I'm gonna cheer, and boo, and raise a hullabaloo

Ok, so the Cubs are opening the season on the road. At night. In St. Louis.

Details, details.

This corny, stupid song is played before every home game at Wrigley Field and on the air before every Cubs radio telecast. And it's running through my mind as I watch MY WORLD CHAMPION CHICAGO CUBS defend their title on this first game of the season.

Enjoy the view of The Friendly Confines of Wrigley Field.

Color me sad

Thursday night, as I walked home from the train station in the twilight, I thought I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance in front of my building. As I came closer, I wondered if maybe it wasn't just a repair truck of some sort. By the time I got home, it was just a big dark shape -- no flashing lights -- pulling away and turning the corner. I didn't think of it again.

Until Friday morning, when I found Pervy Walt's newspaper in the vestibule beside mine. He usually picks his up at dawn. It was still there Friday night when I got home. I put it outside his front door. I did the same with Saturday's paper. And Sunday's.

Clearly it was an ambulance, taking Walt away ... again. On New Year's Day, the police knocked down his door to find him in the bathtub, unable to move. He was hospitalized for days. Then on March 3, he fell down and alerted the police through Life Alert. They cut the lock off his door to get to him, and he was hospitalized again for days. On Thursday, he must have been able to let the paramedics in himself because his door wasn't damaged this time. Also, there were no emergency lights or sirens on the ambulance as it took him away.

The man was born in 1927, so if he isn't 90 yet, he will be soon. He has serious health problems, and it seems is being taken to the hospital on a monthly basis.

I hate that he thinks of me the way he does. It's creepy and it makes it hard for me to relax in my own home.

But I get no pleasure out of being in the cheap seats to watch his slow demise.

Sunday Stealing

Sunday Stealing: The Cannon Fodder Questions
 
1. Is there someone you'd like to be kissing right now? Yes.

2. When you're being extremely quiet, what does it mean? I'm busy.

3. What are you listening to right now? Meet the Press

4. Are you a big fan of thunderstorms? No. I don't fear them, either. I just take them as they come.

5. Do you believe in perfect? I believe in Kris Bryant, and Sports Illustrated believes he's perfect.

SI asks: "How Perfect is Kris Bryant?"

 
6. Are you a jealous person? Yes.

7. What was the first thing you thought this morning? "Wow, I slept really late."

8. What do you think about when you are falling asleep? "Doze off, Gal. Drift away."

9. Are you satisfied with what you have in life? Yes, but I still want more.

10. Do people ever think that you're either older or younger than you actually are? I gratefully still pass for younger.

11. Do you think men truly understand women? No.

12. How about women understanding men? No.

13. Did anybody ever call you handsome or beautiful? Cute, but not beautiful.

14. What is one fact about the last person that called you? He's thrilled because his next door neighbor is moving away. They have been involved in an ugly battle over the tree in my friend's backyard.

15. Other than your current one, tell us about the longest relationship you have had either a romance or a particular good friend. I've loved this man since I saw him on The Ed Sullivan Show 53 years ago. I love him still.

A jam-packed Saturday

So my day started with a trip to the UPS Store. I needed to get a form notarized, which kind of annoyed me because it seems unnecessary. Cook County requires me to submit a form stating my Property Identification Number (which they gave me), how long I've lived here (which they already know), and my 2015 income before I can get a "Long Time Homeowners Exemption," aka a break on my escalating property taxes. My guess is that they believe if they make us jump through hoops, we won't bother and they won't have to grant the exemption. I may be able to save $250 or more, so I went through the hassle.

Then I got my hair cut and colored. My stylist is so funny. I've known him almost my whole life and can attest that he is, indeed, racist and anti-Semitic. He doesn't believe he is. (Example: He thinks that because he hugs his mailman and tips him big every Christmas, he now has "a black friend." I try not to roll my eyes.) Anyway, he spent most of the cut complaining about his 26-year-old daughter who, briefly, moved back home and busted him on his language and attitude constantly. I tried to hide my amusement. After all, he had scissors in his hand.

Then I went to my classic movie group. Will, our moderator, is enchanted by Barbara Stanwyck. (So much so that he continually ignores the brilliance of my girl, The Great Kate Hepburn, but never mind.) Last night we saw a Stanwyck screwball comedy, The Mad Miss Manton. It was fine because I'm more than a little in love with Henry Fonda. He was just the cutest mix of honorable and adorable in this movie. (Swoon.)

The night ended with tapas. Joanna and I caught up over stuffed mushroom caps, puffed pastry filled with sirloin, and baked apple with goat cheese. All good. No booze, though they have a full and impressive bar. The house band? Well, I could have done without the mariachi version of "I Just Called to Say I Love You."

Joanna is such an interesting woman. So stylish, so talented, and so very flawed. I find her flaws endearing because they keep me from being intimidated by the style and talent. It felt very good, very comfortable, to reinforce my fledgling bond with her. And I think it's important to make a friend somewhere other than work. My career is coming to an end, and it's good hang out with people who don't necessarily define me by my work.

I got home at 1:00. I was exhausted. I remember when 1:00 was the shank of the evening.