The Thirty Dollar Boot

by Pa Rock
Economic Stimulator

After a morning of still more unpacking and laundry, I headed off to the gym this afternoon where I did a little over two-and-a-half miles on the treadmill at a brisk clip, some pull-ups with the weights, and then sat in the wonderful, bubbling sauna for a shamefully long time. The iPod is adding years to my life. It currently has 3,220 songs, and is basically the soundtrack of my life. I slap on those headphones, cover the numbers on the treadmill with a towel, and rock-on for a minimum of ten songs - which puts me somewhere over thirty minutes. (If Alice's Restaurant or some anthem from Woodstock happens to shuffle to the top, I could be stepping along for forty-five minutes or more.) Time, as they say, truly does fly when you're having fun!

The gym was followed by a trip to Costco, usually an expensive venture, but this time I got away with just two books - both by Dr. Seuss, my favorite author. I also partook of their "hot dog deal" which completely negated any benefit from the treadmill!

My home is in Litchfield Park, the gym is in Goodyear, and Costco is in Avondale - all relatively close. I tried to get from Avondale to Surprise without using one of the major thruways, but my progress was repeatedly thwarted by closed roads and dead ends. Before I gave up and hit the 101, however, I did discover the little community of Maryvale, a grotto of relatively poor housing nestled within the tile-and-tan expensive sprawl that is modern Arizona.

Surprise, Arizona, might sound like a ghost town, but it is actually one of the more modern and progressive parts of the valley. It is about five miles due north of Luke Air Force Base on Litchfield. The city of Surprise has all of the national chain stores and restaurants, and new homes and apartments are springing up at a fierce and alarming rate.

My objective in going to Surprise was to visit Lowe's where I purchased, among other things, a gigantic wind chime, and a very large, cement, and weather-beaten boot that is painted several shades of brown. The boot is actually a planter, and tomorrow I will stuff it with a cactus. Tonight it is sitting empty by my front porch. (I'm not concerned about any of the neighbors making off with it, because the damned thing weighs a ton and none of their scooter chairs could handle the heist!)

And that was my day in one-hundred-and-ten degree Arizona!

Cry Me a River

by Pa Rock
Local Observer

Yesterday evening I watched a flock of geese, flying in V formation, above Goodyear, Arizona. The geese were headed due east.

East?

It was almost dark, a time when they should have been fluffing their goose down and settling in for an evening's rest in some quiet backwater. But where is the backwater, or any water for that matter, in the West Valley of Hell? Maybe they were headed for a pool in the backyard of some foreclosed, abandoned home. I certainly hoped they were not counting on finding water in the Agua Fria (Cold Water) River. The last time that particular rocky trench contained water there were probably dinosaurs lining its banks.

My move to Arizona a couple of years ago was a rush job. I had to find a place to rent via the Internet and telephone. One of the first things I did was to study maps of the West Valley so that I could find something convenient to my work. Every map of the Phoenix area that I consulted showed the Agua Fria River meandering through the desert communities of Glendale and Avondale, close to Goodyear and Surprise. It was always colored a bright blue.

I have lived here long enough to experience rain - on a couple of rare occasions. Rain rolls off of the desert and collects in the parking lots and roadways where it causes surprise flooding. But rain never, ever causes any water to collect in the Agua Fria - I've checked!

Reluctantly, I have come to two conclusions regarding the clowns who create maps of Phoenix and its environs: 1. They are on the take from the tourism industry, and 2. They are lying bastards!

My best guess is that the geese were headed toward the Salt River which is on the other side of Phoenix proper. The Salt has water, lots of water. It laps up against Arizona State University where 50,000 young people spend their parents money riding the new Metro Light Rail and drinking designer coffee. They are lucky bastards!

And, on a semi-related note, Arizona is making plans for its share of the stimulus money that the Feds are distributing. We were told that the West Valley could get connected to the Metro Light Rail in twenty years - maybe. That was before the stimulus money was even anticipated. Now they are saying that it will still be twenty years before we can get connected to the Light Rail - but, if the stimulus is sufficient, they might be able to start providing covered parking for the Light Rail riders in the East Valley now.

They are truly lucky bastards! But until that covered parking is completed, may the yuppies have to wash the goose poop off of their little cars every morning before they hit the Starbucks! There ought to be some fairness in this life somewhere, or at least an occasional mud puddle.

Where Have All the Good Films Gone? Gone to Scottsdale Every One!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

A couple of weekends ago I was driving through Goodyear or Avondale one evening when a young man (high school young) passed me in a small red car. Printed across his back window in six-inch tall Old English Script was this bit of personal vitriol: "Fuck Scottsdale." It wasn't overly eloquent, but Shakespeare probably wasn't either when he was this lad's age. I assumed the boy had probably lost his lady love to some yuppie spawn in the East Valley who was born with a silver spoon up his nose.

The longer I live in the Valley of Hell, the more I come to realize how things here really work. The proletariat lives in central Phoenix and in the West Valley, while those who are not so frantic to make a living (including university students), gather in the coffee bars, art galleries, and outdoor cafes that border their comfortable neighborhoods in the East Valley. Later this month they will also have the Valley's first Light Rail which should help to lessen the horrendous bicycle traffic and save on valuable Birkenstock leather! (The West Valley, where the workers live - and necessarily drive - has been told that they can expect their own Light Rail in twenty years.)

But, I digress. My purpose today is to talk about movies. Recently there have been a spate of advertisements on television for what appear to be some really great films. The problem is that when I pull up the movie guide for a twenty-five mile radius of where I live, all of the films that are available in the local theatres are crap. The really good shows are beyond the twenty-five mile limit - in Scottsdale! If I want to drive twenty-nine miles (forty minutes) to Scottsdale this afternoon, I can see: Doubt, Slumdog Millionaire, Milk, I've Loved You So Long, or The Boy in the Striped Pajama's - none of which are playing any closer. The film distributors seem to believe that the intellect of the East Valley hasn't seeped beyond Central Avenue. People in the West Valley should be content with movies that they are capable of understanding: Christmas comedies, cartoons, and violent action flicks.

The more that I think about it, the more I agree with the philosophy of the kid in the little red car!