Monday, December 14, 2009

Of Unemployment, Wattage, and the Wawah

Your correspondent woke up today with little idea what to do with himself.  (Temporary) unemployment is nice.  Don't let anyone tell you different.  Except for daytime TV.  That stinks.  I've been expecting Dr. Drake Ramoray at any moment.

We took Jack (along with our buddies Nick, Teresa and Lyla) to Lights in the Heights a few days back, and it was every bit as neat as I remembered.  Okay, okay, I get you.  Christmas lights, big deal.   But this is basically two streets' worth of neighborhood block party.  No cars allowed.  The crowd, like Houston itself, is eclectic.  Cowboy hats strung with battery powered lights, bagpipers, a guy on that motorized cooler thingy they sell at Bass Pro, Goths, Dickensian carolers, rickshaws, everything.  And bands.  Lots of bands.  One year there was this en fuego Zydeco band.  And the lights are ridiculous.  A house two years ago hauled in sand for "Christmas on the Beach."  I drove by six months later and still could see sand in their grass.  A guy (with the house to match) wears a Blackhawks jersey with GRISWOLD across the back.  Lyla and the Skipper rode in the wagon; he kept taking off her hat and she kept untying his shoes.  Whatever.  Oh, I'll spare you the one about me parking next to the haunted house with the crepe myrtles cut like punji sticks.  My leg is still black and green.

We were doing some shopping a few days back and popped into our go-to parking lot in this too-tony little shopping area.*  A big permanent arbor has been built in and around the parking spaces.  And they had set up a nice little farmers' market complete with a string quartet.  And people were slinging collard greens, goat's milk, tallow honey, and all manner of things delicious.  One booth was even hawking Indian food.  It's like they let me plan this thing!

Oh, and there were the goats.  We were pointed over towards two week-old baby goats, being tended by an 8ish year old boy in an odd gray woolen coat.  Jack pretty much crawled in the bucket with the flop-eared things.  The kid then struck up a conversation with us.  The flop-eared kids (next to the talkative kid, and our curious kid) were still being bottle-fed.  One was nameless and was going for 25 clams.  The other, Jefferson Davis (not kidding) was on offer for FIVE HUNDRED BUCKS.  About the time I decided that the overzealous kid added a zero, I notice the large brass buttons on the jacket, marked "CSA."  I then get an earful that Lincoln was a rat and that Jeff Davis was the greater man.

A lady behind me wryly added, "Uh huh.  The South will rise again, honey."

*  This is the one where Majesty witnessed the full-length mink coat on a 70-degree day last year. 


Anonymous said...

does anyone find it odd that there appears to be a gentleman positioned just behind the baby goat wearing a fireman's coat? I have seen from yonder year when I was young and growing up in a town of 2000 with not a one paid fireman, where you would occasionally see the "cool" volunteer fireman sporting his heavy fire retardant jacket complete with reflective stripping in the parking lot at football games on a cold night friday night parking cars... but in Houston?? Ahh... maybe he was about to smuggle said nameless goat.

Anonymous said...

One of the things that makes Christmas time fun is the random things you run up on that entertain you. Goats?? What fun!!!I'm pretty sure there could have been a few around the manger!

El Comodoro said...

Just to clarify, the fireman was 4 feet tall, give or take. But yeah, his jacket was seriously rad.

I thought about swapping him a goat for it.

Donna said...

Ah- the life of a gentleman. Living during the week is addictive and makes you never want to enter a mall or restaurant on a weekend again. Enjoy it!