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Monday, June 21, 2004
Solicit liaisons
A teenage neighbor and her cousin came knocking yesterday, seeking odd jobs to earn some summer money. I didn't have anything for them to do (unless they wanted to help me out with some HTML coding) and I was about to go out so I couldn't even avail myself of the car wash they offered. We agreed we'd check with each other later, but I closed my door feeling as if I should have done more for them but without knowing why.
The sound of the door latch clicking shut triggered the memory. On a Sunday afternoon a little over 3 years ago another group of young ladies went door-to-door in the building, looking to raise money. They couldn't have known, but they picked a particularly unfortunate time to do so. I had been fretting over my long-distance romance with a guy who was going through some health problems including, I realize now, depression. All I knew then was I hadn't heard from him in a day or so, which was unusual. He had been down and very negative when last we spoke and was a 4 1/2-hour drive away so I couldn't just jump in the car to go see if he was ok or do anything to help him feel better. I wasn't able to call him just then, although the reason escapes me now. I was sitting at home, frustrated and worried and a little angry all at once. The sound of loud giggles in the usually quiet hallway and a louder pounding on my door gave me an immediate target. I ripped my door open. There I saw a handful of 6th- or 7th-grade girls deploying in ones and twos to each unit door, presumably with the goal of selling whatever was in the cardboard cartons they carried. I don't know exactly; I didn't give the sweet-faced young girl whose lot had brought her to my door a chance to tell me. "Didn't you see the sign outside that says 'No Soliciting?'" I demanded. "That means you're NOT supposed to go around on private property making noise and knocking on people's doors." I was angry and she knew it, but at least I maintained enough control to not slam the door in her face. I just closed it without further comment. I heard one of the girls ask "What did she say to you?" I didn't hear the answer nor did I care to at the time. No doubt she still shudders when she thinks of her short but intense meeting with The Bitchy Lady From Hell. I was very sorry very soon after, only not in time to go after her to apologize.
The romance? I hung in there for several more fretful months before realizing that I was wasting my affections on a guy who was unable, no, let's be honest, unwilling to reciprocate. Ironic that the relationship that was the cause for my lashing out at an innocent bystander to my everlasting chagrin (although they *were* being loud and "No Soliciting" pretty much *does* mean no soliciting) also turned out to be my punishment.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:27 PM
Wonky panky
Friend Bob had this to contribute after reading of my childhood music memories.
DAD: Mork, what was the first line of the #1 hit song on the U.S. charts during the first week of July 1966?
MORK: My baby does the hanky-panky.
DAD: Mork, what was the second line of the #1 hit song on the U.S. charts during the first week of July 1966?
MORK: My baby does the hanky-panky.
DAD: Mork, what was the third line of the #1 hit song on the U.S. charts the first week of July 1966?
MORK: My baby does the ...
OTHER CHARACTER: OK, OK, I get your point.
(This is Sandra again) Ironically, when I did a web search of my "Hanky Panky" loving friend's name I found the website of a woman from the right area who is a professional musician and Juilliard grad. So there.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:04 PM
Coinundrum
I have previously written about my inclination to pick up loose coins from the ground/floor/wherever. I have also admitted to doing so sometimes for superstitious reasons, you know, "see a penny, pick it up/all the day you'll have good luck." Tonight I came across a situation I didn't know how to handle. I stopped at CVS for a few items after improv practice. While waiting in line at the checkout I noticed that there were a few dozen pennies strewn about the floor in front of the register, presumably dropped by a customer who had since left. The coin picker-upper in me was jumping up and down, ready to retrieve the bounty, but the pragmatist in me knew that there was no way to collect 'em all without a) holding up the line and 2) looking like more of a crazy lady than I already did, what with my basket containing, among other items, a bottle of wine and a bag of Pixy Stix. I could have picked up one or two, but then the superstitious soul in me worried what that would do to my chances of good luck, i.e. do you have to pick up ALL the pennies you see at a time? Would picking up just a few give me just a little bit of luck, which wouldn't be bad, or would it bring me the opposite, which was certainly not good?
In the end, I left them all where they were. It was late enough in the day that I felt I could risk walking away from extra good lu@*(#^--- NO CARRIER
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:51 PM
LLOLL
This bumper sticker was spotted this afternoon in an Annandale parking lot. Call me easily amused, but what brought the camera out was the extra "L" attached to the heart.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
6:59 PM
I gotta memory
I have nothing to say about the notable death that occurred earlier this week (and that affects me mainly in that I will be working from home tomorrow due to the federal government's being closed) except that I was moved in spite of my intense dislike of the deceased and his wife when while watching the funeral on television I considered the toll the end of a decades-long love affair can take on the surviving partner.
I do have something to say about Ray Charles, who died today. He was one of the few artists I was aware of before becoming a pop/rock music maven at age 9 upon receipt of my first radio in 1969. Two years before then, in another part of the country, I spent countless afterschool hours at my friend Amy Putnam's house, playing with her and her huge collection of Barbie dolls in their huge basement-cum-playroom. In this playroom was a jukebox that came from, if dim memory serves, a restaurant that Amy's grandparents owned. Its provenance was of much less importance to me than the fact that you could get it to play neat-o music without having to put coins in. Since it was Amy's house, she always got first pick, which was invariably Tommy James and the Shondell's "Hanky Panky", on the orange-and-yellow Roulette label. When my turn came to choose it was always Ray Charles' "Hit the Road Jack." Didn't know what the song meant, didn't care. Don't remember what label it was on or what it looked like, don't care. I didn't know that the song would 34 years later continue to give me a little thrill whenever I heard the opening chords, including 5 minutes ago when I played it express. I didn't care. It simply moved me on a visceral level. I think Brother Ray would be happy to know that.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:13 PM
A kinder, gentler snack
To appease a mid-morning hunger attack I wandered over to the vending machines in search of snack food. The pickings were slim. My choice boiled down to a packet of peanut-butter laden cheez crackers or a bag of pretzels. I decided on the pretzels, reasoning that they were probably less fatty or something, albeit still sodium intensive. I felt validated somewhat when I noticed a little "heart smart" sticker next to the pretzels, but I knew I had made the right choice after I fed my coins to the machine and entered in the letter/number combination required to release one bag of Rold Gold into my custody.
The code? B-9.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:54 PM
This Week's Discoveries at Hullcloth Laboratories
While the following may not be groundbreaking or earthshattering, they significantly affect the view of things from my little world.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
5:45 PM