2005-04-29

Currently, and ending in a couple weeks, I live a blocks north of the Loop. If you aren't from St. Louis, it's a strip of bars, overpriced furniture stores, and a coffee house catering to Washington University students and the occasional 16 year old West County type.

And I know what you're thinking: "Why is there a Washington University doing in St. Louis"? Look, George Washington was the father of the whole country. He belongs to all of us. So if someone in some fly-over burg wants to name a school after him, it's their right.

Anyway, my street is (often fairly) quiet. Usually the only disturbances have been some dirty hippies playing the accoustic guitar at 12:30 at night. Lately, though, I have noticed some odd traffic patterns on the other side of the street. Like lots of people walking over to one apartment building across the street at odd hours of the night. Or the one where one guy runs up, rings the bell, and disappears into the apartment building while another guy waits in the car. With the engine running.

So that's our mise en scène. The crime rate is way less than Soulard or South Grand (two other neighborhoods), but it's greater than zero, and most people (especially people with drug dealers living across the street) can expect to have their car broken into at some point.

I've never been broken into. The fact that I have a 1990 Toyota Camry ghetto-mobile is a huge crime deterrant. The thing is invisible.

Well, that all came to an end yesterday. Or technically two days ago, but I found out yesterday.

I go out to the car. The thing is unlocked, and there are the contents of the little center console on the driver's seat. And my ipod is gone.

Hang on. That sentence should have more exclaimation points. Or maybe bold face.

My iPod is gone! Marla! They took Marla!!!

Much better.

At first I was pissed off at myself. "How the hell," I thought, "did I leave the doors unlocked? It's a fluid motion. Open the door, lock the doors. I'm always locking passengers into the car, that's how natural the motion is."

It was raining yesterday, as it had been most of the week. So, as the drizzle came down, I heard what sounded like a window open. So I made sure the windows were rolled up. Still there. Then I opened and closed the passenger-side door that the dirtbag must have used at some point. Still there. Then I look back and realize, somehow, that the back passenger side window has been shattered. Like the far back window. The little tiny one that doesn't roll down.

So, while I had some bit of relief that it wasn't entirely my boneheadedness that caused the cruel theft of my beloved Marla, it just made the sense of violation that much more acute.

That and now I have to replace a window.

My esteemed coworker Dave from Highland, IL, rigged up a very nice patch for the window, involving a sheet of aluminum and packing tape. It'll probably take most of the paint off when I remove it, but that's all right. This isn't a car for picking up chicks or impressing people.

The Official "J's Car Gets Broken Into Story" FAQ

A1: Yeah, I know. But look, I've been violated here. Now is not the time to be giving me the whole "You were dressed slutty and asking for it" routine. Give me a day for the outrage to die down. Then call me a dumbass.

Q2: ...

A2: Is that it? No more questions?

Q3: Yeah, I guess so. Man, really sorry to hear it.

A3: Well, I appreciate that. I was so close to getting out of that neighborhood, moving to Shrewsbury, where the people are friendly and (usually) aren't trying to find stuff to pawn to buy meth or crack or whatever. But no. It's like they knew I was moving and hadn't been hit yet. So now was their chance.

Bastards.

***

I went to see Dave Barry last night. Mom had called me saying, "I got tickets. Real good seats. C'mon! You know you want to!"

I hadn't read much Dave Barry in the last, I dunno, 10 years or so, but I knew he was genius. And his Guide to Guys is one of the funniest things I'd ever read. So, while he was someone from the past, I figured A) I don't get out enough, and 2) I need some entertainment. Beats moving boxes, that's for dern sure.

Well, he was very good. Good crowd, although I was the youngest person I saw by about 20 years (seriously). Everyone got into it. Although when he started making fun of Bush, there was some woman a couple rows ahead of me who made a noise that sounded like what a masturbating spider monkey might sound like. I suspect it might have been her version of laughter, although she too might have been masturbating. That was kind of annoying in any case.

I mean, sure his stuff is hit or miss, and seemed to have been more miss than hit around the end. But he's been writing for 30 years. If I write this silly blog for 30 years, I'm sure I could probably pick out an hour's worth of wildly entertaining stuff to talk about. Infinite monkeys with typewriters and all that.

But this isn't to undersell him. Content is only half the deal. Delivery is the other half, and his delivery was marvelous.

I was glad I went in any case. And if Liz ends up reading this some day (highly unlikely), thanks!