A Trip to Work in Sloshing Undies

Above is Thelonious Atkins.

Not long ago, in regard to escaping a fire, I said here that folding ladders aren’t very good, but they’re better than nothing. My mother asked, “What would be better, a helicopter evacuation?”

My life lately consists of cleaning up “fluids,” as someone put it yesterday, unless Thelonious eats less, in which case there is less fluid, but it also means the end is nigher. Yesterday she didn’t eat much and I confess to a bit of relief at having less diarrhea-related cleanup to do.

Now she evidently doesn’t eat tuna that has been in the refrigerator and maybe not even tuna fresh, so to speak, out of the can. Baby food she also does not eat. Off to the fancy meat market later today for chicken, turkey and hamburger, per her new vet.

Quite forgetful lately, which I think is a function of this protracted bereavement. I had to go to work in wet underwear today because I forgot to dry it, if you must know.

Then I realized that the day before I had called the Chronicle’s where-were-you-on-9/11 phone line (for a podcast) and explained where I was during the Loma Prieta earthquake! Oh, well, I guess they can save it for the 200^th anniversary of the earthquake in 2106.

I gave up on Thomas de Zengotita’s Mediated: How the Media Shapes Your World and the Way You Live in It as it was starting to feel like work and went on to Daphne Kalotay’s Calamity and Other Stories, which I thought was merely so-so. There was a good line right near the beginning and a lovable character in the second story, which momentum carried me clear to the end of the book, but there wasn’t anything else that good in it. It had a blurb on the cover from Jhumpa Lahiri, whose writing I have sworn off. Actually, I just am not going to read any more of it; “sworn off” implies effort.

Here’s someone whose writing I think is great: Donna Tartt.

Alice in Chains are touring again, albeit with a new singer, of necessity, since their singer died of an overdose years ago. Their new singer is William DuVall, the lead singer of Comes with the Fall. A couple of years ago, I and a number of 19-year-old guys saw Jerry Cantrell, Alice in Chains founding guitarist, at Slim’s, performing his own music. Comes with the Fall opened for them. I liked them a lot and bought one of their CDs, which I listen to quite regularly. It’s called The Year Is One. (Jerry Cantrell’s CDs are excellent, too.)

Alice in Chains is probably my favorite band of all time. In 1993, I saw them at Lollapalooza, along with Primus, Arrested Development, Front 242, Rage Against the Machine, Fishbone and Tool; lineup just confirmed at a page called 5 Concerts You Wish You’d Been At.

A friend of mine was about to adopt the baby a relative of hers was carrying. The young lady, perfectly skinny at about eight and a half months pregnant, wanted to go to Lollapalooza and my friend did not, so she lent me her car and paid for two tickets and we went to the show. At the time, I was listening mainly to jazz, so the first time I heard AIC was live at this concert.

One thing I remember from that show was a teenaged boy, more wasted than anyone I’ve ever seen, weaving through the audience clutching a pair of open scissors.

Today I went to the hardware store to see if they will take used compact fluorescent bulbs back for disposal; CFLs have mercury in them. They will. The bulb in question cost considerably more than an incandescent bulb, but I figured that, besides saving energy, it would last much longer. In fact, it died probably before an incandescent bulb would have. I must look at it and see if it’s certified by ENERGY STAR. If so, it was supposed to have lasted ten times as long as an incandescent bulb and I can go from being mildly bemused to being mildly peeved.