That’s his picture outside the scooter shop. For the sharp-eyed, there is a repair truck on the railroad tracks dead center of this photo. It’s a weird vehicle that appears to glide along spraying something on the rails. Anyway, back to the motorcyle, last month one of his friends got a brand new 2009 Viper with 4 miles on the odometer for guess how much? $250.00.It will, however, take 73 days to get my vehicle, and between now and then, I must keep the scooter in good repair. I am still aghast at the huge number of miles put on that thing just to get around town. Since February that’s 3,450 miles, yet I’ve made very few trips to nowhere, that is, I wasn’t taking Sunday drives until yesterday. Yet I totally loved the drive, it reminds me of the open road when in fact, I only got half way to Belle Glade.
I was talking to Shay, the heavy metal singer. He quit the old band and put one together on his own. Like he says, he’s fishing in a bigger pond. Metal guitar players are like pythons in the swamp. They are a foreign species, will eat anything, and have established a breeding population in what used to be a nice quiet neighborhood. He’s still living in Miramar and commuting to Hollywood, that’s a drive I hope I never have to make on a daily basis.
I finished “The Fist of Allah” in enough time to warn you against it. It is not for everybody. But I do commend the author for including, as one of the first pages, a complete list and description of all the characters in the book. Mind you, I don’t credit him with the same benevolent purpose I had over the same concept. He was pretty much forced to do it because of all the Arabic words that would otherwise confuse the reader. And he has that bothersome inclination of portraying spies as nice people doing a dirty job.
The secret services of all foreign governments (not being tainted by American excesses, you see) are superior to the arthritic CIA, and of course, they are models of efficiency. But how many lunches can these people have on the public dime? It seems to has a lot to do with dollars, and as long as we possess a printing press, spies will dine on skate, salmon, and Sunday roast beef. All prim and proper up front, as if they were born to it. And damn, those Israelis are so sneaky and underhanded if you didn’t know better you’d swear they were a bunch of Jews.
These spies never talk secrets behind soundproof doors. They always meet up in a public restaurant full of strangers in the next booth. They always find time to have these lunch hour chats before rushing off to some terribly important meeting, and the Englishman involved is always a personal acquaintance of Margaret Thatcher. Usually an old school chum, I am taken to believe. Around 5% of “The Fist of Allah” is taken up describing these impromptu conversations and the type and quality of the food. My advice is never go writing when you are hungry.
Today was the electric bike again. Wise move, having that as a backup. And the good weather was temporary, the heat wave has returned. In a surprise, I received another letter from the State. I had argued that when my scooter was stolen, I was out both the money for that scooter and the money I spent on the new one, and thus I should be compensated for both. I found a clause in their rule book that provides for total recompensation, rather than mere restoral as with an insurance company. I immediately went to a notary and signed an affidavit that I was “not able to recover the lost money from any other source”, their words not mine. I asked and it looks like I shall receive. Being a good boy has its rewards. I can think of a few people who should try it rather than sitting around scheming how to shaft the people who trusted them.
One of the headlines on MSN network today was a list of things that married women “shouldn’t say” to their husbands. They include gems like:
• You are just like my father.
• When are you going to get a better job?
• My mother warned me you’d do this.
Makes one admire the Musuo, a tribe in Tibet that has never invented marriage, and they seem to get along just fine. The rub here is that some women actually need to be told not to say such hurtful things. I mean, aren’t they supposed to prize nuturing acceptance above all else? Or was that just part of the lie they told to get married in the first place? I’m just askin’.
And don't even ask me what I think of husbands who would be bothered by anything like the above.
