Time passes slowly up here in the mountains,
We sit beside bridges and walk beside fountains,
Catch the wild fishes that float through the stream,
Time passes slowly when you're lost in a dream.
--Bob Dylan
Wow, what a great looking day! Took some pics this morning around my house. Check ‘em out!
On this fine day, only slightly diminished by news of Karl Rove’s good fortune, I drove to IVC to interview a prospective part-timer. He turned out to be just what we were lookin’ for, plus he’s a jazz musician, having tickled them ivories with the likes of Poncho Sanchez. Very cool.
I showed the Piano Man around, explaining about the general atmosphere of shitulosity. “Oh, I’m used to that,” he said. “I teach at Santa Ana.”
Oh.
A few minutes later, I ran into a colleague who was bitchin’ and moanin’ about room A203, which is sort of attached to the Humanities and Languages Office. “Good Lord,” said the colleague, “sometimes I go in there on Monday and it’s up to here in trash!”
“Here” was his chest. I think he was exaggerating. But I’d heard this complaint about 203 before, from various others. Even the chest part.
He explained how often he had complained and how it didn’t seem to matter. “How hard is it to clean this room on some kinda schedule?” he roared. “Just how hard is that?! Why do I gotta keep callin’? Jeez!”
I got my camera and went in there. Though there wasn’t much trash, except some spillage from the trash container, the room did look generally crapulistic. Urinary even. The floor was Scuff City, the white boards were bird-shit grey, and the phrase “don’t give a shit” wafted lazily across the room.
Rebel Girl had called me a week or so ago to report that “they” were tearing down those shitty old temporaries that we’ve been carpin’ about on these pages over the last few months. Carp carp carp.
I told her I wasn’t about to drive way out to Irvine just to take a picture of that.
So, today, I checked it out. Sure enough, where the notorious “Shithouse” once stood, now there’s a big ugly empty lot, mostly dirt.
With trash. And chunks of asphalt. And big shiny nuts and bolts.
Oddly, I found a friend there, loitering peevishly. I walked up to her. She snickered and grumbled. Then she announced: “I think this is a hazard. They should rope this off.” She pointed to the nuts and bolts.
They didn’t look so bad to me, but what do I know?
“How come there are nuts and bolts?” she asked. She nudged a nut with her toe as though she were checking for signs of life.
“Dunno.”
I left. The sun was shining. There was a fine breeze. It was good.
People keep asking me, “So what’s happening?” But I dunno. Nobody who knows stuff tells me anything. Plus, I don’t wanna bother ‘em during summer.
One thing’s for sure, though. It’s during the summer when they try to get away with stuff.
Don’t be surprised if, when you come back, you find that they tore the college down and hauled everything away.
Except for those shiny nuts and bolts.
