JUNE GOES EVEN FASTER

June is turning out to be a much faster month than May was. It's already half over! Maybe if it didn't take my hair so long to dry I'd have more time for communtiy service. Oh, well.

I walked by the cell phone store in the mall the other day and I thought: "You know, I could just go in there and buy one of those!" It's the first time I've had that thought. I think I can, anyway, is that right? Or do you have to have some special qualifications?

I guess I was thinking about cell phones because I found one the other day on the way home from Jazz in the Park. I wasn't going to JITP, the people who lost the cell phone were. I was on my way home from work. It was surprisingly easy to use. I looked up some recent numbers called, and called those people and left messages that I found the phone. Only one person answered, and he said he didn't know the number who was calling, though of course I had no name to refer to.

Finally I called a number and a picture of a woman's breasts came on the phone when it dialed! A woman answered and said that it was her boyfriend's phone. She said they were at Jazz in the Park, and invited me over. I declined. I told her where I lived, a short walk from the park, and she walked over. When she got near, she called again and I ran out with the phone, still talking in it, hoping my landlord Ellwood wouldn't see me.

We met up on the sidewalk and I gave her the phone, trying not to look at her breasts. She thanked me and again invited me to Jazz in the Park. This time I thought about it for a second. I've received very few invitions anywhere recently, and certainly not by strangers. But I thanked her and declined again. People take portable chairs to Jazz in the Park, and portable tables, and they spread little red and white checked table cloths over the tables and open bottles of red wine. Then they get out wine glasses and bread and cheese and... yikes, too much. And I've heard, this is the truth, that people bring hanging plants and hang them from the trees. No thanks. Not my scene, baby.
RS