My dad went to China and all he got me was this lousy...

My dad came home from China and gave me a jade bracelet, the bird flu and yet another XL t-shirt (I'm 4'11" and 94 lbs, so maybe he's mixing me up with some other daughter he's got socked away somewhere. Of course, if she's the size the clothes he buys me would indicate, she'll need something more capacious than a sock drawer). But, the XL t-shirt ended up going well with my bird flu. I asked him when he'd be going to stay with my brother. He said he wouldn't until I was all better. Then he said, "I went to the grocery store while you were sleeping and got some wine. Would you like a glass?"

Luckily, I didn't have the strength to say yes.

Did my neighbor murder her husband? Part I

I've been spying on my neighbor, because I think she may have just shot her husband. Or maybe that loud noise was him slamming the front door -- its heart-shaped Welcome sign looks about to drop...you have to tilt your head to read it. But maybe it's always been like that (I've never bothered spying on them before).

They scream at each other an awful lot. Usually I only hear the woman, but tonight, you could hear both. The man yelled, "Laura, this is not normal behavior!"

"Don't tell me I'm not normal! Get out! Get out!"

I couldn't make anything else out, until she screamed, "I want a divorce!"

Then, a sudden bang. Or maybe it was the door. And then there was silence. That's why I spied on them; I turned off all my lights and stood on my couch and peered between the slats of my blinds -- their kitchen window is directly opposite my living room window. She's cleaning her kitchen now, putting away empty wine bottles, scrubbing the table.... I actually tried standing on my tiptoes, hoping to see the floor -- or rather, the body of her husband. (Well, not hoping.) But, it must have been him slamming the front door. When I saw that heart-shaped welcome sign all askew, I figured that was it.

It had to be that, because people don't shoot each other in South Redondo Beach. It is odd, though, that I didn't hear a car.

In any case, I'm glad for the quiet -- now I can get back to my mystery novel.

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER

I have the worst luck. I couldn't concentrate on my book and went and spied on the neighbors again -- this time, the front door was wide open and there was no movement anywhere that I could see. I tried to take a picture of the open door with my camera phone, but it just showed up all black. After about fifteen minutes, I put on my spy uniform -- black leggings and black shirt -- got my real camera, told my cat I'd be right back, and went outside to do some surveillance. I sauntered past the corner of my building, whistling quietly, and looked up (concurrently with a Siamese cat...I wonder if it's theirs?); the door was now closed. So, I rushed back to my apartment, turned off the lights again and peered through the blinds -- everything is dark in their place. I missed it...whatever it was.

But, I did notice that of the seven units in that building, theirs is the only one with a welcome sign and some potted plants (pink geraniums) outside their door.

OK. Now I really am going to concentrate on my book.

(I should point out that my Saturday nights are usually much more exciting than this...tonight I just did not feel like carousing.)

Adam Smith on bad people

This is another good example of why I love Adam Smith. The Wealth of Nations is really quite a funny book; weirdly, his passages on the driest of subjects are often the most hilarious. Here he compares taxes on luxury goods, like tea, chocolate and port, to taxes on necessities. He says raising the price of luxury goods could actually have a positive effect on society:

"The high price of such commodities does not necessarily diminish the ability of the inferior ranks of people to bring up families. Upon the sober and industrious poor, taxes upon such commodities act as sumptuary laws, and dispose them either to moderate, or to refrain altogether from the use of superfluities which they can no longer easily afford. Their ability to bring up families, in consequence of this forced frugality, instead of being diminished, is frequently, perhaps, increased by the tax. It is the sober and industrious poor who generally bring up the most numerous families, and who principally supply the demand for useful labour. All the poor, indeed, are not sober and industrious, and the dissolute and disorderly might continue to indulge themselves in the use of such commodities after this rise of price in the same manner as before without regarding the distress which this indulgence might bring upon their families. Such disorderly persons, however, seldom rear up numerous families, their children generally perishing from neglect, mismanagement, and the scantiness or unwholesomeness of their food. If by the strength of their constitution they survive the hardships to which the bad conduct of their parents exposes them, yet the example of that bad conduct commonly corrupts their morals, so that, instead of being useful to society by their industry, they become public nuisances by their vices and disorders. Though the advanced price of the luxuries of the poor, therefore, might increase somewhat the distress of such disorderly families, and thereby diminish somewhat their ability to bring up children, it would not probably diminish much the useful population of the country."

Does this make me crazy?

Yesterday I was walking home from Trader Joe's when I thought of something funny and laughed. A guy about 15 yards ahead of me glanced back. Immediately, I put on my sanctimonious face, which I feel to be my least crazy-looking. Because I'd also been whistling show tunes.

But, the thought of him thinking me crazy made me laugh again. And again, the guy whipped around. Then he started hurrying away, all the while looking back at me. I thought, I must stop laughing when I'm alone!

I was just getting a bit depressed about it all when the bus passed me.

What my coworkers said about Steve Irwin

This morning, I overheard a couple of my male coworkers talking about the death of Steve Irwin. One is about 23; the other is in his early thirties. As I came into my office, the 23 year old was saying, "I mean, I'm sorry, but that's why you don't go near wild animals."

The other guy sounded a bit hesitant, as if he were a soft-hearted bouncer at the gates of heaven. (These two coworkers seem to have a good cop/bad cop routine worked out in routing dead celebrities.) "Well, I'm no expert on stingrays..."

"My aunt's neighbor got stung by one. On the foot."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He had to go to the hospital."

"Wow. Was it painful?"

"Hell, yeah. And you know what he said? He said it was his own damn fault."

My 23 year old coworker would forgive any sin, it seems, except for a lapse in judgement. He clings to his good judgement like a devout Catholic clings to her beads. "I can tell you, you won't see me going anywhere near a stingray. Or anything else that wants to kill me."

I couldn't help but wonder why he goes to the vending machine so often; he's gained at least forty pounds in the last year. Except for his Mustang (which he has yet to buy -- he's going to trade in his Acura), he's a man who prides himself on taking no risks. Once when the other guy said he was going to Vegas and suggested he come along, he said, "I don't gamble."

"Why not? It's fun. Vegas is a trip."

"Huh. I really can't understand what people see in it. You're just giving away your money."

"But dude, it's Vegas! You have to try it at least once. You know, a weekend away from the old lady." (The 30-something coworker emphasized 'old lady', as if he were quoting someone else...probably his father, who when he died left his son a slew of old idioms, such as 'it never rains but it pours.')

"No way, man. I'm buying an HD TV. I want something for my money."