Hairball Gazette Jan 22 2007 HAIRBALL GAZETTESt. Petersburg January 22, 2007Art Buchwald has died after almost achieving immortality. When he didn’t pass on as predicted, Art was quoted saying, “I thought I was headed to heaven, now it seems I’m going to Martha’s Vineyard.” Art, we all loved you, you gave us joy and you made us laugh. Wherever you are, I hope it is filled with laughter. You’re life wasn’t easy but it was more interesting than most. You were my hero.Another first, the Jehovah Witnesses tried to save me. Told them to make an appointment. Never worked for me, hope it worked for them. Stole that from The New Yorker.The JW visit is right up there with the dead car battery in a parking lot in Ft. Washington, Maryland. There I sat in 90 degree heat at 10:00 p.m. waiting for AAA. A woman came out of one of the stores and asked me if I had accepted Jesus as my savior. I told her only if he could fix my car. Otherwise, I was sticking with Mo from AAA. Josephine and Grace came to the rescue with jumper cables. Thanks again. I’m not against Jesus, but I needed a jump and a new battery.***War update, the one between me and the boy, nocaa, (reminder: no class at all), upstairs:Have found something far more effective than opera. The National Hockey League. A rousing, loud hockey game shuts him down, at least his TV. He just runs back and forth around his apartment like a chipmunk on speed. Maybe he’s autistic. Isn’t there medicine for that? I may have to subscribe to Centre Ice in self-defense. Like it would be painful to the person who sees hockey as God. Let’s face it, there’s hockey, then there’s everything else.Speaking of everything else, nocaa upstairs is crashing and banging at 1030 a.m. (night and day…) What an inspiration, God bless him. Decided he needed musical accompaniment. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture to be exact. Keeping to the theme for the day, the next selection will be von Suppe’ overtures. His use of cymbals is amazing.The lawn service has arrive so now a lawn mower has been added to the mix. Prokofiev introduced the saxophone to symphony orchestras and Richard Strauss used wind machines. Has anyone considered the lawn mower?Prokofiev, has been added to the play list. Always wondered if those devoted watchers of the series Dallas knew the theme music was from Prokofiev’s ballet, Romeo and Juliet (Yes it was--I looked it up and played it). If they thought about it at all, they probably believed it was Hootie (I don’t know how to spell this and I’m not looking it up) and the Blowfish. Neeme Jarvi always does a great job with this composer, Prokofiev not Hootie et al.Working my way down from 3,000.Hey, it’s not just me. I have friends in Palm Harbor whose neighbor gets drunk and throws rocks at their house and they live in a toney neighborhood. This was the same guy who raised ducks in a wading pool in his back yard then barbequed them. Uck. Remember the movie, War of the Roses, with Danny Devito? Scary.Alas, Johnny Apple, died in possession of my conductor’s baton so I’m using a pencil.***Florida is amazing (amazing is the word of the month). Of all places, I ran across a mathematical genius in The Dollar Tree. Purchased four heavy, tall glasses to hold paint brushes plus assorted drivel. The cashier was shoving the glasses into a bag and I asked if she would wrap them (they usually do). She then proceeded to stuff paper inside but not around saying she wouldn’t want my fine crystal to break. The total came to $13.91. I gave her two fives and four ones ($14.00) making my change nine cents. She gave me a nickel and four pennies, then smugly counted out my original fives and ones, and, with two fingers, pushed them toward me as though they were diseased. Wow, a nine cent profit I thought but no, I did the two finger push back at her, saying sweetly that they belonged to the store. Buy retail, it’s less trouble.***The ApartmentThe building is circa Eisenhower Administration. Back then, Johnny came marching home, Rosie the Riveter turned in her hard hat for an apron, and rare was the household with a TV. (No CNN) There were no hand-held hair dryers (ladies put there hair up in bobby pins or those new fangled gadgets called curlers, and got Toni home perms) and the only computer, owned by the government, was the size of a Wal-Mart. Prosperity abounded and there was a building boom. Most things were designed by men who didn’t use them. I love men but you guys aren’t terribly good at doing bathrooms.Peculiarities: The large closet in the bedroom has a built-in shoe rack, which could hold maybe forty pair. However, it is located three feet behind the hanging rod so, if one actually used it, would have to crawl on hands and knees, under the clothes to retrieve a shoe. I stacked large plastic bins of art supplies back there. You never know when I’ll need to crawl back there to commit art.The building is solid concrete, which is great in a hurricane but not so much for hanging art and cell phone reception. Many of the tenants stand in the parking lot making calls. I broke down and got a land line.Central air was also rare for the middle class back then, even in Florida, so places like this were built for maximum air flow—now they’ve added window units but not in the kitchen. People didn’t do hot food in the summer.The other tenants consist of students, young people, regular people, a fairly unsuccessful hooker, an alcoholic couple, nocca and me. It’s very arty and I like it.Have labeled the kitchen cabinets that won’t close, Flying Doors I-VI. Also labeled all the walls with varies titles, Wall of Scabs & Nails I-IV, Minor Wall of Scabs, Turtle (hung one—fake) Climbing Wall of Scabs, etc. I think of it as the Hirshorn Museum of modern and weird art. Now that I have my paintings out of storage with Dennis, I’m trying to cover the worst. Tours available by appointment—send email.Electrical events abound. When I turn on the toaster oven and the TV at the same time, the circuits blow and I’m in the dark. Same goes for the microwave and Foreman grill. My computer and router are struggling mightily with this. With every crash, things uninstall themselves—all the sound is now gone and the computer informed me (a written notice, remember, no sound) that it was never installed. On the up side, that annoying voice that says, “you’ve got mail,” is gone.A woman knocked on the door at 1030 (1030 is showing up a lot) the other night asking for vegetable oil. Referred her to Publix. Wonder what she was going to do with vegetable oil at 1030 p.m. Interesting visual there, guess it wouldn’t be as sticky as Jell-O but just as messy as chocolate.This place does supply a plethora of inspiration for writing.Waldorf, Maryland, is beginning to look like the ground zero of urban sophistication. It isn’t, it isn’t. It does have plumbing and electricity though.Here I am asking for help. Would you please pray, incant, shake beads, bow to your iPod, whatever you do so that nocaa (Mike) finds a girl friend, who lets him stay over night or live with her ELSEWHERE? Or maybe a great job in Ketchikan, Alaska. Let’s just send him to his highest good some place else. Come on guys, this country was founded by a bunch of protestant, radical guys who didn’t design bathrooms, wore wigs and believed in religious freedom for all. Thanks.The gazette is turning into a blog, which will be weekly and shorter. What think? Let me know, please. I’ll keep you informed. In that way you can read it or not, plus comment.Have gotten a lot of positive feedback. Thanks.The only negative comment was made recently at a party. A former friend (perhaps acquaintance would be a better word) who, incidentally, has done nothing but be depressed, whine and complain about his wife and finances for the past 3 years, said that my gazette was a cry for help. If one more person had helped with my move, I’d have had to apply for a parade permit. That, actually, would have been a good idea.So folks, constructive criticism yes, projection no.Mercury goes retrograde on February 15, you’ll start to feel it on February 10. Mercury Rx is a time to redo, rethink, edit and NOT START ANY NEW PROJECTS. Do not, repeat do not, purchase electronic equipment like computers, stereos, etc., in a retrograde Mercury. For those who don’t believe in astrology, it’s going to have an impact on you anyway, so there. I’m planning to hide under the bed and cry for help (just kidding). This one runs through March 7, with lingering effects until March 16. Ergo, the house blessing (it’s already been cursed) will be pushed to late March or we could all hide under my bed and drink champagne.Oldsmar Florist will give you at 10% discount if you mention the Hairball Gazette: 813/855-4590 and 1/800-330-4500, http://www.tampabayflorist.com/. They are a family-owed and operated business, located a 3906 Tampa Road in Oldsmar that delivers all around the area and can wire your order any place in the country.Next month, the Mercury Rx edition and nominations for the Dumb Bastard Award for February.

Hairball Gazette Jan 11 2007

HAIRBALL GAZETTE©

St. Petersburg Jan 11 2007

Lilly Munster died. Another hero gone.

Buffalo Boy, now known as nocaa (no class at all—please note lower case), upstairs told me to either move or get earphones when I asked him to turn down his TV. I am not an air traffic controller. Why would I want to look like one. Love it. Insults are stories and people pay for stories. I don’t have electric candles with blue flames in my windows. I don’t even own electric candles, I have real ones. I wonder if he covers his TV with a crocheted snood at night. (I don’t know how to spell snood and neither does spell check so I’m going with this.) Probably not because he watches TV all night. Have I mentioned I hate TV? Am I being judgmental and elitist? Oh yes. The other night he pounded on my door and rang the bell for 5 minutes before stomping away. Ah, life beneath the buffalo. I now keep a can of mace beside the door (bought it at Walgreens). This is the same man who told me he once heard that “big, fat opera singer man.” Guessing he means Luciano Pavarotti. Hello, ever hear of Babe Ruth? Another household name. Suspect this man has been living under a rock and therein lies the problem. Definitely raised by wolves. This will work out, it will, it will. I resolve to stop saying that and stop whining. I really do love this place, even though the noise level from upstairs has driven me to the edge and beyond.

The Dumb Bastard Award for January has been given to me. While helping out, and I use that term lightly, at Oldsmar Florist, I watered an artificial bamboo and flooded the front of the shop. Sorry Sunday. May it grow and prosper. Perhaps it’s a testament to their products that it looked so real.

For those unfamiliar with the Dumb Bastard Award, a brief history. The award was first given in the 90s to Mike Keza, photographer extraordinaire, for taking a cab from Washington DC to Dulles Airport (about $60) checking his bags for the flight, then calling his office only to discover his trip was the next day. I’ve made it my own and award it once a month to anyone, myself included, who does something extremely screwy. Never given to evil people--they are undeserving. The guy upstairs is a dumb bastard and doesn’t need an award. I do take nominations and anyone wishing to put someone forward during the upcoming months, should send an email—self-nomination is fine—confession is good for the soul, I hear.

Another cat has entered my life in a good way. He’s a totally black, witch’s cat who roams the hood and I’ve named him Mr. Benchley after the great Robert Benchley of the Algonquin round table. After struggling with the idea, bought a very kewl dish for outside and IAMS dry food. Mr. Benchley is helping to reinforce my Dorothy Parker image and comes twice a day to chow down—he’s actually in line when I get up. Makes me feel like the Wal-Mart selling TVs for a dollar to the first five customers. Benchley considers this the all you can eat buffet, which it is. Thus far, he’s a no touch cat and I respect his independence (do I see a lot of me in him?), but we do have conversations where I practice my Parker accent. I still miss Cypress up there in Accokeek. She was definitely the reincarnation of Mrs. Parker.

The kitchen ceiling fan is dismembering itself. Came home the other day to find one of the blades lying on the floor. Perhaps it’s screaming to be cleaned after years of neglect. Fan’s been replaced. It’s twin in the bedroom will go soon—it will, it will. Perhaps the solution to getting things fixed is to break everything. I could have a sledge hammer party like Patrise did when she remodeled the kitchen in her house on the Hill. Sorry I missed that.

Amazing but true. I lost 3 lbs over the holidays. Must be moving weight. Thought for sure after eating two large pieces of Larry’s super cheese cake that I gained. Larry, you should market that as cheese cake that takes inches off your hips. You’ll get rich.

The hood. I’ve decided this neighborhood resembles New Orleans (wishful thinking?) with all the old buildings and flowering vines but not as romantic or exciting—yet. It’s a mix of the Garden District and the 9th Ward. Turn a corner and it changes. Thinking of reforming (Bob G, reforming is another one of those heteronyms) my “all kazoo symphony orchestra,” into a marching band and doing a New Orleans style parade down Locust Street. Might be the only street in St. Pete where I could get away with it. (Well, maybe down there in the jungle of Old South St. Pete—look out Carol and David. I’ll call soon. I’ve been driving back and forth to Oldsmar and haven’t had the energy for anything else.) Picture it. The guys in white coats (no, not the I’m coming to get you kind) and fedoras, the ladies in tank tops and shawls with table clothes wrapped around their waists as skirts. Oh, and do-rags (I just bought a couple at Bealls Outlet for 99 cents each). Shoes, we don’t need. Everyone playing When the Saints Come Marching In on kazoos from the Dollar Store (colors will vary). My surrogate cat, Mr. Benchley, could ride on a float made of artificial fur and bougainvillea doing a Queen Mom wave or not (Larry has threatened to clip the plant that blocks my back door—it would be useful and recycling in a way). The possibilities are endless. It’s so good to be at sea again. Volunteers? Definitely more 9th Ward. I just saw laundry hanging off the second floor walkway and a woman in a bathing suit sunbathing on a folding lounge in front of the building (not a pretty sight, the woman). Oh, if they could just play music and jam.

Once again for those who don’t know, I formed the all kazoo symphony orchestra when at the New York Times. We played the Marine Hymn for Ret. Gen. Mick Trainer in celebration of his birthday. Thought he’d faint when we walked up—I, of course was the conductor. I have no talent for actually playing musical instruments. That’s what he gets for wanting to be a reporter. Loved him too—he smoked cigars. One of the good ones. Of course, you’ve all read the book he wrote with Michael Gordon last year. Yes?

Watched the Lightening vs. Wild. The Wild have red and green uniforms and look like evil Xmas elves skating around with intensity and malice. That or animated bottles of Tabasco.

It’s 1:34 am on Tuesday, January 10, and the crashing and moving of objects upstairs in deafening. nocaa must be taking down his Xmas decorations. Goodbye for another year, blue electric candles. (Tears) War has now been declared. My first salvo is Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia, with Thomas Allen and Agnes Baltas, conducted by Neville Marriner. Tomorrow night it’s Bruckner’s 4th. Lots of timpani. Just think, only 2,999 CDs to go. (Yes, I’ve collected my CDs from the Gailey’s upstairs closet—thank you once again, Joyce and Phil for free music storage while I’m off being a gypsy.) If Bush could only fight wars with such, he’d wear them down. Actually I preferred the insulting cartoon thing between the Iranians and the Danes; now that takes talent, thought and planning. It’s good to be at war again. God, have I missed my music. Oh, I’m also having a martini.

Last night for this edition and nocaa is still up at 4:27 am. Heard a resounding crash. He either fell out of bed (doubtful since he’s been walking around), dropped his shot-put or a breakfront (Dennis, could this be the one you lost? If so, it’s busted.) Heard loud groaning earlier, which was either sex or a difficult bowel movement. That’s disgusting.

I’m settling in, I’m glad to be in St. Pete and actually getting to know my way around. Want to spend more time here, get to know the city, maybe do some work for the orchestra and see my friends. Right now, doing research into eBay to supplement my writing. The apartment is becoming home, albeit torturous. Perhaps I’ve found a place to be, at least for a year. Actually, I pray every day for a call to go cover hockey and get away from that nut case upstairs. Harry Hamburg where are you and guys from Philadelphia who were going to pound people’s heads on car hoods?

Will probably have a house blessing in February. If it’s warm enough, we can take over the street. I’ll let you know.

Reminder that I now have a phone that works. I’ve broken down the phone booth, the corner by the front door with the folding chair and plastic table, which was the only place my cell phone would work. It was known as the time out corner because all the calls timed out and cut off, curbed my calling considerably. Cingular sucks and only works while driving Rt. 19, a great place for calls to catch up with friends.