Frenchie, or Little Sparrow, or Yard Art

Saturday morning. Been to the gym, did my little workout, very little, some back work, some delt work, 1000 crunches, but face it, no, really, face it, it's about burning fat now, not crunching or lifting, burn off the fat, loser. Or take out a loan for some lipo.

Went to Target, picked up some stuff for the road trip, including acoupla itty bitty gifts for my poolside Texan host, and some soaps that might work if I'm washing my face in the Colorado River. Icy, clear water north of (Viva!) Laughlin, cool, brown water south of Blythe. Been there? Just asking. Picked up my meds at PXRX, then home to breakfast: cup of coffee (not because i want it, more to keep away the headache), hardboiled egg (1), carrots, lettuce (iceberg), slices of orange pepper, cottage cheese (with salsa, hot), slice'o'bread (fresh, whole grain, from Panera) with cheese, slice'o'bread (fresh, whole grain, from Panera) with peanut butter (desert). Had some celery on the plate too, but it was so bad even Annie (BitchBitch) wouldn't eat it, so I had no hesitation tossing it.

Breakfast reminded me of Jerusalem. This was my daily breakfast in Israel -- was that just two summer ago?: salad and hb egg/s and cottage cheese and toast and coffee. Not my idea, that's what they serve over there in the Middle East. Then hop on the bus & sightsee 'til midnight. Sure I want to get back to Israel, but today I'm glad to be sitting in my driveway at my picnic table with my macbook.

Mach 1 Plumbing. The plumber's here now. Happy, friendly, talkative, not afraid of dogs, about 6'2, muscled, except at belly level, shaved head beneath his cap, long-sleeved t-shirt, olive drab shorts with a superman tag, black skin. Wait, there're two of them. James and Aaron. Them's Biblical names. Plumber's crack squared right before me on a Saturday morn.
At last we'll be able to shut off the driveway hose and at last I'll be able to wash my face in my bathroom sink again. Been a while.

Frenchie has fired up his music behind me, next door, this a.m. J--- F and J--- M always call it his Gypsy music. Really it's just French popular music. Having grown up in Milwaukee, where Poles abound, I've always liked the accordian, so while no two-stepping (Mexican) or polka (Polish) tunes waft this way, ever, this French squeezebox accompaniment to my repast is okay by me. Even, or especially the Edith Piaf. Sure I recognize her voice. Watched some movie recently where the soundtrack included La Vie en Rose by: Grace Jones. Hate to admit I'm so low-brow that I prefer Miss Jones' version to Miss Piaf's, tho Frenchie's played acoupla Piafs already today, and tho I may go see the new Piaf movie on the big screen. Oh, be honest, I'll wait for the dvd. I'm much more likely to be at DH4 -- Die Hard: Live Free or Die -- on opening day than I am a Piaf biopic. Did see P. LaBelle on YouTube recently doing a Piaf song. It always comes back to her, don't it? Yes it do. Yippee Ki Ay, m----------r.

Still, the real deal for this summer is Travolta playing Edna Turnblad in Hairspray. If I hadn't given away -- misquided magnaminity, to be sure -- my collection of Divine dvds some time ago I'd be toting Divine with me on this roadtrip. Rosie Valez and Organ Pipe Cactus National Park and Lust in the Dust, indeed.

This morning I'm sitting on J--- M's side of the table here on the veranda (driveway) so rather than gazing toward Larissa on the other side of the rat border I'm looking away from her and I can see our back yard (no pool). Been watering plenty this month, mostly to get rid of the stench of Annie's (BitchBitch's) drying urine, but the plants and grass are green ("lush" says J--- M) for that now too. Mostly what's drawing my eye this morning is the yard art:
Speaking of Annie (BitchBitch), J--- M told me I could take her camping with me, take her on my road trip. Then, channeling Sy----, she barked out "Ha. Take BitchBitch along and you'll be back on Cantura Street in a week."

Got that right, sister.

Among the (few) things I hate, one of 'em is the word blog. That I despise the word is one reason I've never had one. That and that I have nothing to say. Other day when I mentioned I'd be emailing to J--- M from the road she barked again in that quick, always funny, Squirrel Hill way of hers: "Email? I want a blog." Ta dah.

Here's your bonus Yard Art: