Final Treo Photo: Sept. 30, 2011

Seven years, almost 10,000 photos, more than 10,000 texts and untold
hundreds of dropped phone calls later, it's time for my squat little
companion to become my squat little semi-portable 4GB MP3 player*, at
least until I figure out how to transfer all of my data off it without
a proper sync cable. Someday, I'll tell someone else's grandkids all
about my valiant little smartphone and how Palm was once the bleeding
edge of communication technology and somehow pissed it all away in the
course of a handful of years.

Tomorrow, I finally begin photoblogging with a camera that can see
clearer than I can; this can only end badly, I'm sure.

* "My new MP3 player" seems to be the only retirement any of my
high-tech equipment gets to enjoy before total collapse and death,
e.g. my old Dell laptop and Treo 650 [before I returned it for credit
on the 755]. I figure, in these days, why should humans be the only
ones forced to work to their utmost, albeit diminishing, capacity
until their batteries can no longer hold a charge?

Victory lap to the supermarket

I've never seen such extreme vapor trails before; so thick and long, never mind the two being so close together. Weird.

The rest of yesterday

After dithering and/or threatening to ditch my Palm Treo 755P and Sprint service for a few years, I finally bought an Android phone [the Motorola Droid 3; I can't live without a physical QWERTY keyboard, no matter how damaged my hands become] and a two-year Verizon contract. Huzzah for a smartphone with a functioning E key and the reported death of incessant roaming charges! Once the nice UPS man finally delivered my package, I had no choice but take on a victory lap around the the neighborhood [straight to the Grocery Outlet for eggs and milk so I could make my pal Nena a Jamaican-spice tea bread with a Puerto Rican vanilla/brown-sugar flavored glaze this morning. I dunno what to think of the D3's battery having a 60% charge straight out of the box -- I guess it could mean anything, and that means nothing. My cellphone world just turned Technicolor, regardless.

Thursday five-mile

It should not be nearly impossible to return one bag of soda bottles over a three-day span with two supermarkets within walking distance.


Trying to kick Mexipastries with bagels. I fear this is jumping from heroin to morphine instead of methadone.

Five mile Sunday

Summer appears to be completely over.

The morning after

Working up the empty-calorie energy and false sense of health needed to take a five-mile hike without mi capirotada amor.

Dinner at Ill's

Mr. A is a culinary genius. All shall kneel before the greatness that is Tinga Poblano!

Why I love Food 4 Less

It horrifies, delights and baffles me, in equal parts, on my every visit.

P.S. the Mexican Cola Jarritos has a charming cinammon-ish flavor, but their Mango soda tastes like my high-school shampoo.

Signs I have liked



I think I've hit bottom regarding my addiction to Mexican pastry.

Five mile Thursday

Capirotada, I wish I knew how to quit you. Also, who knew that David Gilmore of Pink Floyd has eight children? That's rather impressive, especially for such a rather bland man.

Back from the doctor's

I apparently have multiple spots of nerve damage causing this left arm/torso numbness/pain; as soon as I fill out the paperwork from a private rehab clinic, I get to take a conduction test to find out where my nerves have pinched or failed. It's kind of like using a voltimeter to fix a broken toaster, only the toaster never inconsolably regrets not playing the guitar more while it still could.

Is the upside-down lady tag a universal sign of a port-a-john in distress, like what ships in trouble do with their flags?

Waiting for my doctor

Who sits that low on adjustable stool?

Pecan-pie bar from Anna Bannanas

Sometimes you'll buy anything to break an ATM $20, especially when you have a bus to the Faux Pas to catch. (Still on that bus; there has to be an easier way than this.)

Water in the basement, as of Sept. 10

Looks like the ancestral home got about four and a half feet of water in the same manner as in 2006 -- the ground was so saturated that the excess was forced out of the drains -- but this time the built-in sump pump never stopped running, as the power to the area was apparently never off [for long]. Um, hooray.

Caught up: 09/19/11

I dunno what kind of fruit/nut/seedling this tree makes, but it's fun to crush them/their shells on the sidewalk.

The eighteenth.

Dooey and Molly the dog.

The seventeenth.

Finally finished cleaning out the fridge -- found a lone turkey hot dog in the back that I'm pretty sure hadn't gone bad but had contracted genital warts somehow -- so I took a picture because it will last longer. Dooey was so spazzed out by the cleaning that he sat on the kitchen table, breaking the biggest of owner rules 70% of the times he breaks it.

Sept 13, the senses-shattering climax

Helped Virginia out at Sparkplug, mostly restocking and sorting back stock, then I went home and comforted this razor-clawed dipshit.

13th. P. 2.

Tea with Drew & Shawn somewhere downtown near City of Books, then a super-cheap ($5 for a bean bun, spicy chicken sub & a red-velvet cupcake with cream-cheese frosting) and delicious lunch at An Xuyen bakery on SE Foster.

The thirteenth, part one

Before and after my first full professional massage, at Zama on NE Broadway. My left hand and torso were still numb, but I was much more relaxed about them.