Thursday, September 30, 2004

fire!

Past Sunday, I forsook NFL to go to the OC Record Show's first appearance at the Retail Clerk's Union. I took $22 cash and change, dropped it all on about 55 45s, one or two were junk, but also I got a great black rocker, Al Savage "I Need" on Lido (I guess it's the same Savage that was on Herald), it lists cheap, but I've never seen it before. Got soul on Sue, small Chicago labels, jazz like a Lionel Hampton double ep with cover, great stuff, Byrds promo only ep on Scholastic label, New Seekers Coke 45, some okay stuff, one junker.

Now, officially out of $$, I approached Phil Powell who had been guarding these 45s originally ("I bought them" - "I plan to buy them" - "I can't find the owner" - "you take what you want"). Phil left when I began going thru them and found good to great stuff. He wanted several, including a Coleman Hawkins EP, so after I did the deal, I brought it to him, and now needing cash, told him to give me what it was worth to him - $5 in ones, but that was the deal. So I had some cash, but no more 45s were readily available, including those brought by Skid Roper, an San Diego dealer who had great stuff in the past.

Last night, I was barbequing some pork ribs in the commideaux (sp?), when unbeknownst to me, the same thing was happening next door. This requires some background. Lin, our unpleasant midget Italian neighbor's teenaged son, Patrick, who is a stroke victim, no wonder - based on his mother's passivity and his grandfather's verbal abuse ("you brats"), was home alone - he should have some sort of supervision - was home heating cooking oil and presto! by some conspiracy or other bad luck, the kitchen exploded into flames. I smell what I think is my bbq, but see some haze in the driveway, so I walk out front, and there's Patrick with a neighbor, and I ask "who's house is on fire", hear the sirens, and Patrick answers "Lin's!" Finally, I catch on, it's the next-door house.

Firetrucks arrive, 3 of the big red ones, and pretty soon the fire is out, but the cleanup is horrendous, and neighbors, pretty much all dour and sour, gather on our lawn, to observe and gossip. "Where's the dog?" asks a black fireman. "What does he look like?"
"Pretty much like a coyote" is my rejoinder, because he does. I then find out that Karen, across the street, took in the coyote and Patrick, who's pretty distraught. All in all, not as bad as it could have been. During the fire emergency, Dennis Nesteby came up, and gave me the helper pass for the next OC Record Show, so even the fire worked out OK.

That night, daughter Shea and her boyfriend Rick came over, hour late, and we ate up all the oerdouvres, ribs, wine and had a good time. Then Sylvia's brother Brian showed up and we watched TV, he was fascinated and actually shed tears over a Frank Lloyd Wright doc. on PBS, it was that kind of night.

Next morning, insurance adjusters seen prowling around, picture taking and doing other insurance adjuster stuff, while Lin heard making arrangements to go out with a woman in a robe for latte, extra hot, wonder I?

Today, Sylvia and I went in to Social Security, just like I did in May, to get her benefits, starting in late Nov., so another big hurdle overcome.

This morning I set out on a record hunting binge, responding to responses to my records wanted ad in the Beachcomber. Recently, the ad has yielded a Mystery Train by Elvis on Sun, an early Goldband blues by Walter "Wise" Miller, some soul, a few good lps, a Country Joe & Fish on Rag Baby, some Earl Kings on Ace, Bobby Charles on Chess.

First stop was Denise, a heavy-set lizzie in a sweatshirt, nice woman, who abodes on 14th St. She drug out the LP collection of a resident who had died, mainly pop-crap LPs and a few matching 45s. I give her $2 for two LPs - Dion and an Ahmad Jamal - and she insists I take the whole load, which I do. She helps me haul out the load and adjusts my handtruck on the way out.

Next stop, an apt. on Redondo Ave. south of 7th. Nice guy, Bell is the last name, recognizes me as that guy on cable TV, so that's a start. He tells me he picked these up when he was at Gardena Hi, class of 65. Go thru his 45s, find a Beach Boys on X and a few wasted items, find 2 psych LPs with shot covers, give him 5 bucks. Deal!

Go to Bagatelle's as I owe Steve a book and want to give him some GRT catalogs, which I do. Owner Steve Mintz shows up - we're all left handed - Danny Holloway, aka Zampelli - also left handed - is there, looking for funk 45s and we bullshit for about half hour and Mintz checks the LPs I just got: gives me $11 for several, including the 2 psych ones, so I'm a whole $4 ahead and have some pretty good singles, and 2 LPs to show for it. Cool.

Go to Dizzy On Vinyl on 7th St., Dizzy can't use the LPs, but I give the LPs that Mintz doesn't want to Dizzy anyway and get home in time to see the last case on People's Court, go to the library to get a paper, take a nap, and write up this shit, preparing for the Kerry-Bush debate today. That's a full day in my book.

Oh, did I forget to yell fire in a crowded theater?

If so, fire!

Next blog: my experiences in easy-to-digest form: People who hate me and how they got that way.

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