A Fair and Just Universe

Thelonious with her Aunt Lisa and Uncle David. David’s hair is shorter than usual due to the malicious attentions of a Chinatown “stylist.” As you can see, he looks very handsome, anyway, but let the record reflect that this is not his customary coiffure.

On Friday evening I bought Thelonious a little brush (at a wonderful store called Noe Valley Pet Company), piles of Fancy Feast and a supply of empty gelatin caps.

I started giving her slippery elm in gelatin caps, and switched to the new herbs, and sure enough, she is eating noticeably less again, so I have stopped the slippery elm and reduced the new herbs. If matters don’t improve, I’ll switch back to the old herbs.

On Saturday, David and Lisa came from across town to see their ailing niece, which was awfully nice of them. They said she looks frail but not at all unhappy. Tom was off on a bike ride, so the three of us had a tasty lunch at Herbivore.

Then I rode my bike to Rainbow for groceries, and in the evening Tom and I watched Owning Mahowny, in which Philip Seymour Hoffman plays a compulsive gambler.

Sunday morning Tom and I went bright and early to the Fillmore box office for Alice in Chains tickets (that is, ticket, as I will be attending unescorted). I was afraid there would be 500 AIC fans already there when we arrived (or, conversely, none at all, meaning I had the date wrong), but there were about 15 people in line.

I told the affectless broker that I wanted to sit near the front and center of the balcony, but on an aisle, so no unfamiliar leg touches mine. He said he wasn’t set up to determine whether the seat was on an aisle or not, and that for that kind of request, you need to call Ticketmaster (and pay the substantial service charge).

“OK, I’ll call Ticketmaster,” I said, not having taken offense, but he said, “This seat won’t be there. This show is selling out.” That was ten minutes after tickets went on sale, so I went ahead and bought the ticket, which is for a fantastic seat four rows from the front of the balcony, just not on an aisle. I feel very happy when I see my Alice in Chains ticket on the bookshelf.

Tom and I were early for our next engagement, so we walked from the Fillmore all the way to the Ferry Building, which took an hour. At the Ferry Building, we sat at one of the big square wooden tables outside the Book Passage and read until the ferry arrived, bringing Tom’s mother, who took him (and me!) out to lunch at The Slanted Door for his birthday. The food was extremely tasty, as always, and it was great to see Ann, as always.

Tom and I parted company outside the Ferry Building because he had to finish some gelato and then he was going to go to Safeway rather than straight home. I went into the Embarcadero station to wait for a J train and sat while several trains went by and several announcements were heard. I finally heard an announcement saying a J would be coming in nine minutes.

Holding my Harper’s magazine and sitting due upright, I closed my eyes for the merest moment, and then was awakened by another announcement. “Did she say J?” I inquired of my neighbor, who replied, “The J just left.”

The next several announcements made no mention of a J train, and yet I couldn’t believe I’d been asleep for nine minutes, so I concluded there had been no J, and after 20 or 30 more minutes, I went up one level and told an agent that I’d been waiting for a J for an hour. He said to tell the other agent. The other agent said to go back down and tell the inspector. I went down; there was no inspector. Just as I was going up again, I heard an announcement saying, “The J is coming right now!” or words to that effect. I barely caught it.

When I got home, I could hear Tom already in his apartment overhead. He said he’d gone into the station and seen a J right away, so decided to skip Safeway (as the J is the only train that goes to our neighborhood, whereas any would go near Safeway).

So either I was asleep for nine minutes sitting bolt upright and clutching a periodical or, and this is much more likely, Muni said, “J coming in nine minutes,” and then it arrived in ten seconds, just as Tom put his foot on the platform.

By the way, I wasn’t meaning to suggest that my father was a patsy when I said he was susceptible to logical arguments when I was younger. On the contrary, it was soothing to my youthful nerves and upheld the illusion of a fair and just universe to hear my father say, “You won the argument, so I guess you can … .”