Time Traveling Dinosaurs

or "How an ipod saved my life"

The gentleman was extremely excited and he insisted I check out his computer screen. I was intially hesitant, but as is always the case, I was more curious than a normal person should be. The first picture was on his computer background. It was pink, fleshly, and mostly unidentifiable.

"Don't you see," he said pointing to the screen,"It's dinosaur flesh! Real live dinosaur flesh!"

I took a closer look, but still I couldn't make out any dinosaur that I have ever seen in a book. To be fair though, it was a cut-away cross section of dinosaur flesh. They don't usually show those in children's books.

"Don't you see," he exclaimed,"It's one of the world's biggest discoveries in recent years. They checked the DNA to all current DNA types available and there are no matches.It is an incredibly well preserved piece of dinosaur flesh. It really sort of changes everything, doesn't it?"

I thought about it for a moment.

"Well, I guess it depends on how well it cooks up with bacon and eggs." I said.

 I wondered how much of the flesh they actually recovered. He continued with more details of the excavation and the implications it could have about the existence of God. I tried to follow his train of logic, but I wasn't sure if he was saying that it would prove or disprove the existence of God. Personally, I found it hard to believe that anybody would change belief teams based on discovered dinosaur meat. I think a majority of people have made up their minds on the matter long before looking at any physical evidence.

I tried to think of any implications that dinosaur flesh would have on my own personal life. Nothing immediately came to the surface. I tried to imagine it on a grander scheme. Would my life change if they had found a whole dinasaur walking around? Maybe perhaps some T-Rex that was discovered roaming around in a hidden jungle somewhere. (Assuming that there are some hidden jungles still existing on earth...although I sort of doubt it).

I just couldn't see how my own day-to-day life would change drastically from the discovery of dinosaurs. I started to take inventory of all the discoveries made during my lifetime and what they did to change the course of my life. Which discovery drastically changed my world? It was undisputable. The iPod changed my life forever.

I am dangerously aware that it may sound shallow, but I know a lot of people who feel the same way.

The first thing the iPod did for me was completely execute the radio. I  would never have to listen to the same ten songs every hour again. It really allowed me to explore and enjoy more music. Uncountable amounts of songs are released on the internet everyday. Paul rounds them up on the computer and I put them on my iPod. It makes me feel connected to the pulse of the world.

Technically, I know that wonder really falls under the discovery of the internet, but without an mp3 player you couldn't fit it all into your pocket. Not to mention that with out it,  audio books wouldn't fit there either, along with language courses, e-mail, and of course the ever present facebook. ( We won't even get into all of the apps, this isn't a paid advertisement).

Dinosaurs versus the Digital age? I think the dinasaurs are better off staying extinct. I am sure there are still plenty of discoveries waiting to change our lives. Here is my list of discoveries that I feel could be life changing:

1.Time Traveling - If this were discovered, it could definitely change
things up a bit.Although to be fair, it would probably not be in the reach of most people and if it was, I am sure it would be ridiculously expensive. So maybe it wouldn't really change anything after all.

2. Teleportation - Another great discovery that would be make the world smaller. If anyone could be anywhere within seconds, nothing would ever be the same. Of course, again I am sure it would be outrageously expensive and rule restrictive.

3. Life on other planets - Depending on what they knew and shared, I think that alien life would majorly shift our world views. Nearly every book would need to be rewritten in some way or another.

4. Fix-all cure/Eternal Life - Much of our life and view points revolve around our fraility and demise. Take those things out of the equation and what would we do with eternal life and flawless health? It would be interesting to see how great or evil we become.

These are my ideas for future life changing discoveries. Maybe they are kind of grand and far reaching, but I am curious to see what everyone else's ideas are. I know there are millions I haven't thought of, and probably a couple of actual pratical ones! Let me know!

Personal Identity Protection

or "Debit Debts"



Week five of my walking cast and I am pretty much regulated to working at the register. Most of the other positions in the coffee shop require a lot of quick movement both with the legs and the hands. At the register you can get away with less movement as long as you keep your mouth moving chatting up the coffee consumer . Thankfully, I don’t get tired of moving my mouth, as many can attest to. I would like to think that others don’t mind my mouth moving so much either, which I will just assume they don’t. I spend most of the mornings creating conversations and taking orders.


One thing I have noticed working at the register, is that banks are issuing personalized picture bank cards. I have so many debit cards pass through the line this week with pictures plastered on face of the card. I don’t recall seeing any last month and now this week I have seen at least fifty. Picture after picture and I start to realize that I am getting bank card envy. The face of my debit card hasn’t changed once in the twelve years that I have had it. Always the same, year after year. No spice to our relationship. Money goes on the card, I spend the money.

Now I can spend the money with pizzazz. Well, in theory I can. First I have to decide on a picture for the card. I start stressing about what I want to put on the card. Pets seem to be a big draw. From puppies to birds to mean looking monsters, people love putting their pets on their cards. I don’t have any pets. I have plants, but no pets. I wonder if people will think I am strange if I have my plants lined up for a picture.

At first, I think that I would rather have some characters from my favorite tv show on my card. The idea seems stunningly generic though and I feel a tinge of guilt for being lame. Besides, rules for the personalized card states that the picture must be a personal picture and not copyrighted. Although, I know several people who have skillfully skirted that rule already. I guess the trick is, if you are going to pick copyrighted art or a picture, it has to be an obscure or unrecognizable image. Does it defeat the purpose of having a personalized card if no one recognizes the image on it?

Probably not, I guess a person should just pick a picture that they enjoy and brings them a sense of joy to see. You still have to balance out your choice though. The possibility that other people will catch a glimpse of your card is pretty high. Sure, lots of places have self-checkout and swipe now, but there are places you will have to hand over the card. You don’t want to open up a tab at a late night drinking establishment with a Care Bear card. Or maybe you do. These kind of choices say a lot about who you are.

It is the end of the work week and a stranger hands over his debit card with a personalized picture. I survey the card. It is sweet picture of a blonde around his age and I can assume safely it is his wife from the ring on his hand. It never crossed my mind to do something so tender to my own card. In fact, it is safe to say that tender things rarely cross my mind.

“Awww….” I say taking the card for the swipe, “that’s a endearing personalized card. It’s the first time I have seen a spouse on the card. I heard it’s free, right?.” I leave the question out there waiting for a response. I am fairly sure there isn’t a charge, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure. He shrugs his shoulders and looks towards the pastries in an uneasy manner.

I am never very easily deterred so I keep on in my line of questioning.

“Well,” I add, still working my angle and holding the card, “ I heard it was free. How was the process of getting the card? Was it a long process to get one?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, but he picks out a pastry instead. He is thinking it over and seems unsure of the answer to give. I start to think that maybe the process isn’t as easy as everyone else stated it was. Technology can be a pain sometimes, that I know.

“Not to mention, “ I continue, “It’s difficult to decide on a picture. I was thinking of maybe a landscape pic. I heard that cars are the number one pick for guys. Pictures of their own cars. I was surprised to hear that, although I guess it makes sense. At least you found a good picture though.”

He leans over the counter towards me and begins to speak in a lower voice. “Actually,” he says clutching his drink and pastry, “ I didn’t even realize you could do that to a card.I guess my wife knew. She went online and ordered it for me. It just came in one day and there it was. My new debit card.” He walked away, quickly tucking the card back into his wallet.

I guess the bank really does offer personal identity protection.

The Chocolate God

It finally slows down at the coffee shop after a busy afternoon. I grab a damp towel to wipe down the espresso bar area while my fellow barista takes some dishes to the back. The counter area around the syrups can get fairly sticky, so I decide to start there. Earlier this week Barry inspected all of the syrups pumps and found some of the washers in the pumps needed to be replaced.The loose seal in the mocha pump allowed for a small leak. Thankfully, someone placed a small cup underneath the nozzle until the new washers would come in.

While I was wiping the area I glanced inside the cup and this is what I saw:




"Hey, check this out!" I called to the barista in back.. She peered inside the cup.

"It's a chocolate smiley face!" I said with a smile on my own face.

"It's kind of creepy." said said.

"Well, at least he's smiling at us." I said looking back inside the cup.

"Yeah, that's true. It sort of looks like he is winking at us." she added.

"Maybe he is trying to tell us something." I said cupping my hands into a megaphone over my mouth.

"WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL US CHOCOLATE SMILEY FACE!" I yell into the cup.

Five minutes later, several women walk in and order a couple of drinks.The oldest lady begins speaking to me, but her english isn't that great. She pulls two items out of her purse and is trying to talk to me but I can't understand. Her friend steps in and explains,"She says it is too hot inside the car and if you don't mind, she wanted to give these to you two before they melt."

She handed me two Symphony chocolate bars. I love Symphony chocolate bars.

"I will only take them if it helps you out!" I said already reaching over the counter for the chocolate. The ladies received their drinks and headed back into the mall.I handed my fellow barista one of the chocolate bars.

I cupped my hands back into a megaphone.

"THANK YOU FOR THE CHOCOLATE, CHOCOLATE SMILEY FACE!" I yell into the cup.

The Chocolate God has spoken.

Secret Saucy Techniques

or "Late Night Learnings"

It is Friday night and it is far later than I would like it to be. I can’t believe I am shopping for ingredients at a 24-hour grocery store during the latter part of those 24 hours.. I had plans to be home much earlier in the evening but as it turns out, Paul’s very close friend Laila was having a going away party. We had a fantastic time with good company, conversation and as it turns out charity. Laila has always been very involved in the community and even at her going away party, she manages to raise five hundred dollars for a women’s leadership organization. Her going is still giving. That’s the kind of life Laila lives. I can’t tell if she does it to make me feel guilty or inspire me. Either way it was an evening full of laughs and inevitable tears.

After we say goodbye, I picture myself slipping into bed and enjoying a couple hours of rest. Instead I am at the all-night grocery store. I am only one of four people there and I wander the aisles looking for ingredients. Twenty people are expecting a spaghetti lunch tomorrow with garlic bread and salad. I am taking it to work in the morning so I only have a limited time left. For the first time, I am making homemade spaghetti sauce. Usually I wouldn’t attempt something new this late, but my sister-in-law gave me a great recipe that she swore was an authentic Italian recipe she received from a friend. The ingredients to the sauce appeared to be a lot cheaper to make for twenty people than to purchase bottled sauce. Plus, I love a good challenge.

We get home and I pull out various pots and pans and lay out the sauce ingredients, the garlic bread and the pasta. I pause for a moment and feel sort of hypocritical about cooking a ‘authentic’ Italian meal. Earlier in the evening there was a very heated discussion at the table about there not being enough Mexican cooks on TV. Every person on every food network was cooking Mexican food, except for the Mexican’s themselves. Not to mention, a majority of the ‘authentic’ recipe’s include canned beans and pre-made taco shells. I agreed whole heartedly in the discussion earlier, and yet here I am an hour later making what I consider to be authentic Italian food. I know nothing about authentic Italian cooking.

Although to be fair, I am making this food in the privacy of my own kitchen and not passing it off to thousands as the gospel truth. I think that whatever people want to cook and eat in the privacy of their own kitchens, is their business. There were no cameras rolling in my house and definitely not everything I do in my kitchen is audience approved. In fact, just the other day I was using a tortilla to eat Chinese food. Would I recommend that on a food show if I had one? Probably not, even though it tasted good (and disgusted Paul).

Personal philosophy aside though, I had to get this sauce done. I started to heat a large silver pot over the stove while I boiled some water and pre-heated the oven. I threw some garlic and olive oil in the pot and let them sauté. At the same time, I prepared the bread and opened the pasta boxes. I added more ingredients to the silver pot while I chopped away at some vegetables and herbs. I filled the silver pot with more ingredients and hit high on the stove. I know that I probably should slow cook the sauce to let it absorb flavor, but I really haven’t got the time. I throw the bread in oven and finish up the spaghetti and then check back on the sauce. It seems kind of sticky on the bottom but I give it a good stir. I package up the meal and let the sauce cool before I place it in the fridge. Mission accomplished. Time for bed.

I wake up the next morning and get everything ready to go. Before I get set to leave, I try the sauce to see if the flavors have settled nicely. It tastes great to me and I am feeling pretty accomplished. Paul asks for a sample and makes a curious face while trying it.

“How is it?” I ask, already assured it was a success.

“It has kind of a strange taste to it….”says Paul trailing off, “What did you put in it?”. I go over the ingredients with him and I can tell he is weighing through every ingredient carefully.

“Hmmm…maybe you put too much olive oil because it has a unique taste that I can’t really place.” he says while still trying to figure it out in his head.

“It’s fine,” I say “it tastes like spaghetti sauce. I have to go.” I gather up the meal and head to work where I know my food will get tested by many others throughout the day.

“Try my homemade spaghetti sauce!” I say while serving up a plate.

“Hmmm…Joseph ….this is good….” says one of my loyal testers, “What did you put in it? It has a very intense flavor. I can’t quite figure it out.” I go over the list of ingredients with her but she still seems confused. “No, there is something else in there. A smoky intense flavor. Did you use liquid smoke or anything?” she asks nodding her head still mulling it over. “No,” I say ,” I used wheat pasta, maybe that’s what you taste.” I tried to think if I had deviated from the recipe, but I was pretty sure I hadn‘t.

I checked in with the rest of the tasters. Barry seemed to enjoy it and I think he had two platefuls. That made me feel relieved and I asked him what he thought. “It is very unique,” he said, “I picked up on some different flavors the second time I had it. Did you use roasted or grilled vegetables when you made it?” he asked curiously. We usually shared cooking ideas between the both of us. “No,” I said, “I just used the vegetables as they were.” I really started to rack my brain. Several more people commented on the sauce and were asking or guessing about my secret techniques.

Finally a good friend pulled me aside and grilled me about my sauce process and ingredients. I gave a step-by-step play of the previous night. “Wait a minute.” she stopped me. “ It was sticky at the bottom but you stirred it?” she asked. “Yeah,” I continued, “I just gave it a good stir and it was fine and then I let it cool down. And then…”

“Joseph,” she said, “You burned the sauce.”

I thought about it. It was true. The intense smoky grilled flavor that everyone was trying pinpoint was the taste of nothing else but my inexperience and impatience. I felt slightly flushed with embarrassment, but I was also comforted. So many of my friends were willing to consider I had a new cooking technique rather than dismiss my burnt spaghetti sauce. That or maybe they were just good fibbers. It still felt consolatory to be surrounded by those who look past the flaws and search for the fantastic.

Ahoy, Anger Ahead

I woke up pretty upset yesterday and I was incredibly angry. I tried to let my feelings subside but after an hour I was still riled up. I was getting ready for the day when Paul woke up and entered the room.

“Good morning.” he said yawning.

“I am so annoyed and irked right now.” I snapped at Paul.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, half awake and definitely not expecting my morning response.

“Well,” I started, “ I was dreaming before I woke up that I was moving and that I was waiting for a moving truck but they never came. Finally I was upset by their absence, so I went to find them. When I got there I found my flat screen tv was smashed and glass was lying all around the sidewalk. When I looked at the house I could see my mattress against the wall. When I asked the movers about it, they said it was fine where it was for overnight. It definitely wasn’t going to rain and so I had nothing to worry about.”

Paul just smiled and shook his head. We aren’t moving anywhere and we don’t own a flat screen tv. In fact, I never even considered owning one. I was upset for the majority of the day.

Strange.

* * * * * * *

UPDATE

Today I went home and headed for a nap because I had gotten up super early to prepare for work. As I was going up the stairs I noticed a moving van blocking the way. There were several guys from the moving company standing around talking. I walked upstairs and noticed the door across from us was wide open with bare furniture but didn’t think anything about it.

When I woke up, we headed for the gym and I noticed the moving guys were gone.

“How annoying were they?” said Paul, “It looks like they broke stuff and didn’t even bother to pick it up.”

I looked around and noticed broken glass along the side walk. On the first landing there was sole rolling wheel that looked like it had belonged to a bed frame.

Strange

Somebody mentioned to me that is was like Final Destination….but with furniture.

Spot

Changing the trash at my work isn’t the worst job ever. Thankfully a vast majority of it just smells like coffee. It makes what some people consider a unpleasant job, a not so unpleasant job. As an added bonus, the receptacles for the trash is located right outside of our store. It’s in a large loading dock area that is used for mall deliveries but is also the unofficial break room for the entire mall. Anytime throughout the day you will find up to six people hanging out before clocking in. Some are smoking, some are taking in the sun but most are usually playing with their phones. When you work indoors all day, it is nice to get some non air-conditioned air.

There has to be hundreds of people who work at the mall, but surprisingly a vast majority of us know each other. If not by name, at least by facial recognition. Everyone is pretty polite if not very friendly and it is highly convenient to be kept informed of sales going on before they happen. One of the perks of being at a mall store -- lots of special discount days. I was taking out a bag enjoying some sun when I ran into Barry.

“Hey ,” says Barry excitedly, “ Guess what! I saw a baby bat flying around here yesterday!”

“Really?” I reply back, “ I don’t think I have ever seen a live bat before.” I racked my brain trying to think if that was true. I can’t recall ever seeing one, although I might have seen a stuffed one at a museum when I was young. I am not sure how prevalent bats are in Arizona, although I know that we do have them.

“Yeah, it was so tiny and furry. It was flying in circles and it kept trying to go over the wall but ended up only bumping into it.” says Barry. I looked around the loading dock area. The walls are incredibly high, probably at least the height of three diesels piled on top of each other. It dawns on me that I forgot that bats can’t see very well. I don’t have a ton of bat knowledge. Batman knowledge, yes. Real bats, no.

I start to picture the little bat flying around trying to escape but it just wasn’t going high enough. It seems so strange that a bat just couldn’t see the open air and fly away into it.

“Awww….poor guy!” I say feeling bad for the poor flying chap.

“Yeah, he had this black dot around his eye, so I named him Spot.” said Barry proudly and described him more in detail.

“Well,” I say, “ I wish I could have seen him.”

“Oh,” says Barry walking around the loading area, “He is still here.”

I follow Barry to an area near the generator. Lying in a pool of water two inches deep is Spot face down with his little arms out stretched out. I can only see his furry back and baby fingers with stretched out wings. I can’t see his trademark eye but I can tell he was adorable. He was tiny and cute and dead.

I guess I still haven’t seen a live bat yet.

Broken Expectations

or "A Leg up, A month down"




I am sitting at the doctors with one foot uncovered and my sock and shoe lying next to me. I am staring at my toes and realizing that maybe I should have cut my toenails before I decided to come in. A week and a half has passed since my foot started aching. It swelled up midweek and became barely walkable for a couple of days. I am not a huge fan of doctors, but I realize that maybe something is going on with my foot that I should check out. They examine it, poke at it, and take x-rays.

The doctor walks in with the x-ray results.

“Oh,” he says casually, “There’s the problem. Your foot is broken.”

He hands me the x-rays and begins to show me the various visible bones on the screen. I have never broken anything before and I certainly have never examined an x-ray before. As he points at various key areas on the slides, I nod with the conviction of an experienced radiologist. I want my nodding head to demonstrate that I clearly know exactly what the doctor is talking about and could have easily have read the x-rays without him present.

I lie on my stomach as they fit me with a temporary cast. It feels kind of warm as the cast begins to mold around my leg and harden. The set me up with a pair of crutches and give me instructions. It is important that I make an appointment with an orthopedist as soon as possible to receive a permanent cast. I feel a little bummed out, but also slightly curious about the whole procedure. My first broken bone, my first cast, and my first crutches.

We head to Paul’s parents house and I hobble up the long gravel driveway.

“I BROKE MY FOOT!” I yell proudly to Paul’s dad as I walk through the door. I give a demonstration of the crutch walking techniques that I learned at the hospital.

“That isn’t the correct way to walk in crutches.” says Paul gauging my every footstep. I racked my brain, but I couldn’t ever recall Paul breaking either of his feet or ever needing crutches. I wasn’t aware that he was an expert in art of crutch walking.

He takes the crutches and makes a graceful walk across the living room tile. He walks back towards us and then he repeats the walk again. He is feeling quite proud of himself. He is like the runway model for crutches. Hospitals everywhere should hire his assistance in the demonstration of the fine gait of the crutch-way walk. I want to knock the crutches from underneath him, but I have too many calls to make.

I first start calling work. Broken foot means no work for some time. This part really frustrates me because I haven’t been able to work much this past month. I was really looking forward to getting back to making some coffee and having fun. I make numerous calls and send various texts attempting to cover all of my shifts for a week. It is a pain to do last minute, but thankfully after two hours I have it covered.

Next, I try to set up an appointment to see an orthopedist. The first one I call isn’t available for five days. That’s too long to wait, so I make several more calls and finally find one who is available in three days. With the appointment set, I sit and try to envision what my next month will look like.

I had lots of plans to get back into the swing of things after a great summer of laziness. I was ready for a strict workout regime. I had a step-by-step work plan to prepare of us for some audits in October. My birthday resolutions of arduous efforts were going to come true. Unfortunately, most of them involved moving my feet.

I tried to now envision plans with me and my non-moving foot. The doctor said to keep my foot elevated, so I planned lots of activities sitting on my bum. I guess I could catch up on some television. I had some videos games I had yet to beat. Worst came to worst, I could even catch up on some reading. I was sitting there imaging this new month of restful activities when the phone rang. It was the doctor and he sounded slightly flustered. “I’m sorry. I was wrong, your foot really isn’t broken. It’s just sprained. You can cut your cast off now.”

I stare down at my cast. So much for my imagined month of relaxation.

Cake Walk Capsule

or "Underpass Undertones"



It is finally time for the opening of the underpass and Paul and I are making our way there slowly. I say slowly because my foot is a little sore. I am sure I sprained it last week at the gym. We are going to meet Paul’s family there to see the tile of Paul and his mom. Unfortunately, when we get there, we notice that only one quarter of the tile project is completed. I feel bad because we invited Paul’s brothers and their families, his dad, and his uncle and aunt. Instead of looking at the heart touching picture, we are staring at a blank grey concrete wall.

It is probably better that way though, because when we look at the pictures that are up, we see that there are notable mistakes on the tiles. I think the tiles are supposed to be sepia, but unfortunately some of them are black and white. The artist left a note posted stating that any problem tiles will be replaced but have been temporarily marked with a large red dot. I notice a friend of mine on the wall…with a huge red dot on her face. I apologize to her tile and hope they are able to make a copy of her picture and not just replace it with a stranger whose tile came out correctly. I feel relieved that Paul’s picture isn’t up yet. Hopefully they will work out any bugs before they set up the rest of the walls.

So there we are, with our group, and no tile to look at. We decide to enjoy the rest of the festivities that are going on around us. The opening of the underpass was tied to the city’s birthday this year. Nearly every store, pub, and restaurant within two miles have some “birthday special” going on. Birthday samples, birthday music, birthday drinks, etc. Fourth avenue and downtown are incredibly packed with people swarming back and forth.

“Man,” I say “there is a lot of people out!”

“Well,” says Paul’s uncle” it’s the city’s birthday!”

I have mixed feeling about this. On one hand, I love seeing so many people congesting our downtown. It is nice to see faces about and I am surprised when people leave their homes to be a part of the city. Normally, the only time a big crowd storms downtown anymore is during the street fair or club crawl. Yet, there is a small part of me that is annoyed. The city has birthday events every year and every year it is ignored. No one barely bats an eye when the annual date occurs. When I worked for a newspaper downtown, we would always use ‘birthday week’ as a chance to sell more ads.

“Hey,” I would say “It’s Tucson’s birthday week! Don’t you want to buy an ad to wish the city a happy birthday! I am sure you would, we have special birthday rates and birthday ad space!” Most of the business’ weren’t aware of the birthday but would buy ad space anyways to make sure their business appeared supportive of the downtown community that they were apart of. I felt that most of the people celebrating on the street were barely aware of the cities birthday for the first time in their lives.

I was busy giving passerby’s dirty looks weighing my conflicting feelings, when I saw a sign above Hotel Congress that read, “CITYWIDE BIRTHDAY CAKE CONTEST: FREE SAMPLES TO THE PUBLIC”.

“Yeah,” I shouted loudly, “ It’s Tucson’s Birthday!” I pulled open the doors and beckoned everyone in.

To the left of the entrance, inside the hotels private ballroom, was a scene reminiscent of the Food Network. There were at least fifteen vendors set up at various tables, each with a display cake showcasing attributes of the city and also a spread of cake samples for the people to taste. Each cake artist stood proudly behind their creations and described what they were giving samples of. The ballroom was covered in balloons and decorations, slightly marring it’s usual upscale art deco feel. (Coincidently, we celebrated Paul’s birthday a few years back in this room. I am sure Paul would think it appropriate that the city is celebrating it’s birthday in the same space.)




I tried as much cake as possible, even though I am not a big fan of cake. I even took the samples that Paul didn’t like. It was hard to turn it down when the chefs were explaining the cakes with such passion and detail. Most were chocolate, although some were mixed with berries, others with lemons and the best one , (I think) with hazelnuts. Outside, in the hotel’s new courtyard, bands were playing to good natured crowds.

After the cake fest , we continued our walk downtown with Paul’s family in tow. As we passed each shop and building, everyone had stories to tell about certain shops. Shops that still stood or shops that had long been destroyed and built over. Paul’s dad mentioned a photo of Bettina and him taken nearby. I remember the breathtaking black and white photo clearly from their house. It was a picture of young lovers oblivious to the future. He talked with Paul’s uncle and aunt about all of the buildings they used to know, including the time the Mickey Mouse club was held downtown on the weekends.

As we passed an old wig shop, Paul’s aunt mentioned how they used to go and pick out wigs for the weekends sometimes when the ladies would go out. She still remembered several of the styles and described them to us exactly, including the original color names. She also mentioned how they would pick out wigs for their drag queen friends and fix up their hair. I laughed and it seemed strange that I didn’t think that drag queen’s existed back then.

Around us, there were men in kilts playing bagpipes. Musicians played guitars and sang with microphones, a women was singing very loudly although I couldn’t say pleasantly. Cafes were open and most shops had their doors wide open to invite patrons in. We walked by and saw six men getting haircuts peeking out into the crowd. A man was passing flyers out for a new phone store that would soon be open. It was an invitation for the senses but I seemed too distracted to enjoy it fully. The best part of the night wasn’t the noise, but the stories.

We ended up back at the newly expanded and lit underpass that took two years to build. I remember going through the previous underpass for my twenty first birthday. The old underpass was small and you had to walk single file if anyone was coming in the opposite direction. Somebody always had too much and felt the need to test their vocal cords in the acoustics of the confined space. It had this odd smell and you had to try to hold your breath while you walked quickly under it. Now it was gray, beautiful and large. It smelled like fresh paint, although I can still smell faintly in my mind those nefarious odors of yesteryear.

I thought to myself, you can build over the rubble but you can't build over the memories.

BONUS: Some extra pics

Tarantula Lady

I am in the self-checkout lane with my arsenal of flu remedies and medicine. I have Emergen-C, Theraflu, Tylenol, Gatorade, etc. Basically, I have the entire Walgreens Sunday ad in my basket. I am moving in that sort of sick zombie walk, where my body is moving slowly and my eyes are glazed over. One foot in front of the other.

I start to pass the front of the registers, close to all of the sale items. There is a large woman sitting in one of those electronic three wheel scooters with a basket. As I pass by she speaks up at me, “Would you like a tarantula postcard?”

I pause. If I had been more alert and less sick, I would have zoomed by her so fast that she never would have had a chance to stop me. Normally, I would have seen someone coming a mile away. I shrug my shoulders.

“Sure,” I say in my zombie voice.

“How many would you like?” she asks fanning out what appears to be at least 20 tarantula postcards.

“One would be great.” I say .

She hands over one tarantula postcard.

“Thank you,” I say and continue on my way. I turn the postcard over and it has two informative sentences about tarantulas. I have no idea who I am going to send it to.

Head I win, Tails I lose

or "3 in 7,000"

Being sick is different for everyone. For me it is spiritual cleansing, the spring cleaning of the soul. Whenever I am sick, I always recall a story from the Bible about Jesus healing a sick person. In the story I remember, which I profess to not having the greatest memory, Jesus goes to the house of a sick person. He heals them, and then forgives them of their sins. Then Jesus sends them out into the world, asking them to go and sin no more. Or something like that. For some reason the story always equated in my mind, that whenever I am sick, Jesus is purifying me of sins. He is burning away my sins, one degree at a time. Then, after I am done being purified, I am sent on my way free of all sins.

I know that the logic there makes absolutely no sense, but I concocted that theory when I was nine. It has been a long month and I am glad to finally be home. First it was my operation, then San Diego, and lastly Las Vegas. No sleep for the wicked. I get out of bed and realize that my calves are unusually sore. This is to be expected from all of the walking we did up and down the strip at all hours of the night. I stand up. They are more than just sore, I have body aches. I feel my head, I definitely have a fever. I get the thermometer to double check. 102.4. Yep, definitely sick.

I hate being sick, but thankfully I am never sick too long, usually 24 hours max. I lie in bed trying to sleep away most of the sickness. I wake up the next day, only to discover that I am still sick. I still have a fever. This is longer than usual and I am disappointed, although I know my body has had a rough month. I am sure that my immune system is down to zero from the traveling and the stitches on my stomach. As I lie there, I start to speculate that maybe since I had a milestone birthday, perhaps I am catching up on all of my sins from the past decade. My thoughts are interrupted by a much needed break to the bathroom. I start to make that trip frequently that day and before I know it, my bottom because best friends with the bathroom. “What sins are these!” I think and during the next three day I live upon the toilet of purgatory.
If there were any sins left in my body, surely they were flushed down the toilet. I should be as pure as fresh fallen snow and baby lambs now.

I could also use some good news.

The good news comes in the form of a phone call from Paul.

Earlier this year, we were able to participate in a photo shoot for the city’s portrait project. For those of you who don’t know, the city had set up several photo opportunities around the city during the early part of this year. At select events, there were booths set up where people could sit and have their portrait taken. From there, 7,000 of the pictures would be selected and made into tiles. The tiles would be placed in the new underpass, which is opening soon and will connect fourth avenue to downtown. The entire underpass project has taken about two years and has been inconvenient to say the least. Walking from fourth avenue to downtown has always been a favorite pastime of ours, but has been impossible during construction.

We had heard about the project but hadn’t thought too much about it. It wasn’t until Paul’s mom passed that Paul became determined to attend a photo shoot. He tucked a large frame under his arm and we made our way to one of the events. He signed up, filled out the paperwork, and sat for his session. “This is a picture of my mom.” said Paul balancing the large frame on his knee.

“ I would like to take my picture with her.” said Paul ,” if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course.” said the photographer and took several snapshots.

This happened several months ago and I had forgotten about it until I heard Paul’s excited voice on the line. “They accepted the picture!” he said and directed me to the website showcasing the chosen pictures. I searched the site and found it. It was perfect. The picture Paul had chosen in the frame was a picture where Bettina was looking at Paul from a distance with a huge smile on her face. In the chosen tile picture, Bettina is still looking at Paul holding the framed picture.

All in all, 7000 photographs were chosen, but this was the only one that really mattered to me. Paul called his Dad, who was equally excited and genuinely touched. We made plans to attend the grand opening of the underpass on the 20th.

“Oh yeah,” said Paul, “They also selected your picture.”

I stopped for a second. I sort of expected Bettina’s picture to be chosen, but not mine. It was a bonus surprise, to find out that I get to be a part of the downtown city that I have loved so much since my youth. It was the hangout of my high school years, food sustenance of my college years, and disco dancing and friends during my adult years. Considering I almost thought I was dying earlier this week, it was nice to be immortally placed somewhere. Tally score for the week: Head (shots) I win, Tail (side) I lose.

UPDATE: I looked up the bible story and Jesus was actually talking to a prostitute and NOT a sick man. I guess my nine year old brain was wrong. Ah well

PAUL'S PICTURE: http://www.tucsonportraitproject.com/ and search for "Paul Gastellum" in the search box under "Explore Panels"