bunt sign

Wednesday, June 8, 2005

It was dark like November all day today, and it was wet like March. It wasnít anything like what a June day in Northern California should be.

It should be hot. The high school seniors are graduating this week, and I canít remember a time when the parents and grandparents didnít have to swelter in the blazing sun for hours while their darlings paraded across the makeshift outdoor stage and tossed around beach balls threw spitballs at the principal. This year theyíre all going to need umbrellas.

So Iím disgruntled. I paid my dues, lasting through the long winter without complaining. (Okay, thatís a lie. I complained plenty. But I did get through it, and my reward was supposed to be four or five months of hot, sunny days. Not this mess.) I had to work to keep from sinking into the doldrums today.

Thereís not a lot I can do to pick myself up. Iím stuck in the house working all day, except for a couple of hours in the middle of the morning. Often those hours are spoken for, but today I took care of some things that have been nagging at me. I put gas in my car, for one thing.

That doesnít sound like much, but there are no stations that I like on my side of the freeway, so I have to arrange my errand run to include that stop. I went through the weekend with a low tank, hoping that no emergency would come up that would require me to drive to Napa or Petaluma or even Graton. As usual, nothing did. But I couldnít make it through another weekend like that.

And I got a haircut. Most of the time I like my haircut the first day and hate it the second. This one Iím not so fond of today, so by tomorrow maybe it will have grown on me. Or something. Anyway, even with a lousy haircut, I feel better that itís done, and that helps me cope with a crummy day.

19 May 2005

A previous storm, moving on.

The shearer person didnít give me much of a chance to tell her what I wanted. She sprayed my head with her squirt bottle and started with the scissors, and then I told her to use the clippers, because she wasnít going to get it short enough that way. So she had to use the blow dryer and start over. Then at the end she slapped some gel on top before I could tell her that I wanted it even shorter.

So I gave up and left her the usual inflated tip. I canít help myself when it comes to tipping. I always overdo it, because I tip on personality rather than service. Iím weak like that.

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When your offense scores just one run per game, it puts a lot of pressure on your pitching. The Giants have scored one run in each of the last three games, and (no surprise) have a three-game losing streak. Tonight they hit into double plays in the sixth, seventh and eighth innings; the only reason they didnít do it in the ninth was that they couldnít get anybody on base. Tonight they used Jeff Fassero in another emergency start, and he pitched well enough to win for a team that was scoring runs. Unfortunately, he doesnít pitch for a team thatís scoring runs these days; he pitches for the Giants. The 4-1 loss to the Royals was their eleventh loss in the last twelve games.

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