Home at Last!

by Pa Rock
Mover and Shaker

The 25th day of April, 2009, finds me in my new home. We moved all day long, and I am beet red and bone tired. My main helper today was a seventeen-year-old young man named D.J. (which is short for a beautiful African name, the spelling of which I did not master). D.J.'s grandmother, Jessica Whitaker, is one of my social work co-workers at Luke.

Jessica told me that D.J. was a good worker, and she certainly was right. We must have made ten trips up and down Litchfield Road in my little convertible that thinks it's a truck. Our loads were often stacked high and wide, and had that Beverly Hillbillies look about them! Two other friends came over with a truck and helped get the biggest items on up the road. I still have two or three small loads at the old place, and quite a bit of cleaning to do.

Tomorrow Dish Network will be here (hopefully) to get my satellite service set up. I will probably move a few more things over, and I am going to jazz up some of my furniture with a new coat of paint. A co-worker will be bringing over an evening meal to help me recover from the trauma of all of this physical exertion! (Thank you, Patty Marks!)

My new place is so quiet. Gone is the loud thumping music from my downstairs neighbors, along with the occasional whiffs of fragrant marijuana wafting upward from their patio to my balcony. Gone are the all-night sirens screaming along Litchfield and McDowell. (Although this beautiful trailer court - Litchfield Village - fronts on Litchfield Road, my abode is near the back, about a half mile from the gate.

The birds have discovered the birdbath that I put out for them, and tomorrow there will be a feeder also. Late this afternoon I saw a small jackrabbit scamper across the park by the trailer court office, and I have heard that there are several more playing in the neighborhood.

Life can't get much better than this!

Desert Vistas

by Pa Rock
Desert Rat

It was a beautiful day for the drive from Luke AFB to Las Vegas. I anticipated that the jaunt would take four hours, but it was closer to six. The big hangup was Hoover Dam! Damn! Damn! Highway 93 North goes right over the dam - an old two-lane roadway that had tourist traffic snarled for about ten miles, or one hour. But, we were traveling so slowly that I was able to get some great pictures from the car! I think that I may stop there and look around on my return trip Sunday.

Things that I learned on the road today include the fact that the roadside cacti between Phoenix and Wickenberg are much healthier, and of a wider variety, than those between Phoenix and Flagstaff. The Giant Saguaro, in particular, are awesome. I learned that the small theatre on the main drag of Wickenberg, AZ, aptly called "The Saguaro," is currently playing Slumdog Millionaire, indicating that Wickenberg may not be as "small town" as it lets on. And I now know what a Joshua Tree is, and even got out of my car at one point and walked among several of them.

Las Vegas has changed a great deal since I was last here fifteen years ago. Gail and I are staying at the Tropicana, one of the older hotels on the strip. Tonight we went out with her son, Reed, who lives here, and had a nice meal and saw some of the sights. We caught the volcano erupting at the Mirage, went into the Venetia and watched as the gondoliers languidly transported tourists up and down the Grand Canal, and capped the evening off with a breath-taking view of all of Las Vegas from the top of the Mandalay Bay Resort.

Las Vegas is much quieter than the last time I was here. We heard that tourism is off as much as 40 percent. Many of the slot machines looked forlorn.

Out and About in Arizona

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I live on the western edge of the Valley of Hell in an area commonly known as Palm Valley, aptly named for all of the forty-foot tall palm trees that line the main thoroughfares. The beautiful palms are evenly spaced and obviously didn't just spring up that way. Ever since I've lived here there has been one tall palm tree that was missing its fronds - just a tall, headless trunk taking up a space on an avenue of tropical giants.

This morning I was driving to the Air Force Base to catch up on a few things when I saw a crane looming over the sidewalk. The headless palm had been pulled up, and the large crane was setting another in its place. So, now I know how full-grown palm trees are transplanted. It's not a job for amateurs!

Bob was waiting for me as I pulled into the parking lot at work. Bob is a sleek black grackle who recognizes my car and swoops into the lot every morning when he sees me arrive. It doesn't make any difference where I park - Bob is always close behind. I toss crumbs from my breakfast sandwich out the window, and we both enjoy a good meal before I amble in to work. Occasionally a chickadee will rush out from under my car and challenge Bob for a particularly good morsel. The chickadee's name is also Bob. Small world! Sometimes Bob (the grackle) joins me at the Sonic a few blocks away for lunch. My friends at work have noticed Bob hanging around my car during the workday, and he also holds court in one of the mesquite trees outside of our building - and whistles every time I walk by. It's good to have friends!

After leaving the office I drove to the old town section of Glendale and walked through several of their fancy junk stores. They are called "antique" stores, and a few are, but most are high-toned flea markets. Many were already playing Christmas music trying to entice holiday buying, and one had a delicious pastry and cookie buffet set out for their shoppers. I did six or eight stores before getting bored and moving on down the road.

Since I was already halfway across town, I angled right and headed for El Pollo Loco to stock up on some crazy chicken. They currently have an eleven-piece dark meat special that is truly mouth-watering! Somehow I made it home without getting my fingers greasy!

Feed a bird - eat a bird! How's that as a metaphor for life?

Identity Theft

by Pa Rock

A senior NCO at Luke Air Force Base sent out a base-wide email today stating that she had been checking her accounts on-line last night and discovered that someone had accessed her credit card account and made some purchases. She followed up an hour or so later with another email telling how the particular scam that snared her worked. This is what she had to say:

As it turns out, my specific information wasn't stolen per se -- no bad guy looking over my shoulder & copying down my information. The crooks use a computer program that generates random credit card numbers; the numbers are then tested to see if it's an active account. The "test" usually shows up in the form of a $1 charge. Once the crooks establish that the account is active, they swoop in and make as many charges as possible until caught. Basically, the crooks are playing with a very sophisticated slot machine, and when the one-armed-bandit lands on your account, it's game on for them and "craps" for you.

Most credit cards issued by banks have a "credit alert" feature that will allow you to set certain limits on charges. Once the limit is exceeded, you'll be notified of the charge and asked if it's legit.

Be alert, and be afraid...be very afraid!

AAA Sucks!

by Pa Rock

I want to tell you about the pain and misery that I brought upon myself when I carelessly lost my keys (car, home and office) last week, because doing so will help clarify why I didn't make it all the way to Mexico yesterday - but that trip will be discussed in a later post.

Last Thursday afternoon as I was walking across Luke Air Force Base, I shuffled some items from one of my pants pockets to the other. An hour or so later I discovered that my keys were gone. After searching all of the likely places, I came to the conclusion that they must have hit the ground during my pocket rearrangement.

The first crisis that had to be solved was how I was going to drive home that night. I called Triple A, a service that I have been a member of for years and with whom I had never experienced a problem. The first thing I learned was that my membership was going to expire in three days - quite a surprise since I had never had a renewal letter, but, oh well, it was still good.

Well, the lady on the phone told explained, it may not be good. Her screen was flashing the word "cash", which she explained meant that I had used up my allotted calls and would have to pay for this one myself. Oh, I asked, how many calls am I allotted on my Triple A "Plus" membership? Four, she replied. (I had never been told that there was a limit.) And how many calls have I had? Two, she replied cheerfully. Hmmm...and though I only remember one of those two, wouldn't I still have two remaining - even if your count was correct. Yes, she said. I'm going to have to do some more checking. She came back on a few minutes later saying that it might take awhile because the person she needed to talk to wasn't answering the phone.

No, that person isn't answering the phone because they've gone home, which is what I need to do. The base that I am calling from is closing, and if I don't get home soon, my landlord's chirpettes will be out of the office and I will have to sleep on the sidewalk tonight. Call a locksmith...now...and I will straighten Triple A out tomorrow!

The locksmith arrived ninety minutes later. The young man informed me that the cost of making a new key would be $135, and that I would have to pay $35 up front and he would bill Triple A for the rest. Fair enough. Even with money in hand, it took him over half an hour to get a key made, and it worked the ignition and every lock except the trunk. The locksmith told me that Arizona was so dry that if a person used the clicker all the time to gain entry to their vehicle, as myself and everyone else I know does, the lock mechanisms tend to dry up and quit working with keys.

The next day I called the number on my card for customer service. I renewed my card last year in Kentucky, so I reached an office in Lexington. That fellow told me that according to his computer, I had had four service calls since January. I asked for dates, and he provided them. Two of the calls had been on the same day last January. Knowing that at least three of the calls were fakes, I asked for copies of the bills. I'm sorry, he said, but Arizona would have those because that's where they were billed from. I'll connect you with Arizona, but here is their number in case we get cut off. With that he promptly connected me to the California office of Triple A.

It took California a while to figure out that I wasn't theirs, then they told me to hang on while they transferred me. It took me a few more minutes to realize that they had hung up on me. I then called the number that the nice fellow in Kentucky had given me. It turned out that was a number for vacation planning, but they were able to connect me with someone who supposedly could help. That young man informed me that I would have to pay the $100 because I had used up all of my calls.

You don't understand, sir. I am talking about fraud. I never made those service requests.

Oh, you want to report fraud?

Yes, but first I want copies of those bills.

I'm sorry, but I don't have access to those. You can report fraud at this number, and he proceeded to rattle off a string of digits. And their website is...

Their website? Will I be dealing with an agency of Triple A?

Oh, yes sir.

So I made the call. It was the National Insurance Fraud Hotline, and was not related to Triple A in any way. I filed a report with them over the phone. My next call was to my insurance agent to see how much towing and locksmith insurance would run. I had been paying AAA over eighty dollars a year for that service, but now I was mortally pissed and needed an alternative. My agent, Desi Smith of Goodyear, told me that the coverage would be $5 every six months. Sign me up, Desi, sign me up!

Now hear this: Even though I have had many years of wonderful service from Triple A, those days are gone. Triple A (especially Triple A Arizona) sucks. They suck, they swallow, they throw up in your lap, and they suck some more! If you need coverage for towing or a locksmith, check with your auto insurance agent. They are far cheaper, and when you have a problem, you can talk to someone you know!

Piso mojado!

Moving Again!

by Pa Rock

Last night the good folks at Palm Valley Luxury Rentals stuffed a notice into my door - the preferred delivery method of class acts everywhere! My landlords informed me that should I fail to accept their terms for a lease renewal when my current lease expires (October 31), my monthly rent would go up by a hundred dollars. Yeah, right! A hundred extra per month and the air conditioning will still only work on days when it doesn't get too hot! Who could pass on a deal like that?

So today I will go buy boxes, lots and lots of boxes! And I will begin to slowly pack up my life. And I will spend the next two months living out of, and climbing over, boxes. And when the 31st of October rolls around, I will have to climb into a moving van and head on down the road.

Where will I unpack? Right now I don't know. Maybe I will find another hovel in this wretched desert and keep my job at Luke. The people there are wonderful beyond measure! Or maybe I will relocate someplace where there are seasons or a seashore, and hope that I land in another good work environment. I have a long history of being very lucky in that regard. Will my luck hold through yet another move?

Today I went to the office at Palm Valley Luxury Rentals to pay my September rent. As I was writing the check, a young man stepped up to me and said, "Excuse me, sir. I'm thinking about renting an apartment here, and I was wondering how you like this place?" So I told him.

Viva la revolucion!

Of Prairie Dogs and Grackles

by Pa Rock

I may live alone, but I seldom dine alone - and that is especially true of the many meals that I eat in my car. I am known far and wide, particularly in the furrier and featherier circles, as one who shares his bounty.

My morning routine is to wheel through the local McDonald's just outside the gate at Luke Air Force Base and pick up a sandwich and a tall iced tea. Then I pull onto base, park in the lot next to where I work, and read from my "car book" while eating breakfast. And as I munch on my sandwich, I routinely tear off little pieces and throw them out onto the lot where my regular retinue of grackles and pigeons - and the occasional desert dove - enjoy their breakfast. One morning a scroungy old cat showed up and kept the birds at bay while he ate their food, but usually its the birds who get fed.

At lunch I often go to the local Sonic where I can park under an awning and put the top down while I eat and read. The birds there also know to expect me, and one old grackle will even march across my car hood raising a fuss if I am late dispensing the grub. Yesterday I had thrown out a good portion of my sandwich and was lost in my book when I noticed something odd in my peripheral vision. There scuttling around picking up the bread crumb offerings was a rodent-like creature. He looked like a large, grayish chipmunk without the stripe and with an extra-long tail. He was very relaxed and would sit still and pose while he ate. Today I asked the carhop what I had seen, and she said it was a prairie dog. She pointed to the adjacent field and said there were a colony of them over there. "We feed them tater tots." She added with a giggle. As she counted out my change, I watched another prairie dog scooting along the far edge of the parking lot.

When you feed the birds every day, you get to where you can recognize some of them based on their odd features. There is one truly ugly brown and white pigeon that shows up on base, at the Sonic, and even at Taco Bell. He recognizes my car and always coos expectantly while waiting for a handout - a handout that I am happy to provide. We are both sustained by the relationship!

Visitors

Two of my friends, James and Patti Carroll of Noel, MO, were in Phoenix Thursday evening. They arrived in the late afternoon, rented a car at Sky Harbor Airport, and then drove across Phoenix on Interstate 10 in rush hour traffic and 110 degree heat. I am sure that they had had quite enough of The Valley of the Sun by the time they made it to my place in Goodyear. Later that evening after a nice meal and a tour of Luke Air Force Base, we stopped at a local CVS so Patti could by a few necessaries for their trip to Sedona the following day. James and I sat in the car and visited while Patti went to do her shopping. When she returned to the car, she had a bemused look on her face. Patti said that she had been exchanging small talk with the clerk in the store and had mentioned that she was here on vacation. The clerk had replied, somewhat astonished, "You're vacationing here!

Amen, sister!

Crusty's Burger Burn

by Pa Rock
Food Critic

I had lunch today at Crustano’s, the snack bar in the Block House at Luke Air Force Base. My past eating experiences there have been very good, but not this time.

Crustano’s used to have a hot buffet, but that has been removed since my last visit. They now offer a very bare-bones salad bar and an extensive line of sandwiches which are prepared as you wait. Not feeling exotic, I decided on one of the specials – a cheeseburger, onion rings, and a large iced tea.

My first clue that trouble might be on the horizon came when the attendant asked me if I wanted mayonnaise on the cheeseburger. “No,” I explained calmly, “God did not intend for mayonnaise to be put on burgers.”

“Mustard, then?” she asked, sounding more than a little miffed.

“Mustard would be wonderful.”

She looked as though that was the oddest request that she had encountered in some time, but pushed ahead into the vegetation. “Lettuce.”

“No lettuce,” I said, stepping backward to avoid a V-8 head bop.

“Pickles?”

“Yes, please.”

“We don’t have tomatoes.” (I hadn’t asked.) “How about onions?”

“Onions would be good.”

“And would you like fries, chips or salad with that?”

“I would like onion rings. It’s there on your sign as part of the special.”

“Oh, so it is.” After a few minutes of fiddling with the cash register, she continued, “I can’t get onion rings to come up on my machine.” It wasn’t my problem, so I didn’t respond. There were a couple of more minutes of button-pushing before we moved on to drinks. “You can get a small drink with that for fifty cents.”

“I want a large drink.”

“Oh, I see.” More button-pushing. That will be seven dollars and fifty-cents.”

With the floor show at an end, I sat down to await the meal. It arrived very quickly, but to my dismay it was not very “special.” For starters the cheeseburger had no cheese, and she had ignored my request for mustard. There were onions, so many that I pulled most off, and three very thick pickle slices – sweet pickles! What planet was this gal from? In spite of all of this culinary strangeness, I still should have been able to make a modest meal from the bun, meat patty, and onion rings – but that wasn’t to happen either. The bun was fine, but the meat was overcooked to the point of being unchewable and inedible, and the onion rings were just a few degrees shy of being charcoal rings. I was able to enjoy the bun and the iced tea, but the rest went into the trash.

I doubt that I will ever eat at Crustano’s again, but in the event that I do, I will take the damned mayonnaise and go to insufferable extremes not to offend the server.