Flash Floods and Cat Fights

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

There is a low, rolling thunder in the Valley of Hell this evening, and the winds have just a hint of a coming rain. Rain could happen, the odds say it won't, but rain could happen. It rained up north in beautiful Sedona today, and the resulting flash flood stacked up cars in the parking areas of the Talapaque Village - just across the highway from the UFO Store and the Psychic Emporium. An argument could probably be made for alien or psychic involvement in this surprise flash flood, but I'm too damned tired to propose one.

Fortunately there were no deaths or serious injuries in the flash flood, but I understand that some people had to be rescued from their cars.

Arizona is a dry, parched land. (Did you know that?) The ground is so dry and so hard, that only a very slow rain stands any chance of soaking in. Hard and quick rains run off into the streets and parking lots. Flash floods are a very real threat in the desert.

And in the news closer to home...

Scroungy Bastard came running home as I pulled in after work. I didn't feed him right away because I had to rush in and look something up on the Internet for my Dad. Before I could get back to taking proper care of my dependent kitty, I heard an awful screeching and snarling racket on the back porch. Although I have not seen any other cats loitering around this end of the trailer park, I know a cat fight when I hear one - and this was a dandy!

By the time I got outside, both cats had disappeared and there was literally fur floating in the air - and there were two small deposits of cat poop on the porch. Had Scroungy Bastard been scared shitless? It took about an hour for him to make it back home, and he arrived without any obvious scars. I broke open a can of Friskies Gourmet and then stood guard while he chowed down. Poor baby!

If I had a gun I would probably shoot that other cat. But, of course, if I had a gun that would make me an Arizona moron and I wouldn't have the ambition to load the gun or shoot it. And there wouldn't be any way in hell that I would waste that expensive cat food on a cat! Seafood Supper on a shingle, anyone?

Tasting the Wines in Sedona

by Pa Rock
Happy Tourist

It is so nice to get out of the Valley of Hell for a day trip, especially when I don't have to drive. Today I went to Sedona in a small bus with several other folks from Luke Air Force Base, ostensibly for wine tasting, but we also managed to do some other touristy stuff along the way.

Our first stop was at the beautiful Chapel of the Holy Cross, a Catholic church that was constructed in a crevice high up in Sedona's red rocks. We had to park the bus at the foot of a steep hill. All of my time at the gym has paid off because I was able to make the climb with relative ease while some of my younger companions were huffing and puffing their way to the top. The Chapel had a breath-taking view, and, of course, the obligatory gift shop.

The second stop was a shopping village called Talapaque. It was primarily over-priced galleries of art and women's clothing and jewelry, nothing to hold my interest, so I dashed across a busy highway to visit an emporium for psychics and a UFO store. Those were much more interesting!

We had lunch in the garden of a very nice restaurant called The Barking Frog. The food was delicious. I had a fancy grilled cheese with portabella mushroom, and everyone in the group sampled the cactus fries which are strips of deep fried prickly pear cactus. It was so nice to be able to sit outside on a pleasant August day and eat lunch. That's not something that a person wants to do down in the Valley!

We managed to hit three separate wineries after lunch as well as a trip to Red Rock State Park. Our guide told us that Red Rock State Park is the second most photographed site in Arizona, exceeded only by the Grand Canyon. (The Obama's were at the Grand Canyon today - bet that was a zoo!)

For those who have not been there - Sedona is a must see when traveling in the American West. Postcard views everywhere, lots of shops and tourist stuff, jeep tours out into the mountains, good food, swimming, hiking, fishing - it has nothing in common with the hellhole that is Phoenix in August!

Amazing Grace in the Philippines

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The Valley of Hell is in the middle of its "monsoon" season, which sounds like it should be raining a lot. In point of fact, last year during the monsoon it did not rain at all in the western part of the Valley. Generally it does cloud up some and look like it could rain - maybe once a week or so, but the heat invariably forces the rain clouds off toward San Diego or someplace civilized. Last night, however, an honest-to-God storm blew up around 10 p.m. (2200 hours for my buddies in the Air Force!), with lightening, thunder, sound, and fury. A wind gust hit Luke AFB, my neighbor, measuring 69 m.p.h. Almost as an after thought, my power went off for about one minute - just long enough where I had to rest everything!

And it rained all night and well into the morning!

This afternoon after work I discovered that I had no television reception. After checking outside to make sure that my satellite receiver hadn't taken off to Oz, I called DISH Network and talked to their machine awhile. The machine finally got fed up with my verbal abuse, and transferred me to a human. Her name was Grace and she sounded as though she was all of fourteen-years-old. Grace spent about thirty minutes leading me through the process of reprogramming both of my remote controls. She was calm, thorough, and very good at her job.

While we were waiting on various things to happen on the screen, I chatted with this young lady. She told me that she was manning a phone in the Philippines, and I told her about my good friend, Odessa Benson, who is from the Philippines and recently visited there. When Grace learned that I worked for the Air Force, she wanted to know if I was a pilot - a very logical supposition. I thought carefully about how to respond to that, and finally opted for honesty!

Grace was very patient and eventually walked me through the entire process. It was a very good experience. DISH Network is so much friendlier, easier to work with, and more honest than my previous provider - Cox Cable Sucks! I made such a good decision in changing over to satellite.

Don't believe in God? You are not alone.

by Pa Rock
Pernicious Provocateur

The National Rifle Association has barely had time to mop up after its week of licentious behavior and public urination and vomiting in downtown Phoenix when the Valley of Hell has to begin preparing for another big-time conclave. This time it's the humanists who are headed into town - well actually humanists, atheists, and agnostics. The American Humanist Association will be having its 68th Annual Conference in Tempe on June 5-8.

The Phoenix area is a hotbed of racism and snarling Christianity - and proud of it! The arrival of all of these godless perverts and intellectuals is guaranteed to drive our hate-mongering, gun-toting, white Christians even more nuts than they already are. (It's probably fortunate that the humanist convention did not overlap with the NRA's hooker fest!)

And just to spit in the eyes of our local pious populace, the humanists will be unveiling a large billboard at a yet-to-be-disclosed busy location. The message: "Don't believe in God? You are not alone."

Stay tuned for updates. This is going to be more fun than a ringside seat at the cage fights!

Milking Scorpions

by Pa Rock
Desert Rat

It was a warm and toasty 107 degrees in the Valley of Hell both yesterday and today. If the current trend continues, it could really get hot by August! Isn't fire also a dry heat?

I read a piece in one of the local rags about a guy who makes a living "milking" scorpions and selected varieties of spiders. The product is used in manufacturing "anti-venoms" and other scientific endeavors. (Colonel Mustard in the library with scorpion venom, anyone?)

Apparently there are two methods for collecting the venom. One involves placing cellophane over a receptacle and the letting the scorpion (or whatever) sting the film. The second method involves strapping the little bugger into some type of restraint, connecting suction tubes, and then stimulating him with an electric shock. Apparently method number two is much more reliable and really gets the old juices flowing!

I have no interest in becoming a scorpion milker, but I know for a fact that I could catch them. Been there, done that. I also milked one, just not in a way that preserved the venom! There are scorpions under most rocks in this cruel desert. Just flip them over and scoop the little bastards up in a paper cup and deposit them in a minnow bucket or some ventilated container. Nothing to it - until you get to the rock that is keeping Brother Rattler cool! That's when it gets interesting!

But the desert is not all hell-on-earth and venom - the sunsets are amazing!

The Invasion of Phoenix

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Fifty-five thousand out-of-towners are going to converge on Phoenix this week to celebrate and support their interpretation of the Second Amendment. Yup, the good ole boys (and girls) of the National Rifle Association will be convening here to peruse armaments and swap paranoid fantasies with wild abandon. Oh, the tales they will tell and the guns they will fondle!

This is a very big deal locally, supposedly the largest gathering ever at the Phoenix Convention Center. One Chamber of Commerce flack estimated that the visitors will consume more that 10,000 room nights in the Valley of Hell, and the spending effect will pump about $70 million into the local economy. Spend away, suckers, we'll take your money!

A billboard out by the Air Force Base proclaims that the event will have acres and acres of guns and gear for sale. I'm sure thousands of the baddest guns will be loaded into those black SUV's and quickly transported to Nogales, Mexico, and points south. This should be a real boon for the drug dealers - not having to traipse all over the country looking for massive quantities of deadly bargains! Phoenix ought to have one of these gun-shows-on-steroids every year, or even twice a year!

The NRA convention comes at an especially good time for Arizona in a political sense. Our new governor, Jan Brewer, and John McCain will both be there flapping their right wings and squawking like Rush Limbaugh on a full tank of speed.

Last night the state legislature passed an absurd piece of legislation making it illegal for property owners to prohibit their employees from keeping guns in their cars (on company property) while they are at work. A spokeswoman for the NRA said that her organization supports property rights, but the God-given Second Amendment protections trump property rights every time. (It's true! You can't make this crap up!) This probably would not be a great time to be working in one of the local post offices!

Arizona ranks 5th nationally in states with the highest percentages of gun deaths. Nearly 7,000 people died by gunfire in this crazy state between 1999 and 2006. The new armed workplace law should help to propel us to number one in short order! (I'll bet the state's funeral directors had some lobbyists working to pass that jewel!)

Our local National Public Radio affiliate, KJZZ, ran a story on this commercial madness. They interviewed an old couple who are strong NRA supporters. The man carried a card in his wallet that listed "ten ways Barack Obama threatens the Second Amendment." His wife barked about how Obama (she couldn't bring herself to refer to him as "President") was going to be the "ruination" of America. The husband chimed in that it wasn't about his color (which meant that it assuredly was!), but that he and his wife were against Obama's political policies.

So, for the next few nights, downtown Phoenix will be in full Halloween mode. The streets will be pulsing with hillbillies, hookers, soldiers-of-fortune, arms dealers, drug dealers, fascists, racists, and countless other types of miscreants and miscreant wannabes. It ought to be a real hoot. Hell, I may even punch a couple of holes in one of my good sheets and go join the party!

Phoenix - gotta love it - or leave it!

So Long, Cox!

by Pa Rock
Consumer Advocate

Unbelievably, the Valley of Hell has one cable provider - Cox. There are some options (Dish Network, Direct TV, and radio), but basically Cox has a lock on the market. They also provide Internet and telephone service. Cox apparently has some sort of quid-pro-quo going with the local electric provider, Arizona Public Services (APS). When a new arrival calls to get their electric hooked up, APS ends the phone call with something like, "Now may I transfer you over to Cox so that you can get your cable set up?"

I guess that monopolies can be a good thing - if they provide quality service at a fair price - but neither of those qualifiers describe Cox. Service is mediocre on its best day, and the cost is outrageous.

I have a friend who cancelled their Cox service two weeks ago, and I cancelled mine today. We compared notes on the extrication process. The ladies handling our cancellations gave identical spiels telling each of us that the satellite companies (my friend went with Direct TV and I will be using Dish) will be higher than Cox once their specials end. Nope, that's a lie. When the Dish special ends - after six months - it will still be much cheaper than Cox. And, as my friend pointed out, there is no way that the satellite service could be any worse than that of the Valley's only cable provider.

Our economy runs better when consumers have a choice. What the Valley needs is a few more cable providers giving Cox some competition and getting its prices down and its service up.

So long, Cox. Don't wait up because I won't be back!

We're Having a Heat Wave...a damned desert heat wave!

by Pa Rock
Survivor

Arizona is supposed to have another three or four weeks of pleasant weather before the insufferable summer heat sets in, but Mother Nature has a penchant for unpredictability. Yesterday the temperature in the Valley of Hell hit a roasty-toasty 102 degrees! This August when the daily highs will be on the uncomfortable side of 110 or even 115 degrees, me and all of the other desert varmints will undoubtedly look back on the current heat levels with a degree of longing – but for the time being, firmly anchored in the here-and-now, it’s hot – damned hot!

I know how things work, even the weather, and while it may sound a tad cynical, it is not coincidental that that this heat wave hit at the same time that I am moving, carload by carload, from one hovel to another. It is the predictable result of global warming brought on by the corporate excesses of the Bush administration, planned and implemented over the course of many years with the primary aim of giving me heatstroke as I run my little convertible up and down Litchfield Road with the top down while moving my book cases, floor lamps, and yard art!

That’s right, Cheney! I know this sudden heat wave is all your evil doing. Somewhere there is a CIA memo covering the elimination of Pa Rock by scorpions or sunstroke, and when that memo surfaces, there’s going to be hell to pay! The scorpion died, but I’m still here – and the Arizona sun is making me tougher than an old boot. So, you bald, beady-eyed buzzard, bring on your sinister machinations. I will defeat them all! I’m a survivor!

And I’m mad…damned mad…and getting madder! It must be the heat!

Les Miserables

by Pa Rock
Drama Critic

Les Miserables is a fantastic musical that has been around several years and won numerous awards. And although it is becoming firmly established as a theatrical classic, today was the first time that I have had the opportunity to see it staged. Les Miz has been playing in Phoenix for a couple of months, and its run has been extended twice to accommodate the throngs who wanted to wanted to get in but were unable to obtain tickets.

One of the radio ads said "You've never been this close to the barricades!" I was able to land a seat on the second row - dead-bang center of the theatre - not more than twenty feet behind the barricades. My perch was so close to the stage that I could see the spray leaving the singer's lips as they hit their majestic musical swells!

Les Miserables is a musical retelling of Victor Hugo's monumental novel of the same name. Hugo's 1,200 plus pages are pared down to a stage production of just three hours. The story is an epic struggle of good versus evil and ultimate redemption. It is set in France after the final defeat of Napoleon in 1815 and leads up to the ill-fated Paris Uprising of 1832. It is not, as often thought, a tale of the French Revolution. That bit of history occurred several decades before story of Les Miz begins.

The central character in this morality tale is Jean Valjean, a man who, as the play begins, has just completed serving nineteen years in prison at hard labor for stealing a small amount of bread to keep his sister's son from starving. He is paroled, and promptly learns that his status as an ex-con keeps him from receiving a decent job or fair wages.

Valjean tears up his parole papers and soon steals a silver place setting from a bishop who tries to befriend him. When he is caught fleeing the bishop's quarters with the contraband silver, he tells the police that the bishop gave it to him. To his surprise, the bishop concurs with his lie and enables the man to go free - with the admonition that he has just purchased the man's soul for God. His challenge is to go forth and do good.

Jean Valjean, who never completed his probation and thus remained a wanted man, becomes a successful politician. While keeping his vow to do God's work, he befriends a dying prostitute and promises to raise her daughter, the beautiful Cosette. He keeps his promise to the prostitute, all the while dodging the relentless Javert, a police official who has made capturing him his life's obsession.

If the Valjean-Javert dance sounds familiar, that is probably because it was resurrected in the 1960's in a television show called "The Fugitive," and again in the 1990's in a movie of the same substance and name. No matter how much good Dr. Richard Kimball did, that awful Lt. Philip Gerard remained fixated on bringing him to justice.

There were several standout performers in the Phoenix Theatre's production of Les Miserables. Douglas Webster was a dynamic Jean Valjean. His acting was passionate, and his voice ranged from delicate to thunderous. When Webster traversed the stage, he owned it. Jenny Hintze was the dirty-faced and streetwise Eponine who easily outshone the lovely Cosette. She was compelling and appealing - and her voice was magnificent, with a force that could break windows in the cars driving by out on McDowell.

Beau Heckman and Terey Summers were show-stoppers. They were Monsieur and Madame Thenardier, a pair of coniving street louts who were always on the lookout for a quick franc. They were Eponine's parents and the evil guardians of Cosette when she was a child. The Thenardier's were lovable rogues who could have easily been the creations of Charles Dickens. Their masterful comic relief gave the audience a much needed reprieve from the serious business of persecution, poverty, and war.

Les Miz has a wonderful score, yet it contains few songs that people are likely to hum or sing (or even remember) as they leave the theatre. But it is a show that would be very difficult to forget. The company performing at the Phoenix Theatre have done a terrific job of bringing this great musical production to the stage in the Valley of Hell. I was truly transported to nineteenth century Paris within spitting distance of the barricades!

This was a wonderful afternoon!

Killer Joe

by Pa Rock
Drama Critic

Someday when I look back on my years in the Valley of Hell and try to identify the cultural highlights, I'm certain that tonight will have made the list. This evening I drove to the heart of Phoenix (100 East McDowell) to see the Nearly Naked Theatre's production of Killer Joe, a dramatic event that could have easily been subtitled White Trash on the Rampage!

This was the first production of the Nearly Naked Theatre that I had witnessed (and, yes, witnessed is the appropriate verb!), and it turned out to be quite an experience. The organization is in its tenth season and prides itself on provocative productions. The name, Nearly Naked,is somewhat of a misnomer, because there was no nearly to it. Of the five cast members, one man and one woman roamed around the stage in their altogether, two others qualified as nearly naked, and the fifth spent quite a bit of time shirtless. The wardrobe manager had an easy ride with this show!

But in case the nudity wasn't gratuitous enough, there was an ample serving of real language - the kind you might hear in a truck stop restroom. Skin for the eyes, profanity for the ears, and, oh yes, one of the characters smoking a joint on stage that provided olfactory stimulation for the audience. (It smelled like the real deal, but surely they were using the medicinal variety!) This play had it all!

The plot was somewhat sweet and syrupy. The grown son, a small-time drug dealer, owed money to some hoods who were going to take it out of his hide. He came up with a plan to have his mother killed so that he could get a share of her insurance money. His dad (mom's ex) agrees to the scheme, and together they bring a hit man into dad's household. Problems arise when the hit man, Killer Joe, wants his money up front. The money won't be available until mom is in the ground and the insurance company pays off. Joe finally agrees to do the job on spec, but he demands a retainer, the family's 20-year-old virgin daughter. After that it starts to get complicated. (See, I told you it was a sweet story!)

I could go on and describe the scene where the dad's new tramp wife was forced to perform fellatio on a Colonel Sanders drumstick, but I wouldn't want to spoil it for you.

In spite of the raunchiness, or perhaps because of it, Killer Joe made for an entertaining evening. The cast had fun with it, and so did the audience.

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!

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?

More on the Mighty Saguaros

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Old friend and young grandfather, Michael Box, from the state of Kansas, posted a reply to my article yesterday regarding the growing theft of the giant Saguaro cacti from the deserts of Arizona. What this former resident of the Valley of Hell had to say explains why this criminal enterprise is so lucrative. According to Michael:

Illegal saguaro's sell for up to $50 a foot plus an additional $100 per arm. The prized crested plants can go for $15,000 or more.

Stealing these plants violate both Arizona and Federal law. The Arizona law appears to be regulatory in nature. The Federal Lacey Act is not. There you get felony convictions and big fines.

The saguaro can live 150 to 175 years, weigh up to 7 tons, and be taken in as little as 15 minutes.

So, let's do the math: gas for two trucks (-$20), wages for four undocumented workers for a couple of hours each (-$100), and a quick sale of four of these desert guardians (+$20,000 or more) - yep, that beats holding down a real job!

Michael did include this note of caution:

Only a fool will wander into the Sonoran Desert at night when the rattlers rule. But the risk of a fatal snake bite is out-weighed by the lure of profit.

This is one instance when I'm rooting for the snakes!

Oh, McBush! Wherefore Art Thou?

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Arizona has been surprisingly devoid of McBush campaign paraphernalia, especially considering that it is the old fart's home state. Indeed, until a week ago the only bumper stickers that I had seen out and about in this wretched desert were those supporting Obama. Now I can at least report that I have seen three McBush bumper stickers in the Valley of Hell, and all, of course, were on large expensive vehicles.

Last night I went to downtown Phoenix to enjoy First Friday - a street fair held on the first Friday of every month - with my friends, Bobby and Odessa Benson their housemate Jeremy. We handed out Obama bumper stickers and buttons to the hundreds of people who were wandering the streets and enjoying the fair. There were many Obama supporters there, some holding signs for passing drivers to see, some handing out cards for voters to request ballots by mail, and many just talking to people about the candidate.

The most significant thing about last night, though, wasn't about what all of the Obama people were doing, it was the total lack of any McBush workers or activities at the event. There were no bumper stickers, signs, or political activity in support of Arizona's first Presidental candidate in a generation. Zip, nada, nothing! There was no McBush buzz in the middle of America's fourth largest metropolitan area - the city that he calls home! (Well, one of his homes, anyway!) I was almost embarrassed for him - but not quite!

I read this week that McBush has pulled the plug on his operation in Michigan. Has he thrown in the towel in Arizona, too?

Change is coming, and I think it may just be in the form of a landslide!

They're Back!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Arizona's state bird, the blue-haired snowbird, has started its annual migration into the Valley of Hell. They flock here from all over the United States and Canada seeking a place to park their RV's and flabby rears in the winter sunshine.

I was in a convenience store earlier this week when I realized the invasion had begun. Normally, that little store might have a maximum of six customers during a "rush" period, but that day there were three long lines of seniors (most of whom were decades older than me!) pushing their carts, each and everyone heaped to overflowing with alcohol, toward the checkout counter. I mean to tell you they were emptying the booze counters and coolers of that little store! It was as if they didn't have liquor where they came from, and while they were wintering in the desert, they were determined to drink it dry!

When I finally made it to the checkout counter, I felt and acted on the need to apologize to the clerk for not buying any booze. "That's all right," she told me. "I'll check you out anyway." We then commiserated over the fact that neither of us had been invited to any of the snowbird parties.

But, it's going to be a long, hot winter, so we may make it onto some of the guest lists yet!

Around this Wretched Desert

by Pa Rock

The summer is quietly slipping into fall in the Valley of Hell. Today the temperature barely reached 100 degrees, and tonight it will cool down to the low eighties or upper seventies. Before we know it all of the snowbirds will be back and people will begin hanging Christmas lights on the cactus.

I have been house-hunting the past few evenings after work. Most decent apartments are around a thousand dollars a month. I have found one that will do. I also did something today that I promised myself I would never do - I looked at a mobile home. It is a three bedroom, two bath in a well kept park. The older home has a sticker price of $14,000 and lot rent is $355 per month. It was a very comfortable setting. I was tempted, sorely tempted. But then reality bit me in the butt and I remembered that I already own two homes in Missouri - did I really need a third located way out west in an area that I hope to one day leave? Of course not.

There are things about apartment living that I like: no upkeep indoors or out, no taxes, cheap insurance, and when something breaks - call the landlord. There are things that I miss, though, about not living in one of my houses - being able to dig and plant in the yard, having a pet, and knocking out the occasional wall. It's all a trade-off. I think my objective right now is to bounce around until I find the place where I would like to retire.

Maybe in the spring I will spend some time in Puerto Rico or St. Lucia.