Next Up: Toenail Paint

I waved as they left the porch, the baby’s eyes betraying his astonishment that I was staying behind. I never stay behind.

“Bye!” I chirped, “Be good! Bye! See you later!”

It’s been a big day. I think I have the flu; it was feeling like a cold but this afternoon I’ve started to get that achy, shivery feeling. Trombone woke up special early today just to bitch at us for letting him get up so early and it wasn’t even Christmas. Maybe he’s getting the flu too but I suspect he’s the one who gave it to me. He’s the one who’s been snuffling for a week.

Saint Aardvark went out this morning and bought a very shiny barbeque, along with everyone else in the suburbs. (Because yesterday it was warm and sunny.) Har har today it’s cloudy again but we don’t care. We have patio furniture and we have a barbeque and we have gin.

On Thursday I thought gin and tonics might be nice. I was right! They were. And then yesterday I skipped the tonic because very cold gin feels very nice on a sore throat. And today, because it’s a long weekend and it feels like spring and also because Saint Aardvark and Trombone have gone out to buy meat for the grilling, I am having something I call a Sloe Gin Float.

Ready?

1 scoop lemon sorbet
1 healthy jigger gin
1 healthy splash tonic

I have approximately one hour to enjoy my cool, refreshing beverage while the meat is procured. I also have the new ROKU which SA says is pronounced “ROCK-YOU” but which I peevishly insist on referring to as the “ROE-COO.” I’m so obstinate that way.

I had a job once. It was a good job in that I worked with a cool person named Michael and that the store was located in a great neighbourhood in the West End of Vancouver so the clientele was almost always: in drag, a little crazy or a criminal. Sometimes, yes, all three. Plus, I got to play with a colour photocopier all day. (Counterfeiting money is harder than you’d think) We had another co-worker, a sarcastic Malaysian woman who liked who she liked and didn’t have any time for anyone else. Thankfully, she liked us both.

We also, necessarily, had a boss. He was our age and a pretty OK guy most of the time. But he was a Normal and he liked classic rock. He REALLY liked Pink Floyd and Eric Clapton. He read The Province (our local tabloid-style newspaper) FOR SERIOUS. He was the kind of guy who honestly didn’t understand why everyone didn’t just put the homeless people in rehab – that way they’d get clean and so would the streets!

OK anyway, our boss, whom we called Jefe because it means “boss,” insisted that where CD players were concerned, the bigger the better. (Are you surprised? He also drove a red sports car.) He had the shop wired for sound and he had a big ‘ol Bertha of a 200-disc changer in the back room where we sorted the mail. And he had 200 discs in it, too. I think the one Pink Floyd album is 4 discs all by itself! Sometimes, Michael and I would bring in our own CDs but it proved to be a hardship trying to remember where we’d put them in the vast carousel. And unless you wrote down which slot your disc was in and then stuck it on “repeat,” you’d never hear it because the “random” function on the thing was fucked. I heard the same Allman Brothers song every day. It was called Mountain Jam, it was instrumental and it was 33.41 minutes of guitar solos. Every day. The game soon became to run into the back and hit the CD player again and again until it moved past its unhealthy obsession with jams.

Here’s my take-home: If your CD player is so big you forget what’s in it and can’t find anything except Pink Floyd, your CD player is too big to be useful. Also, the thing was constantly breaking, so we spent a lot of time tuning in the radio anyway. (Obviously classic rock versus ANYTHING ELSE was how that game went.)

Then the shop got broken into and the CD player stolen, its 200 or so discs nestled safely inside. Whoops. It worked out well because there was insurance but what did Jefe go and buy to replace it?

(Actually, Michael, what did he go and buy? Because I know it was stupid but I can’t remember if it was another 200 disc changer or a 500. I suspect the 500. Or 1,000?)

A 500-disc changer, let’s say. Something big enough to make plain that our Jefe had not learned his lesson.

And – then – Michael left to make his own way; a string of amusing but horribly ineffective employees were brought in to replace him and finally, the business was sold and I was laid off which was actually my greatest dream come true. As for the CD player, all I know is that when I worked for a couple of weeks with the new owners, they brought in two (2!) CDs of Korean Christian rock and generally played them once or twice in the morning before switching to the local easy listening station.

We decided to buy the ROE-COO because it 1. is cheaper (and easier to find) than a cd player 2. plays internet radio 3. accesses our cds assuming we’ve ripped them to our computers and yup, we have, which leads to 4. once all our CDs are ripped and on the network, we can put the jewel cases and CDs in boxes and not worry about our kid cutting himself open on them or selling them for crack plus 5. we’ll have all that extra space where they used to be. Also, 6. the ROE-COO takes up 8 inches of space and we can put it up high enough so that Trombone doesn’t try to climb it. Oh, he’ll climb anything. He’ll climb ice cream. He’s not picky and just a little focused.

As I was saying, I have one hour to enjoy my beverage and my tunes and my empty house. Currently, Sufjan Stevens.

I wish the same to all of you who need it. ROE-COO-ON!