about the ADA.  But, two blocks later, the wheelchair guy wants to get off. Dude, you wheeled yourself for more than a block to get to the bus stop, is a two-block trip on a bus really necessary? You coulda been there already!

Then a lady boards shoving a stroller.  But there's already a wheelchair in the handicapped spot, so Baby goes in the aisle. Of course, Baby had to take a dump.  As we know, babies have many ways of notifying us of such things.  First there is the ear-splitting shriek.  How can a baby keep up such volume without tiring or even taking a breath? My head is hurting. And then Baby sends out the second notice - the nostril-melting stench. Back in the vomit section, it's getting pretty hot without the air conditioning. The vomit guy keeps re-telling his story but only after people sit down on the seat.   And the baby is still letting out that endless piercing scream.

Finally I was released at my stop.  As the bus stank and screamed off into the distance, I did not feel Pretty and Witty and Wise.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Independence Day, Random Thoughts

Random Notes - I've been working overtime, in addition to restoring a vacant rental unit in my spare time, so

I've only had a chance to jot down a few random notes over the past few weeks.  Sorry. And some nice all-American shots from today's Independence Day Parade.  Happy 4th!

The Mail Room
One day at my job, I was filling in for someone in the mail room. As the workers sort the incoming mail, they have a chance to exchange ideas and gossip. Fake names throughout.

Leona: "I hate it when I'm dreaming about shopping - I can never find anything."
Judge Konkel - I always enjoyed riding with him
in past parades, playing "God Bless America"
on my accordion.

Most of the people in the mail room have children.  The general consensus of movies was focused on between Transformers and The Avengers, movies patterned after superhero sagas and comic-book franchises from the 1950s, reworked by Baby Boomers. I've been pretty quiet, since I don't really watch that many of that sort of fantasy/action movie. So, Leona asks me:  "What kind of movies do Old people watch, Gary? Westerns?" Ya! old people.

Yvonne: "If you have a sexy dream about an ex-boyfriend, should you tell your current boyfriend? If you tell him, he gets all jealous and riled up, and for what? It was a dream. But if you don't tell him, I feel funny about that too, you know, not being totally honest with him."

Police Roadblock

My neighbor was walking her dog the other night.  She took little Muffy on his customary constitutional route, and encountered a police barricade. There was some domestic dispute or another that the police were working on, and they wouldn't let her through. Despairingly, she pleaded  "But Muffy can only poop in Bay View!"

and for all you vegetarians... our Rutabaga of the Week

After such a week, a man follows me into the Piggly Wiggly. "Are you the brown mini-van guy who just came in here?"  Well, yeah.  He told me that I was wrong to be driving in the right-turn lane.  I believed that the right-turn lane was where I belonged, since I was turning right. Apparently this gentleman did not believe that. Is he going to hit me or what?  Watch it, he's starting to stammer and drool. Something that seems a good idea behind the wheel, now begins to pale in the light of reality.  And I'm beginning to figure out who this guy is.  He was the one from the corner,  the one trying to turn left, crossing six lanes of traffic to get into the right turn lane, and everybody else better get out of his way.  Well, the law states that than turning onto another road requires that you turn into the closest encountered lane, and then signal lane changes until you arrive at the lane you want to be in.  So, it's him that's wrong, not me. But one thing I've learned is that you can't discuss legal fine points with a rutabaga, so I didn't enter into such a discussion. He turned around abruptly and walked away.  All done. Ya can't fix stupid.
Have a Safe and Happy Independence Weekend, everybody!