I need a haircut. Too damn long and scruffy. Not long the Gonzaga boys of today, exiles from The bands all of them, as fuzzy on their heads as the sound’s top end, but for a non-musical Gonzaga boy of the past I’ve got some chopping in store. A lot off the top, a lot off the sides, sideburns a little less Brady, something summer but not as summer as the substitute barber made me mid-winter this winter. I understand Jose’s gotta go to France every year (daughter over there and love of the country), but I picked a bad week to live the lawn.
The real lawns, of course, they’re going crazy now. Sun for days and these late night rainstorms I only see on the pavement in the morning. Morning being a relative term. I’m having trouble sleeping past six and seven these weekends, but I am rediscovering the joy of napping. Open with the window, in with the breeze, a fan if there’s none, and float away with the Saturday afternoon or late Sunday morning gods. Catching some and restoring also. Caught up with my New Yorkers this weekend, at least the ones in my apartment, and catching up with the little naps just paid itself forward. Not that I’ve seen the movie. I saw the episode of Fresh Prince where Will gets the convict to work at the Banks’ house and the baseball goes missing, and I don’t need any more of the plot, even delivered by Helen Hunt. I just like the concept.
(Where has Helen been lately? Maura needs to get her a job on ER. Then I could catch her onthe Earl/Office ads and the one episode of per year that I might watch. Can we get these people back on sitcoms? The Will and Grace finale reminds me of Mad About You’s weird, late, bad break-up turn. Whatever the reuniting, no one needs it. Mo Ryan said in her Tribune, I think, that she liked the retrospective better than the finale. Gotta agree there. Inadvertently missing the ’70s Show finale, but the relatively less talented Meyers brother doesn’t need the encouragement. Neither does trash-talking Fez. Bring back Topher. Make him Chrstopher Robin in an animated special and team him with a certain government appointee — cast your politics aside here — of a certain look and a certain voice. Works on so many acres of levels!)
But. If you weren’t hear last week, and you weren’t, you missed the broken-down school bus. For the kids, it must have been the best on the school bus ever. Italicize for emphasis as you like there, but you know you like it. The school bus was broken down by the time I saw it in the afternoon, pulled off 14th onto Rolfe Street with a maintenance van behind it and two other yellow school buses sitting on 14th, presumably loaded with the kids who’d have a great story to tell tomorrow. They started the ailing bus and it spat white smoke all over for half a minute until they shut it down. It was dark before the heavy-duty tow truck hauled it away.
You can’t always tame the tiger, no.