Power was restored briefly last evening, but it’s been out again since eight p.m. Rain is falling like crazy, and there are some heavy gusts of wind. The downed tree blocking our street has been cleared away, at least. Typhoon Kristine has proven to be a real bitch, and she doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. This doesn’t bode well for our drive to La Union later this morning. Hopefully, it is not still raining when tomorrow’s Hash commences. Nothing to be done but wait and see.
So, let’s find out how long my laptop battery lasts. Yesterday was pretty much a shelter-in-place kind of day. I did visit the cardiologist for my test results. The most surprising news is that I have a urinary tract infection. And now I have some antibiotics to take twice a day. I still need an ultrasound of my leg veins; I am just waiting for the scheduling. Otherwise, the heart is ticking and tocking and doing its job. The goal is to continue that trend as long as possible. I haven’t experienced any breathing issues lately, and I’m especially thankful for that.
After I got back home, the power went out, and I wasn’t looking forward to spending the night sitting in the dark. My neighbor invited us over to join them in the solar-lighted house for some food and beers, and that was a welcome offer. Davina’s shrimp fajitas are amazing:
We also killed an hour or so playing a board game, the name of which I can’t recall this morning. It involved drawing numbered tiles and playing them in sets. My old brain took some time to grasp the strategic imperatives required in choosing where and when to play the numbers, but I was never able to beat neighbor Jeff. Oh well, something different to fill the time. Ah, it was Rummikub.
After the power was restored, we said our goodnights and headed home. The joy of lights and fans didn’t last long, and we were once again cast into darkness. A fitful night’s sleep ensued, punctuated by noise from the howling winds and the drumbeat of rain against the windows. Then, I awoke to another wet morning in darkness.
Well, at least I didn’t spend much:
- Prescription Meds: 1300 pesos
- Doctor Visit: 700 pesos
- Trike: 200 pesos
- Total for October 24: 2200
It’s more fun to spend money than not. I reckon I’ll get the chance to make up for it some this weekend in La Union.
Some Facebook memories:
No battery power to preview a YouTube video for you this morning, so I’ll just share this one that looks interesting to this old man’s eyes. Things from the 1980s you can no longer do. Heh, don’t get me started!
Some humor while I can:
I’ll update y’all from La Union.
I hope you don’t lose your way during that typhoon of yours, John. Getting lost when you’re drunk is NOT fun.
Early 2015 I’d not even been working a full month when I got sent home from work (my first job where I was admonished for not shaving) for being drunk. Decided to walk home, which I’d done precisely once before, but stopped into a liquor store to get more fuel for the ~2 hour walk back. Stopped into a back alley to lube up and ended up passing out for not pacing myself. Woke up hours later, after sunset, to find my phone had died and I was totally lost in what was effectively a ‘foreign’ city.
Got caught up in a thunderstorm (no jacket or umbrella). Walked through a field of mud that sucked off my new work shoes my stepmother had gotten me a few weeks earlier, for the Christmas I managed to polish off two bottles of whiskey in one sitting. At one point my passport fell out of my pocket and I ended up crawling on my hands and knees in the mud, in the dark, looking for it. I was lucky with the passport because I noticed it wasn’t in my pocket not long after it fell out. And because it’s light and has some waterproofing it stayed on the surface of the mud. It’s all tattered and dog-eared now. Only expired like last November.
Ended up shoeless and I couldn’t find the shoes. As the rain got heavier and the mud thicker they kept popping off, and even though I was stepping back into them the mud was sucking them off with every other step. Then I slipped and almost went on my ass, and when I got my bearings I couldn’t feel where one shoe had been lost. Then the other came off. I only had wet socks on for the rest of the journey home.
Shoeless and completely piss wet through from the rain, I then managed to fall over a low wooden barrier, going full shrimp and just remaining there because drunk and “fuck it”. A few cars did actually stop with drivers calling out asking if I was ok. Silent thumbs up sent them on their way.
Finally managed to extricate myself and tried to wave down passing cars for directions. I lucked out with this young stoner kid who offered to drive me home. I remember profusely apologizing I was soaking his passenger seat with my soggy ass, but he was cool as hell. Offered me some of his joint he had in the ash tray. I remember a string of spit like pizza cheese leading from my mouth to the spliff when I gave it back to him but again, he didn’t seem to give two toots about it.
Finally got to the new housing development where I lived with my brother, one of those cookie-cutter HOA affairs where all the houses look the same, and staggered home.
Only when I got ‘home’ the door was locked up and my key wouldn’t work. I thought my brother had locked me out because he’d somehow found out I got sent home from work and he was pissed about it. After aggressively trying the lock some more I hammered on the door and I heard a muffled voice behind it ask “who are you?! What do you want?!” I laughed. Actually laughed. I thought my brother was being a dick and playing a prank on me, pretending not to know me.
“It’s me, Thompson, come on man open the door.”
“Who? I don’t know any Thompson.”
Sigh.
“It’s meeee, THOMPSON.”
“I don’t know any Thompson!”
Ffs.
“Ok, it’s your b-r-o-t-h-e-r, Thompson!”
“I don’t have a brother, and I don’t know any Thompsons!”
It was only then that I realized my ‘brother’ didn’t sound quite right, and in the porch light of the home my eyes fixed on the home number plaque. It was a different number from my brother’s house. Ohhhhh fuuuuck.
“Shiiiiiit, sorry man. Wrong house, wrong house. I thought this was my brother’s house. Sorry!” Sheepishly backed out of view of the peephole in the door, hands held up in placation.
My brother’s house was actually two or three streets down, and my key worked as soon as I plugged it into the lock. As anticipated, he was pissed. When he didn’t hear from me earlier in the day he drove to my workplace to pick me up, and my dickhead boss told him he’d sent me home, and why.
He threatened to break my legs for being a mess and basically kicked me out, where I went up north to the Bay Area to live with cousins for a while, and the rest is history.
Every now and then I think about hammering on that stranger’s door. At the time I didn’t think much of it; I was still thinking more like jolly drunk than a rational, smart drunk, and to me it was at worst an annoying, but understandable, mix-up. Since then I’ve read about people like Andrew De Vries, Yoshihiro Hattori, and Renisha McBride, who were shot to death for.going to the wrong door, and I think that could have been me.
That prawn dish looks exquisite. Compliments to the chef.
I trust you and the rest of the kennel arrived in Bauang safely and without incident. Do you all travel together en masse in a private bus?
I read Bauang is quite desolate and that a town near there called San Juan is much more picturesque. Will you visit San Juan, and maybe even Baguio which appears close by also? I read the natives in the latter are partial to country and western music and have a penchant for leather and cowboy hats so that would be right up your alley I imagine.
Do you plan to ever visit the rice terraces further north one day? I understand there are several but do not know whether there are any bars close to the terraces. I guess they would have some but whether or not they have Guest Relation Officers, for those who need assurance they are handsome men, I have no idea.
What if a majority are smart, but a clever minority are good at cheating?
Kev, Then we are the stupid ones for letting them get away with it. Again.
Digory, Yep, made it Bauang safe and sound. Rode with a friend and his gal. As far as I know, we are the only Subic Hashers attending the La Union Hash today.
I don’t know about a San Juan, but San Fernando is right up the road. Bauang is a beach town, but not all that small. I’d say it’s Barretto-sized. I’ve been to the mountain city of Baguio several times. It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Too isolated for my taste.
I don’t really have the rice terraces on my bucket list, but you never know. I still haven’t made it to Bohol, so that’s the top priority.
Thompson, that was quite the adventure. And yes, getting shot was only one of the potential disasters you managed to avoid. Glad you lived to tell about it! I’ve walked through mud-sucking rice fields but somehow managed to keep my shoes. Maybe because I was sober.
So, this happened in Southern Cal then you moved to the Bay Area? And now you are in Tucson? Sounds like there are more stories to be told!
Sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind but falling in love and not getting arrested.
Hunter S. Thompson