Category: The DayBook

Took 130 photos this morning for a friend.
I sent her about 30.
Maybe she will be able to use 3.

The trash can is the photographer’s most valuable tool.

And perhaps that principle applies to real life as well.

The current regime could be taken out with the trash.
The world would improve immediately.

Remember when Nicholas von Hoffman referred to Richard Nixon as:

“a dead mouse on the kitchen floor that everyone was afraid to touch”?

My mind appears to be wandering into strange, dark crevices.
No worries.

Soon it will be Happy Hour.

Twenty-Five years ago: 22 May 2001. 

WordPress did its “annual” release.
That always makes me a little uneasy.

And today I decided the iPad also needed “refreshing.”
All manner of technology adventures.

Someday “they” will revoke my IT license.

have been making a Kawasaki Rose every day for about a week.

Thought briefly about learning another variation of Dr. Kawasaki’s rose.

But honestly, it gives me more joy simply to make this familiar model and pass it on.

Today’s rose went to the woman who has washed pots here at The Asylum since it opened back in the 1980s.

She is proof that there are no menial jobs.
Only menial people.

Twenty-five years ago: 21 May 2001.

Now for the exciting part. Is this going to post? Is the blog still alive?

Being ancient requires constant acceptance and adaptation.

In my case, adaptation means no outdoor aerobic exercise when it is hot.

I could walk my one-mile route around the inside of the building a couple of times and run up a few flights of stairs.

But what fun would that be?

So I hopped on the bus and went to Pentagon City.
Cost: $1.10.

Got in a couple miles of mall walking in air-conditioned splendor.

Spent nothing.
Then back on the bus and back to The Asylum.

Cost: $0.00.
Because $1.10 buys two hours of bus riding.

That is not interesting.

Not even to me.

But it is part of my plan going forward.

Every week:
— Attend one Asylum event in person. Not on Zoom.
— Get at least two miles away from The Asylum.

The grocery store, Target, the bank, Trader Joe’s — those do not count.
They are all too close.

If I can walk there, I did not really go anywhere.

This is all based on one disturbing possibility:
What if I live as long as my neighbor Sy, who will soon be 101?

That is another eighteen years sitting in my comfy chair drinking coffee and watching clouds.

Kind of scary.

So. It doesn’t matter if I am interested in the Asylum Event or if I want to escape from the Asylum. Just do something to stave off becoming a potted plant.

Update on the headless lady:

Twenty-five years ago: 20 May 2001.

Toasty warm is OK as long as I am lounging in my secret spot.
Drinking iced coffee.
Reading a book.

But there have been unauthorized changes in my secret spot since yesterday,

Went to yoga today.
Got about 2 miles walking in before it got too hot.

I think I have everything under control at this instant.
That’s usually when the wheels fall off.

Twenty-five years ago: 19 May 2001.

Absolutely nothing blog-worthy today.

Extreme Upper Management of The Asylum held its semi-annual “talk story” meeting.

It was all very warm, fuzzy, and intended to be reassuring.

Nevertheless, I attended.

Just so Extreme Upper Management knows I am watching.

I realize I do not get a vote.

They can and will do whatever they want.

My only hope is that the place does not go broke while I am still living here.

Stopped in to check on my old garden box today.

Do I miss the box?

No.
It was time to let someone else enjoy having their own box of dirt.

Twenty-five years ago: 18 May 2001.

Well now.

I could complain about the state of the union, the weather, the trials of old age, and the perils of AI.

Just for starters.

Or I could try gratitude.

Carlton was big on gratitude.

Grateful for:

Friends who put up with me. I know it is not easy.
Air conditioning
Indoor plumbing
Uber
Audiobooks
Naps
Good origami paper
Hope that #47 is removed before destroying all life on the planet
Friends who put up with me

Stop and enjoy the wild and crazy roses.

Twenty-five years ago: 17 May 2001.

Just an ordinary bleak day in the Reign of 47. 

Some days are hard.

But we cannot let the bastards win.

Our parents lied to us about the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus.

Our high school civics teachers lied to us about Checks and Balances and the Rule of Law.

That does not give us a pass.

Twenty five years ago: 16 May 2001.

So.

What exactly was I thinking yesterday?

My coffee maker — the one Alexa controls — is fussy about filters.

Filters can be obtained from Amazon or Harris-Teeter.

Naturally, I buy mine at Harris-Teeter.

Never mind how inconvenient that is.

Yesterday, I purchased 600 coffee filters.
What makes me think the coffee pot will last 600 filters’ worth?

More importantly:
What makes me think I’ll last 600 filters’ worth?

Funny how the ancient brain calculates these things.

For the record: 200 filters cost $1.49.
I doubt this is financially significant.

And eleven years ago today, I signed on at The Asylum.

At the time, they had a program where residents could “trade up” to a better apartment by jumping ahead in the waiting list.

They were, in fact, waiting for someone to die.

But you did not actually have to live in the apartment you were using to improve your position in the queue.

I never spent a single night in my first apartment.
Fortunately.
It had absolutely nothing going for it.

Other than availability.

Eleven years ago: 15 May 2015.

Every time I see the window washers, I think of George Formby and his famously naughty 1930s song, When I’m Cleaning Windows.

It was too risque for BBC Radio.

It is all too easy for me to slip into just hanging around the Old Bat’s Cave.

So I went to the movies again today.
Also had lunch out and stopped at the grocery store.
A multipurpose outing.

Several people recommended The Sheep Detectives.
It was charming. Positive. Upbeat.
And less than two hours long.

At 82, I am no longer trying to do everything.

If truth be known, I am not really trying to do anything.

The goal now is simply to keep things pleasant and manageable for as long as possible.

twenty-five years ago: 14 May 2001.

The electricity went out in the Old Bat’s Cave after I was already cosy in bed listening to an audiobook.

No worries.

Shortly after I woke up, the power returned, Alexa reconnected to the mothership, and I was able to begin the day by uttering the sacred phrase:

“Computer, Good Morning.”

All good.

My morning ramble took me past the scene of yesterday’s transformer accident.

Decided it might be time to think about a Plan B for my trigeminal neuralgia.

No need to rush into anything.

After all, Plan A has always been to die before it gets too bad.

But I never intended to be 82 years old.

I might not die soon enough.

Ten days ago, the Table of the Dead was empty.

Fifteen years ago: 13 May 2011.

While I was out of the building, one of our transformers was hit by a truck.

So tonight, The Asylum is operating on some sort of reduced-power mode.

My apartment still has electricity. At least for now.

I charged all my devices and power banks.

And filled my travel mug with hot coffee. Just in case.

Wine tasting proceeded as scheduled.

Dinner was advertised as “limited.”

I passed on dinner and had soup and an apple in the comfort of the Old Bat’s Cave.

We are down to two elevators.

A good evening to stay put with a book.

Meanwhile, more from Pittsburgh.

Twenty-five years ago: 12 May 2001

A perfectly pleasant day.
Mostly spent folding paper.

Five Kawasaki roses.

I am going to attach them to ninja throwing stars.

An interesting combination.
A variation on Guns N’ Roses.

The door to death is standing wide open around here.

Five people have died in the last five days.

And a distressing number of residents seem to be slipping away mentally.

That’s the danger of living here.
You get used to it.
But it is a reminder:

Use the good stuff.
Eat dessert.
Tell someone you love them.
Nobody gets out alive.

Twenty-five years ago: 11 May 2001