"Return of the Mortician"
Which means that it's all-for-naught that I loaded my CD player with John Coltrane for you yesterday. I was so distraught, in fact, that I listened to KFJC instead on the way to get some comfort food. I know you listen to Byrne's streaming radio, you should give KFJC a try (they stream) -- especially in their celebration of the month of Mayhem.
I didn't go to our usual joint across from De Anza College, instead I went to the one at Mathilda and 101. In the shadow of the zeppelin hanger, this is the place to see the retired developers of the original IC's figure out how much their stock portfolios are worth. These days most of them wince.
I was quickly seated at a 2-top by a host that would've been more at home in a zoot suit and given a regular ice tea. Ice tea's a problem in a place like this, Feddy. They always try to throw some exotic sounding herb into it all and then turn around and charge you twice as much. What they don't tell you is jojoba is actually used to choke misbehaving camels and prostitutes in the middle of the Sahara.
Very often when I'm by myself I get ultra-slow service. Assuming that it's not due to my color, I'm guessing it's because I'm not in a hurry and always "busy," either thinking, reading, writing; or more commonly, acting like I'm thinking, reading or writing.
When my tight-pants'd waitress finally did show up, about 15 minutes later, I got the standard you've come to know and love: cheesey scramble (egg whites only) and blueberry coffee cake (center, not edge piece).
The food arrived unsettlingly fast and I took my time chowing, reading news on my hiptop, and occasionally seasoning my meal with salt from my tears of loneliness.
At the end of my $10 nosh I was writing insulting dispatches about some incredibly poor writing I was reading when who should greet me but Paleface. If memory serves right, you hate him, but he was the HR guy during my stint at Apple -- the one who helped me get the gig in the Olde Countrye.
I haven't seen Paleface in yonks, and even though he always reminds me of an incredibly nice mortician, I like him quite a bit I caught him up on the tragedy and spectre that is my life. He did the same, but more quickly, because, come on, no one lives as big as I do. Like you, he's gone for the 21st century comb-over (which is to say he's shaved his head) and it looks good.
After lunch I headed to the Denny's next door to steal their Wifi signal and post to you while drinking a Strawberry Mango Sour. Unfortunately, something in their "system" is down, so I'm forced to thumb-type to you on my hiptop, using the super-secret address ... Which means this thing will look like a lay-out melee.
All while I jack my blood sugar level dangerously high.
But hey, it's the thought that counts, right Feddy?
1 comment:
God, I hate Hobees (I'm talking Stevens Creek here). Pseudo health food that isn't healthy and tastes like crap. How do they stay in business?
Great to read your stuff, I like feddy's counterpoint to the ever acerbic b1, and how that in turn squeezes drop after drop of glistening liquid vitriol from the hiptop of b1, who is never more entertaining than when he has clamped on to the ankle of his victim and is tearing flesh from bone. Great stuff.
Thanks for the pointer to your new blog, b1.
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