Ha-Ra

Sunday night was Carl's 60th birthday. I was sick with the flu or some phantom plague, but since I missed his last one, (see 8/22/04) I managed to will myself up and out the door. On the way over I stopped off at an Albertson's and picked up 3 boxes of raisins, a big bag of pastachios, a six-pack of Sierra Nevada, a case of drinking water, and two bags of dog biscuits. I got over to the bookstore, let myself in, and went back and put everything in the tiny refrigerator Ron and Maria keep in the little spare room. (I figured if I'm gonna buy Carl something - may as well really rack up the Karma and get Ron, Maria, their son Roman, and their dog Beatrice some stuff too.) Then I went and got out our accordion file from under the front desk and found the gift certificates. I made one out for $50 bucks and wrote "To the Birthday Boy!" on it. I filled out a reciept and put the money in the cash drawyer and started hoofing it on over to Ha-Ra. I knew Carl would like the gift because he reads detective novels exclusively. (For anyone who hasn't actually seen Carl, picture an apple doll sculpted as a combination of Babe Ruth and Lou Costello. Now, put it in the oven and leave it in there too long. Is the face begining to collapse upon itself? Good..) When I got over there Carl was out front, one foot against the wall behind him, smoking a cigarrette like some bulbous teenager who didn't realize highschool had ended forty years ago. I just pushed the envelope into his stomach and went on inside. No need for a buncha sappy back and forth. I guess I'd gotten there early 'cause it was just the die-hards. Diabetic Mac was there with his shiny new walker with his unbelievably patient wife Karen. Rick, a black guy in his late forties, who goes to Bay Meadows EVERY DAY, and who dodged a drug smuggling wrap in the 1970's, was down at the end of the bar in his Members Only jacket. There were a couple guys playing pool and a few other people. I went over and sat down with Rick.

We talked for a while while he showed me all his losing track tickets and explained how he'd narrowly missed just winning a bundle with each. After a little while the bar started to fill up with old geezers, people heavily tattood, strippers, and borderline homeless looking people. Then out came the cake. It was a double domed "girly" cake with two small candles. At that point - it was kinda funny, Carl started grumbling to us under his breath about not wanting get up and go over there. It really surprised me. There's a layer upon layer of the buy that you have to peal back over time. But of course he's got a reputation, maybe even a persona to protect, I watched him wobble and weave his way over to the cake as everyone sang a sloppy version of "Happy Birthday". The place seemed just like a ship out in the middle of the ocean about to go under water for a minute. Then Carl got his piece and after making sure it was one with a nipple, brought it back to the bar.

And that was about it. I was too tired to finish my beer, too broke to afford a cab. I went and stood out on Geary St, and waited for the number five. Seems like all I want to do these days is get back home and crawl into bed. Adam called me to go drink some beer at Red's Java House today. He said he'd even pay for my seat at a Giants game, but I had to pass. That old rockin' chairs' done got Cornbread folks!