And the numbers just keep rolling in. Wished more folks bought stuff here. Or here. Or even here. Or, at the very least, buy it on on eBay.
Fish and the city:
Oh never mind, it was a nice title, I thought. But nothing happened. Maybe a visual, with some glamorous stars would help. Urban fishing is weird, anyway.
True love (part one):
Subtitle: Who says money can’t buy love?
Lower Congress Avenue was, at one time a highway that ran south to San Antonio, the birthplace of Texas. Then it became a place for shops and neighborhoods, and then it became weird, and then it went downhill, figuratively speaking, and then it got “reborn.” I had a to meet a client at a swanky, upscale place. Swanky, upscale client, too. So I wandered uphill, and one point in its checkered history, this was the place to “buy love.” Lower Congress has cleaned up its act, and the rents have skyrocketed, I’m guessing, as the number of specialty boutiques moved in to replace the old, less special (and less expensive) stores.
All is not lost, however. I wasn’t much thinking about any of this, as I had to dash up the hill, only to find the client running late, then me with a few extra minutes, so I kept on walking and fetched up a lottery ticket from the convenience store. Back to wait on the client, stepping outside to call on the cell phone, yes, on the way, and then I found it.
True love, like a long-lost lover I’d given up hope of ever seeing, ever again, there she was.
Across the street from the legendary Continental Club.
Sitting curbside.
For sale:
Shiny black, Coupe de Ville. Two doors. Seats two people comfortably. Maybe three, if they’re friendly, in the front seat. Back seat might hold one person, stretched out.
Fortunately, I was not visibly aroused, but for one moment, for that time it took me to take the pictures, I was in the presence of my one, true love. 1964 Coupe de Ville. Black. Two door hardtop. Style. Class. Sleek, classic lines like, better than, a supermodel. Just enough fins to assert themselves. Understated elegance.
(Quick specs page)
And that leads to a 26 gallon gas tank? At $3.09? That’s more than $80 to fill up. 429 Cubic inch V-8? Doesn’t that make anyone’s heart throb anymore? Environment be damned, this is about making a statement.
That’s what’s wrong, no sense of style these days.
I also don’t have spare $6K lying around, so buy my true love is out of the question. Plus, it was obvious that the interior needed some attention, and the price, in Y2K5 dollars was almost the same as 1964 price. I suppose that speaks to holding value. Probably could use some work, too. But damn, she was a pretty one, “Once you go black, you never go back,” right?
Elegance, style, class, and probably a single-piece steering assembly that would skewer a driver. But in a car like that? Who could get close? The stuff dreams are made of.
The price of print:
Two-Meat Tuesday is still around online. I’m completely out of copies, and I doubt I’ll order any more. Plus, I’ll be the first to argue that the price of my printed material is too steep. But this is a function of the method of delivery, and it includes all the layers in between. Funny price point between Amazon and the self-publish empire, too.
From my point of view, I figure that either of those two books should run, at the very most, about five or six dollars, and even that price point is pushing it a bit. However, I don’t set the prices, they are almost arbitrarily adjusted by points long-past my control. Just the way it goes. As far as Amazon goes? I make pennies on sale, not figuratively, but literally. however, some folks only buy from Amazon, so there’s that.
True love (part two):
Subtitle: the perfect mix
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[/style>When Amy’s opened up across the street from Jo’s, there was much rejoicing. Goodness and light was spread throughout the surrounding hoods. For years, the little Cuban Barista (Gemini)at the old Ruta Maya held the number one spot for best combination of coffee and ice cream, only to be topped, back about two-three years ago, by the Virgo at the Hideout. In the past few years, though, I’ve opted for just vainly trying to get the right combination, Amy’s Mexican Vanilla & Jo’s espresso.
In the past, what with me living on the Jo’s side of the street, I’ve always started with a double, or occasionally, a triple shot of espresso then waddled across the busy street for the ice cream. Sometimes, the scooper looks around, and just dumps it in the cup, per my request. So what I’ve wound up with is an espresso “float,” of sorts.
But I had an idea, tip of the hat to the Leo scope, and I collected ice cream first, then played dodge getting across the street, for Jo’s. (Leo scooper at Amy’s, with a Libra in the background mewing and caterwauling when I suggested Leo is the best sign. As if there was any other.)
Aquarius and Scorpio, Aquarius handling the money and handing me a cup into which I dumped the ice cream, then the Scorpio pouring the (double packed) espresso on top.
“Dude, that’s, like, going to melt it.”
That’s the point. So it’s medium ice cream, in large cup, minus two bites, with a double shot of Jo’s espresso on top. Perfect blend.
What’s left over, is rich, creamy elixir, redolent with the fragrance of heart vanilla and the nutty, chocolate overtones of the rich espresso, completely bereft of its usual edge. Then, at the halfway point, there’s this little dollop of ice cream, just tiny, not even bite-sized, and it’s got little flecks of Mexican Vanilla plus stray bits of coffee grounds.
Love, true love.
