Guilty Displeasure

I didn't know who the older, shambling woman was when I saw her on the stairs of my apartment building for the first time. It's a small building with just a few tenants- the family on my floor, the young Asian hairdresser upstairs and that dude who's about my age above me. But people have guests, so even though she was moving very slowly, almost as though she didn't have anywhere specific to go, I let it slide. I said Hello as I passed, but got no response.

When I saw her again, I still didn't know her but just on account of having seen her once before, I took it as routine. Again, I greeted and was ignored. This time I got annoyed. She doesn't really get out of the way as I pass and she's unfriendly. This happened another time, and she made it on my shitlist.

One day, I'm talking to my landlady and find out that the woman is "with" the guy who lives above me. I can't put it together, would have guessed it might be his Mom, but I'm told it's not that kind of "with." Oh yeah, also I'm informed that she's deaf and mute.

So, I took her off my shitlist. And I'm thinking of tossing the whole list, possibly a bad idea all around.

Does the estate of Scott Joplin get a cut of the ice cream man's take?

It only seems fair, since the truck is playing The Entertainer. I know that tune warms me up and makes me think about buying some ice cream. It works better on me than the irritating tunes those trucks usually play. And where does one get that tinkling, music box version of the song?

Next time, I'm going to stop and ask the guy.

Rising Star

I recently carved my own name into one of the blank stars on Hollywood Boulevard. I figured if I could get away with it, then I deserved it as much as the next guy. Go look, you'll find me between ZaSu Pitts and Orson Welles.

In the circle where they put the microphone for radio or the tv for television, I carved a knife that looks a lot like the one I used. You know, just to keep it honest.