Desi Arnaz

           

            I recently downloaded the complete Marc Bolan discography, from the early days of Tyrannosaurus Rex in 1968 to his death in 1977. I don’t recall ever hearing the early albums. There were two guys in the band and it was basically psychedelic folk with spacey lyrics that were primarily about magic, elves and faeries, Bolan on acoustic twelve-string and his bandmate, Steve Peragrin Took, who mostly played bongos. The title of their first album, “My People Were Fair and Had Sky in Their Hair, But Now They’re Content to Wear Stars on Their Brows” reflects the kind of lyrics Bolan was writing. The music sounded like he’d just thrown his verses into the wind. Halfway through the last track, “Frowning Atahuallpa”, even though it’s a song about his lost Inca love, he begins chanting “Hare Krsna.” The next two albums had more substantial melodies, but it was still the same British Hippy folk music about wizards and unicorns.

            At 10:00 I headed down Cowan to the food bank and as I approached the driveway I put out my arm for a left turn. A car was fast approaching behind me but I figured she or he must have seen my signal, so I almost ventured in front of her or him, but as I didn’t hear her or him slow down and I had my hood on, making it difficult to turn and see what she or he was doing, I hesitated as she or he rushed past me and would have run me over if I hadn't. What a cunt or prick!

            I got number 11, which I think is the lowest number I’ve ever gotten there.

            I went home for a while, spent some time on the computer, shaved and showered, then went back to the food bank. They hadn’t quite started calling numbers when I arrived, and so despite the damp cold on my fingers, I took off my glove and read the book I’d brought with me. As I was reading, a balding middle-aged man with an accent approached me to ask what I was reading. I showed him that it was Ronin Ro’s “Tales To Astonish” and told him that it was the history of Marvel Comics. He had a very disappointed look on his face. I think that he was hoping that I’d been reading something impressive like Dostoyevsky.

            A middle aged man with an Eastern European accent called out to a tall, dark haired young man with a Slavic accent, asking him if he would be collecting bottles today. He answered not today. The man asked how he makes out collecting bottles and the response was that it depends on luck. The middle aged man told him that he’d made thirty six dollars one time, but the young man topped that by informing him that he’d made two hundred once. The middle-aged man shook his head in disbelief and exclaimed, “No!” That would be 2,000 beer bottles. I know what a struggle it is just to carry fifty bottles. He must be one of those guys who rattles and clinks over the sidewalk with a stolen supermarket cart full of bottles.

            Once my number was called to go inside, it was soon called again. As I have a lot of canned goods, pasta and rice already on my kitchen shelves, I didn’t take any of that from the food bank this time. There was some kind of baked almond filled non-chocolate brownie with the name on the package being “Almond Flavoured Filled Speculaas” (it sounds gynecological). It was a product of the Netherlands and it’s hard to resist items that I’ve never seen before, so I took it. I took some turkey gravy because it’s gravy; some granola bars and a package of Shreddies. Theresa was in Sue’s place in the cold section. I chose apple juice over milk. There was a package of frozen black bean and salsa turkey sausage. Theresa said that was it, but after I’d moved on she came after me with a tub each of cream cheese and ranch dip, that she’d forgotten about. I just took one loaf of bread from the bakery section because I find I don’t go through bread as quickly as I used to, since I only eat it on weekends and Wednesdays. A perky middle-aged blonde woman who I’ve seen a few times before was handling the vegetable section this time. I eschewed the overripe lettuce and tomatoes; I didn’t need any potatoes; I didn’t want any carrots, but I took a few oranges. Once summer kicks in and I’m fully broke, I’ll be a lot less picky and will probably take anything they have to offer.

            After taking my items home and putting them away, I had to gather up some paperwork and head up to Social Services for my annual meeting with my social worker. The place hasn’t changed since the last time I was there. They still have the same shaved headed thirty-something security guard who sits at the computer behind the counter. I don’t know if he’s surfing on his own or if there are camera views of the facility he’s scanning. My guess he’s looking for interesting recipes to try, since on previous occasions I’ve heard him comment that he likes to cook.

            I was there about fifteen minutes early and my worker was about five minutes late. Those stupid beepers they give not only beep, but they also vibrate, so on my way to booth six, when I gave it back to the receptionist, the gadget was dancing and sliding along the counter.

            There’s a new worker every year, so this was the first time I’d met this one. It seems that now that I’m over sixty they give me less hassle about looking for a job. In for years I guess, if I’m still on assistance, they’ll stop altogether after all the paperwork is done.

            That night, since the lost I Love Lucy pilot had downloaded to the 98.3% mark, I was able to watch it in its entirety, with only one glitch about a third of the way through. Fred and Ethel weren’t in it but it established the basic formula of all the episodes that followed. Ricky’s nightclub act was going to get a television contract. Lucy wanted to be in the show. Pepito the clown, during rehearsal, after doing a great imitation of a baby crying and then riding the smallest bicycle in the world, had a small accident and so Ricky told him to go rest up in his apartment. Lucy came home to find the clown there and she found out about the show. He started practicing on his bicycle while riding around the apartment. Lucy casually moved a settee, maybe on purpose, and it caused Pepito to have another accident.

            The show started. Watching these shows as a kid, I hadn’t realized what a talented musician Desi Arnaz was. He could really play the congas and sing with style.

            The show was waiting for Pepito, who was a real and very famous Spanish clown, but he didn’t show up. Ricky was about to shut it all down when who shows up but Lucito the clown. She had a cello which she was going to play but it wouldn’t stand up until she put a bathroom plunger on the end of the pointy part. She never played it but she accidentally shot the bow, like an arrow at Ricky’s ass. She finally did her trained seal act and Ricky pretended to toss her a fish. The problem in the end though was that Ricky did not get the television contract. It was offered to Lucy instead.