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You can’t see them in this photo, but Steve Martin has happy feet. That’s what he used to call it in the 1970′s before he would start dancing randomly to no beat at all. My feet do a different dance right as I’m going to bed some nights. It feels like someone is tickling my soles, and I grew up calling it the heebie jeebies. Well tonight I’ve got that feeling again. I even wrote a song about it years ago…

My neighbor Barb showed me her son’s book last Thursday night. It’s a dissertation he wrote and submitted to Stanford. When I asked if she’d read it she shook her head and said “are you kidding?” Barb introduced me to her son, Ben, years ago when he was down for a visit. They both came to see me play vegetables at Salon Kitch one Friday night. Ben seemed like a normal guy with normal intellect, but someone who can write a book like this is thinking on a different plane. I would have more luck working a Sunday New York Times Crossword puzzle than I would digesting whole sentences in this book.

The park behind our house got a facelift over the summer. It used to have an old style round gazebo where bands played. They tore that down. Now there’s a giant paper airplane that you can walk behind at night and feel trippy. We haven’t heard any bands play there yet, but someone should work up some Grateful Dead tunes and just start jamming when those hallucinogenic lights come on and slowly change…

“…don’t mention my name.” Consider it a request from the King. I totally forgot about this song until I heard it Sunday afternoon. I love the fact that some radio stations replay old American Top 40 countdowns. This one was from 1974. Casey said that this song was Elvis’ 96th song to hit the charts. Just in case you forgot how it goes, here’s the actual song in all it’s 70′s glory.

We met Mom & Jim in Fort Scott on Saturday, The day was gorgeous and so were they! We bought homemade goodies at a farmer’s market, drank coffee on the back patio of Common Grounds, toured the original fort (pictured above), and ate dinner at Luther’s BBQ. Visits like this are bittersweet for me during the pandemic. I don’t know when I’ll feel normal outside of my own zip code again, but we’ll keep working towards it, and my family will keep the home fires burning.

Today I said “see ya” to my Homer’s Coffeehouse co-workers for the last time as a barista. It’s weird to think that I’m really done pulling shots, steaming milk, playing rainy songs on rainy days, listening to everyone’s stories like a bartender, saying “are you getting your usual?” to a regular, kicking out the trouble makers, consoling the wounded ones, and basically keeping the peace. Jim Mathis hired me in 2004 to work the afternoon shift, and everything that happened during those sixteen years has been a source of comfort and torture… but I guess that’s just the human experience for those of us lucky enough to go through it with eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts that wear holes in our sleeves. Homer’s will open without me next Monday, and that’s ok.

We went for a walk last Saturday near 103rd and Metcalf and saw this little painted rock by the trail. I threw caution to the wind and picked it up with my bare hands– the clean wipes and hand sanitizer were back in the glove box where we parked Jenny’s car. I turned it over and saw this…When I looked up the Facebook group I saw even MORE little rocks!This is way cooler than the pet rock fad that I remember from the 1970′s. No one is selling these things, they’re just placing them strategically around the metro for people to find. Megan Murphy started The Kindness Rocks Project in 2015.  There’s something earthy and spiritual happening here… especially when you can find a rock like this–

Wow! A whole lot has happened in to the last 10 days! A new job, transitioning out of my old jobs, dogs and cats living together… MASS HYSTERIA! Ok, ok, that last part is from Ghostbusters, but it could also apply to our neighbor Barb who has an old dog (Daphne) getting used to the new cat (Slash). Anyway all of these changes feel like 92 sardines trying to fit into a can that only hold 58! I just have to be patient I guess. I’ve talked to a handful of Covid-19 victims on my new job, and gotten their information for the local health department. That picture above is not a Covid-19 patient though, that’s Tony. He’s an old friend from Homer’s who video called me after I bought a headset.

Hmmm… hickory vs. pizza? I think the 9-year-old me would have grabbed the one on the right, but if that choice were still around today I’d go for the hickory. I found this on retroist.com. Apparently Hunt’s pizza flavored catsup was only around for a few years in the 1960′s. Oh well… that’s amoré.

Jenny’s family visited KC this weekend and brought down some stuff they didn’t want anymore like this dynamite, excuse me– DynOmite beach towel! Jenny thinks Andi got it from their parents, and Dean and Thelma probably got it at a church district assembly. I might call Andi later and find out, but right now I just like the idea of my in-laws talking to a sales clerk and saying “This towel is ok, but don’t you have any more Jimmie Walker towels? Those are the ones that really say ‘DYNO-MIIIIITE!’”