Clyde's Liquors

One of the great things about moving down to Mountain View is that I get to visit all my old haunts from childhood. El Camino Hospital, where I was born, is only about two miles away. The old Mountain View dump is now Shoreline Amphitheater. And the Jack-in-a-Box that I patronized while ripped out of my skull on numerous occaisons is still on the corner of Claderon and El Camino Real.

Another south peninsula icon is Clyde's Liquors, also on El Camino Real. Okay, so Clyde's wasn't as sure of a thing as Gold Liquors and Quick Stop were in my under-age drinking days, but good old Clyde still fell for the International ID card once and again. Keeping this in mind -- and for old time's sake -- I stopped in Clyde's to pick some ice and tequila earlier today.

It didn't take me long to see things had changed. Not only did I not have to produce age verification, I noticed that Clyde had grown a beard. And he had a nice sun tan. And he now wears a turban and speaks with a Middle Eastern accent.

Telepathy?

It all started with a surreal moment earlier this week. A blogworthy moment, I might add. Nonetheless, I was too lazy to blog. Good thing for you the story got better with time.

Ok, now on with the story...

I pulled into my driveway last Thursday at lunch. I was listening to the radio, so after I shut off the engine I sat in my car a few extra seconds before tuning off my radio. The moment after I opened my car door, I heard a "klunk" and I looked up. Just a few feet away from me a squirrel lay on his back scratching and clawing to get upright. Only he couldn't. Just like a pill-bug on his back, this squirrel could not turn over.

"What happened?," I asked myself. Apparently this squirrel fell a long way from the tall palm tree at the end of my driveway and landed on the concrete.

Finally the squirrel got upright, but he could only run in circles. This was ugly.

To make matters worse, a large black crow started to circle overhead. Then it squawked. Then it dove toward the squirrel. I then got closer to the squirrel in an attempt to scare away the hungry crow. The crow squawked again, seemingly trying to tell me to get away from his lunch.

After running in a few more circles in the street, the squirrel tired and stopped to rest in the gutter at the foot of my driveway. He laid down on his side with his eyes wide open, and I could see him breathing rapidly. The crow continued to circle overhead.

Was squirrel really messed-up with a nasty head injury? Or maybe he had a concussion? Hmmmm. I couldn't see any blood, but as the squirrel started to get up, he urinated in the gutter.

Oh great, I thought. Maybe the squirrel is loosing all bodily functions before dying. This was something I didn't need to see.

Just then, the squirrel jumped up and ran -- straight -- under a bush about 25 feet away.

He sat there, catching his breath. I waited. Then I saw him run away.

Wow, I hope he's okay, I thought. But I'll probably never know.

I had essentially forgotten about this event until Sunday afternoon while sitting on my couch as I watched the Giants game. I noticed something outside my window and turned to look. There was a squirrel, gripping another of the palm trees that line my street. He was munching on some food while seemingly looking at me through my window. I watched him and he watched me. This went on for a minute or two, then I got up to get a closer look out the window. The squirrel stared at me.

When I opened the front door, and the squirrel ran away.

That was weird, I thought. Was that the same squirrel? And why was he looking at me? Maybe it all was just a coincidence.

About an hour later, I sat on my back patio while enjoying an adult beverage. What did I see on my next door neighbor's roof? The squirrel, again. He sat there and stared at me. I looked at him. He continued to stare at me.

What could all this mean?

I think I've I've communicated with a rodent.

Trader Joe's

I went to Trader Joe's tonight after work. When I pushed my cart full of mediocre wines to the checker he said, "Gettin' ready to party?"

"Naw, just restocking some wine," I said.

"Yeah, sure," said the checker.

Time is money

Today I finally went back to the San Mateo County Courthouse to sort out my Fare Evasion charge from February. I had attempted to resolve this on an earlier court date, but my convelope had not yet been received by the court. Therefore, I was given a continuance of sorts that required me to return to the court before May 19.

I approached the check-in window when I arrived at the traffic court building. After handing the clerk my citation, she told me to get into the line to enter Department D when the doors opened at 8:30. So I waited a few minutes and then the bailiff finally opened the doors. It was the usual courthouse scene, complete with Spanish interpreter.

The judge shredded through several cases, most dealing with failure to show insurance citations and a few speeding tickets. One guy pleaded guilty to J-walking and paid a $35 fine. Then it was my turn.

I approached the judge. He reminded me of my crime. Then he said the fine for Fare Evasion was $276, but "today and only today I will lower the fine to $52 if you plead guilty."

This was quite a quandary for me. I was fully intent on pleading not guilty and making the Caltrain conductor return to court to press charges against me. But given that this would require a return visit to the court for me as well, I accepted the judges offer.

There is no question in my mind I could have beaten this rap, but I guess San Mateo County has more time -- and money -- than I can afford to waste on a pathetic case like this.