Friday, 8-1-08

Another week has simply trudged by. I don’t know about you, but I woke up Tuesday thinking that it was Thursday and have been feeling ripped off ever since.

I asked you last week for blogs and you responded! Thank you so much and see the attached links for some pretty decent sites.

The first one is Unite and Take Over. The blog of a Swedish woman going to school in Poland.

The second is Matt, Liz, and Madeline. The byline is “life and death. all in a 27-hour period. what you read here is what follows.” Amazing and inspiring life this man and his daughter have had. I love his writing. Go to the “if you haven’t been here before” tab first, and watch the cuss-o-meter if you’re feeling sensitive.

The third new blog I have for you is Can Anyone Find Me A Wife. It’s really new, actually, documenting the search of an Elgin, Illinois man for a wife. I think he’s funny.

So what was on the iPod this morning?

Hollywood Swinging – Kool & The Gang
Psychotic Reaction – The Count Five
With Plenty of Money and You – Count Basie and Tony Bennett
Downtown Train – Tom Waits
Oh My God – Mark Ronson featuring Lily Allen
Ford Mustang – Serge Gainsbourg
Rikki Don’t Lose That Number – Steely Dan
Wooden Ships – Crosby Stills & Nash
Kick Out the Jams – MC 5

What to make of that?

Oddly enough, I have another panhandler story for you. What’s with me and panhandlers?

The spring following my encounter with Alley Beggar (the subject of last Friday’s blog), there was a young woman standing on a ramp off of 94 in a spot normally occupied by scrawny drunk men – and always the same scrawny drunk men. They’ve been there so long now that they’re landmarks, fixtures used for giving directions: The closest gas station? Hmmm. Go down Broadway to Washington, take a left, go past Crusty the Frown, go past Droopy Drawers, go all the way to Your Druncle Steve and then take a left and there’s a gas station there.

As I slowed down for the light, I saw a woman at the intersection. She couldn’t have been more than 20 or so, nice-looking but tired, punk in a thrift-store-and-found-clothes sort of way. She was holding a sign: “Had enough. Walking home to CA. Need socks, tampons, and money.”

I unrolled my window. “Really? You’re walking?”

“Yep.”

“And you need socks and tampons?”

“I really need socks and tampons.”

I didn’t have any socks available, but I did have tampons. I motioned her to the car and gave her all the tampons I had, maybe six.

“Bingo!” she shouted. “This is totally tight, dude. OB’s are the best.”

“I know! Aren’t they?” I handed her two dollars. “This is all I have. Be careful and go home.”

Then the light changed, and I left.

I still think about her, wondering if that was the truth. I hope it was, and that she got the socks she needed too. I hope Little Punk Girl made it home to California.