Waddling Towards Fitness: A Sign, an Omen, a Talisman

Yes, I know, it's been a while since Jack put down his Gumshoeing magnifying glass and brought you up to date on what's been happening. Could it be that's because, on the War On Lard! nothing has been going on, or so says the two smartest things in my life, Dolly-girl and the scale. "If you want to lose lard, Jack, you know how to do it--it just takes those two steps that Prof..." "I know, Dolly-girl, I know, it's just that both of those steps are pretty hard these days. But I'll get back to it, I really will!" "Well, you'd better Jack. Remember when you had 6 months to shed some  of those triglycerides you've picked up before your next sit-down with Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD? Well, now you have 12 days!" "Whoan..." "And we're headed for that beach wedding..." "Whoan..."

With Dolly-girl's spanking fresh in my ears, I headed out to do a little 2-Steppin'. I walked on over to where we've been putting' in our farm crops. Dolly-girl is thinking' that we need to be looking towards what she calls self-sufficiency just in case The Big One hits cause, you know, she says that would Trump everything. I don't know why she capitalizes that, but she's the one with the parchment that says English on it. 


Anyway, I hoofed it to the farm and checked on our acreage and things were lookin' pretty good. In fact, everything is movin' right along like maybe it's warmer than usual or something... What was that Dolly-girl was telling me about the 6th straight record-setting month when it comes to the old mercury?

Walking a mile to the farm and back isn't exactly what Professor Javier Boleyn has in mind when it comes to the 2-Step Duh! Diet (™Boleyn Enterprises) so I kept walking and headed for the rose garden in the park. Sure enough, the roses were blooming. I took time to smell some of them while givin' me a good talkin' to. "Jack, what the heck is it with droppin' all your gs?" I asked myself. Aunt Genevieve's girdle, you shouldn't be doin' that--you sound like what's her name--what's that blogger Dolly-girl reads call her--Princess Dumbass of the Northwoods...OK, spanking number two and this time I'm beatin' --I mean beatinG myself. Whoan, twice beaten...

Roses smelt, I walked on, just lettinG my feet tread where they wanted and imagininG a trail of LARD! behind me like a slime trail from a slug. Well, if my feet know one direction, it's the directions to Radio Room, and sure enough, by the time I looked up, they were proppinG themselves on the rail under the bar.  "How'z about an IPA, Jack?" "Never failed me yet, Bar-Am, hop one down here for me." "What's with the long face, Jack?" "You tellingG horse and bar jokes, Bar-AM?" "No, you just look like your best friend is pushin' (she can drop her's) daisies..." "It's the War on Lard!, Bar-Am. It's not goinG so well." "I know, Jack, the Professor mentioned that just about noon time. He was wondering if you were in enjoying another one of those giant sandwiches you like..." "Professor Boleyn called here? He didn't know where I was?" A smile crept across my face--I was safe from the trifecta of oral spankings!

A voice boomed over the sound system--"Ha! You think you aren't going to get it again? Yes, it is I, Professor Javier Boleyn. I admit to having some difficulty locating you--Find My LardAss, the new app I have invented (™Javier!) is not yet working to my satisfaction, but soon...

"Wait, wouldn't I have to install something on my phone for it to work? I didn't, wouldn't, never..." "Remember the new phone you got a couple weeks ago? Remember how the reincarnated Steve Jobs geek said 'Just let me get the newest software on there for you...'"  "Whoan..."

"Yes, Jack, it's time for the third and final slapping of the day. Of course, I don't count your self-inflicted insults, so it's really only two. Of course it's only two. 2. "

"Enough, Professor. I can predict what you will say. It's what I've heard before, and yet I seem powerless to implement it. I've reread Sliding to Slovenliness: When 2-Steppers Reject Professor Javier Boleyn and 2-Steps to the Deep End: Losing the War on LARD! to no avail. I've looked at myself in every reflection and your words echo in my ears--"Who is that LARD!Ass?" Sadly, that LARD!Ass is me. It is I. Jack D'Mestiere..."

"Quit your sniveling, Jack. It's not becoming of one of my followers."

"You mean, you mean?" "Yes, Jack, you are still a Professor Javier Boleyn 2-Stepper. But, you are on probation. You must look around you, Jack. You will see a sign. When you see it, you will know it. When you know it, you can lose it. Wait, see it, know it, lose it is three steps--back to the drawing board..."  "Thank you Professor, I won't let you down!. Can I ask a question?" "Of course, lad." "What's with the ™Javier!?" "I bought it from Jeb!--cheap..."



A sign. An omen. A Talisman. What could it be. I tipped Bar-Am a little extra, left half a beer and its calories sitting on the bar, and walked out into the daylight. Down the street, not knowing what I was looking for or listening for, but knowing I would see it, and then know it. A strange sound was in the air. A sound I'd heard before. It was that song...LARD is All Around Me...and suddenly, when what to my wondering eyes should appear...

a-Waddlin' Toward Fitness: I mean, Really, Jack?

My blower buzzed that noise it makes when someone is trying to get a hold of D'Mestiere Investigations face-to-face. At this time of the morning, 8:17 AM, who could it be. Dolly-girl gave a mumph from under the covers. "Gads, Jack, who is calling you at this ungodly hour?" "I'm abetting' it's the tin stars over to Burns--likely want me to go undercover, mosey into the wildlife refuge, and infiltrate them terrorist fellers that are camped out in guvmint property!" If'n I'da been under the saddle blanket with Dolly-girl, I'da spied them peepers arollin' at me, even thru the wave. Ruther than that, I got a "Snort" whichn' I made out to mean "My Uncle Jackie's jihad, Jack, don't forget your earmuffs!"

"D'Mestiere Investgations--wheren' y'alls trouble is no trouble t'all! How can I be ahelpin' you, Mr. Director Comey?" "Jackie-boy..." Gulp. I didn't have Director Comey on the blower a-askin' for my hep. It was..."Professor Javier Boleyn. You are correct, Jackie-boy. And knock off the riding' 'n ropin' accent. I'm FaceTwoFaceTwoStepping (™Boleyn Enterprises) to ask you just what in the name of the Professor's Plaid Pants--oh my, I'm starting to sound a little like Dolly-g, I mean Fiora--you are up to."

"I'ma, oops, I'm, not following, doc, I mean Professor..." "Well, just a short week ago, Jack, you were called on the carpet by Fiora and you acted all contrite--after making excuses, of course. But a week later, after examining data from the Boleyn CumuloCloud (™Boleyn Enterprises, and HA! beat you to it, iSaint Steven...) I find that you have, in fact continued your ways."

"Exhibit 1." "Whoan..." "Don't be agivin' me--dang, you got me adoin' it now--don't give me 'whoan', Jack. Give me two visits to Apizza Scholls in a week. That is not the Tao of 2-Step (™2-Steps 2 Fitness, A Proven Path by Boleyn. Hey, where's the Boleyn Enterprises? If TRUMP can be a one word empire, Professor Javier Boleyn certainly can...) Jack. Read the book again. I want guilt."






"Exhibit 2. A trip to the ocean. Did you walk miles on the beach, dropping LARD to be washed from your body to the sea? No, I believe those are pan-fried oysters, french fries, and, I believe, not one, but two Imperial pints of IPA..." "Dolly-girl, pinch me and make this dream end!" "Snort! Mmmph!"





"Exhibit 3. The Hop House on 15th. Their LARD warning system went off when you crossed the threshold and activated the menucam  (® Don't-Lie-To-Me, LLC, optical technology by BOLEYN!) which recorded you eating deviled eggs, in a nod to restraint, and a taster tray of a dozen IPAs." "They were small tastes..." "A dozen times 4 ounces comes to 3 pints using my calculator, Jack. Do I need to point out that this was the same day as your trip to Buoy in Astoria?" "No. No, Professor, you don't. That's strange, do you hear the sound of a tide coming in...?"



"Exhibit 4. Really, Jack? Really? You have the ability to joke about your condition? You post a picture of a Spam Burger on, what's the name of that little social site you use, Phase Book--I guess it is a phase compared to my time-proven  and universally used inventions--joking that I would approve of such fare, or as you call it, vittles. I most certainly do not approve, Jackie-boy."










"Professor, I'd really like to be beaten some more, but I seem to be getting wet." "That tide, Jack, is a sea of guilt washing over you..." "Gotta go, Professor. Agoin' for a waddle..." Click. "Who was it, Jack?" "Just a compadre athrowin' me a rope, Fiora. Just a feller I knowd..."

Waddling Around Stumptown: Where Did June Go?

Here are the numbers for June--not bad considering travel and the continuing effects of whooping cough...Bzzzzzzz-Bzzzzzz. I knew it. "Yallow." "Jackie-boy..." "How did I know it would be you, Professor?" "You learned from experience? Wait, I, Professor Javier Boleyn, author of my newest best seller, Steppin' Into Summer: A 2-Steppers Guide to A Bathin' Suit Body, is not ready to give you that credit."

"Droppin' your Gs there like a certain former Alaska Governor, aren't you?" "Hush if you know what's in your best interest." "WILCO. OK, so the month sure didn't start so hot, but look how I finished." "Exactly, Jackie-boy, let's look at how you finished."

 "And the map doesn't do me justice! I also walked in Wenatchee and Corvallis." "Yes, those are walks to be proud of, I'm sure. In Wenatchee you did manage to eke out 7 miles one day, but only 4 the next, counting waddling to an Italian ristorante for a not-exactly 2 Steppin' meal." "Well, at least I waddled." "True, but Corvallis, or Cortopia, as I call it, come on, Jackie-boy. You waddled down to meet Beluga Slim and you downed not one, but threee beers by Russian River." "You have a typo, there Professor." "It's emphasis, Jack, emphasis."


"But don't distract me. Last weekend, the Fridge-O-Cam (do I still have to write in here that the Fridge-O-Cam and all other technology is a registered trademark of Boleyn Enterprises, a Holy-Owned subsidiary of iSaint Steven?) spotted a growler of Pliny the Elder (that one belongs to Russian River Brewery, Santa Rosa, California, and no one will argue with that!) in your refrigerator and only one Pliny drinker in the house. The next day, the growler was reported empty by the Growlometer..." "GROWLOMETER?" "...Yes, of course. How else could Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD, and I monitor your intake?" "Whoan."

"I continue. Last night, at 11:30 PM, the month almost over, the LaCroix Living Room Monitor, recorded this scene.  Really. 11:45?" "What, Mittsy is wired?" "Actually, Mittsy is wireless, but as you know, if Mittsy doesn't have the technology, it's not worth having. But that's not the point. The point is, Jackie-boy, that even though the Scal-Email showed you up 1.5 pounds, you still chose a night cap. Really." "Yes, really. Frankly, Professor, I was having a good time and, well, the hell with it. I've changed. I'm back on my good behavior. I went for 2 walks today and..."

"And, you ate this at the Word of Mouth Neighborhood Bistro. A great way to start the month, Jackie-boy."

"Whoan!"

Holy Smokes: Another Record Month for Waddling!

Just when I thought I couldn't walk more than 325 miles in a month, I left 328.09 miles in my wake in November, a short month at that. "Jackie-boy, this is nuts. You've got to get out of competition with yourself! Oh, have you purchased my new book, "Hijacking Your Holidays: 2 Steps to the Yuletide Gift of Guilt" by none other than the prolific Professor Javier Boleyn?

Waddling in Ithaca: The Impressive Reach of Boleyn Enterprises

"Yallow, Castaways, the Music Venue. We're More Than a Bar. You got Jo La on the blower. What'sit?" "Mister , um what did you say, Jo La?, umm kind sir, this is Randall Phüβe, please hold for Professor Javier Boleyn..." "Good afternoon, this is Professor Javier Boleyn, no need to acknowledge my international renown." "Good thing, what's that name again? I don't think you're in Castaway's what we call repertoire." "Think again, Mister La. Think of a certain supplement the mixologists at your establishment receive monthly. Did you think that was a stipend based on outstanding academic performance? I think not. It's time for Boleyn Enterprises to activate the Ithaca node on the Sky-View Cluster (®Boleyn Enterprises).



(© Castaways)
"Are you acquainted with a Miss Anna-Maria D'Mestiere?" "Well, sure. Who isn't? At least if you spend anytime here at Castaways, the Music Venue." "Yes, I know that Miss D'Mestiere has, from time-to-time, been known to engage in the Hot Dog Happy Hour (© Castaways) --quaint, provincial and quaint. That is at odds with her current efforts to join the War on LARD! Hence my need to activate more than occasional surveillance, and therefore necessitating this call, as required in our contract, to inform you that in our efforts to help Miss D'Mestiere achieve her goal, we will be monitoring the activity of all 'clients' of your establishment as they may be aiding or abetting Miss, what do you call her?" "AM. We call her AM, you know, pronounced like initials, first the A and then the M." "Yes, I know, and it's refreshing to see that you are more advanced than her father, who would pronounce it as though it were the first person present tense of the verb to be." "Well, we are in a college town..." "Thank you for that, Mister La." "Call me Jo."



"Professor Boleyn...Randall here. The Sky-View has picked her up near something called Cherry Street. Should I contact her on the Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) Voice of God (® iBlessed Steven). "That's an excellent idea Randall, crank up the machine. Remember to adjust the volume as it will deliver my voice directly through her iPod (® the mortal formerly known as Steve Jobs). "Anna-Maria D'Mestiere." "What the? Where? Where's that voice coming from? Who is that voice..." "Miss D'Mestiere, it is Professor Javier Boleyn." "Busted." "Hmmm, a common reaction when people hear my name. Nevertheless, Miss D...may I call you AM?" "Yes you may, shall I call you..." "Don't even think it. I am Professor Javier Boleyn. You may shorten that to Professor Boleyn or Professor, if you must. But let's get on with this."




"By the way, I am speaking to you through my new Voice-of-God technology (® iSaint Steven, fastest canonization in history and the first registered trademark in NeXT World © iSaint Steven, also the first registered copyright). First, I have to say that it took Jackie-boy--I mean your father--months of following the 2-Step Duh! Diet (® Boleyn Enterprises) to be able to take a picture of his feet and yours are much smaller than his. You must be following my regimen..." "I try..." "to some extent. However, the Tap-Cam has recorded you at a local watering hole, Castaways." "It's a Music Venue, more than a bar..." AM breathed a sigh of relief thinking that the good professor could have seen her at a lot more than just one local watering hole. "Even though the Voice-of-God is a 2-way technology, I didn't need to hear your thoughts to know that you frequent other establishments in this fair town. They all are part of the Sky-Cluster and all have my patented Tap-Cam." "All?" "Fall Creek House, Chanticleer, Nines, Maxies, Benchwarmers, Haunt, Moonshadow, Ale House..." "OK, OK. Guilty as charged. Except the IC joints, we don't go there..."



"But I have been waddling my level best towards fitness, Professor. It's not easy when you're a young person. I mean, I have a life. Jackie-boy--that cracks me up that you call him that--I mean what's he got to do? Bumpkus. Walk, walk, and walk some more. It's pathetic, no pathologic. Really, look what you've done to him, bullying him to blisters." "Relax child. Randall, make a note, my next book. Bullied to Blisters: Extreme 2-Stepping with Professor Javier Boleyn by Professor Javier Boleyn as told to Randall Phüβe, edited by Nora O'Floinn. Oh, and file the copyright on that too." "Already done, PJB." "AM, back to your plight. You are trying, I can see that. For instance, your iHair Pony-Tail-Scrunchie-Cam (®Boleyn Enterprises and Heavenly Host Enterprises, an iSaint Steven corporation ) detected this group of dedicated Ithacans practicing surfboard yoga, a technique I pioneered while under the influence of mild hallucinogens in my younger days at Venice Beach. The PTSC reported your velocity at the time to be 6.5 mph (mph is an abbreviation in the public domain). "




"I continue. Your UO Sweatband-Cam (® Oregon Ducks, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Phil Knight. Wait, how did this new guy get in here?) sent this image to the Sky-Cluster, documenting some impressive numbers. But, not impressive enough." "Wail and whoan." "Child, calm yourself. You are studying at the foot of the World's Master. Under my tutelage, you will be a wisp of your former self in no time."

"But, Professor, I'm trying so hard, and I'm waddling the straight and narrow, and, and, IT'S SO DAMNED BORING! Whoan!"






"Straight and narrow? I suggest you read the fine print on the Menu page and see if you really think you are 'straight and narrow'. I mean, really, even Jackie-boy avoids places with descriptions like:

"The menu ain't gigantic and the kitchen isn't open all the time,
but if you catch us cooking you can be sure to get
some of the best bar favorites around." (© Castaways)

"Whoan."

Circling the Northeast: Picking up the Strays

I was just about to put my lips to the Oakshire Line Dry Rye that Bar-Am had set in front of me when the blower sparked. Being that the who-is-it on Dolly-girl's fancy eye-phone (® along with the rest of the world, by Steve Jobs) phone said "None of your Bizness," I had a pretty good idea who to expect on the other end of the line. "You got Jack, shoot." "Jackie-boy, are you OK?" I shot Bar-Am a glance. This was highly unusual. "Yep, fit as a fiddle..." "No Stradivarius, I'm here to tell you..." "and just about to wet a whistle that's dry as dust. Been out for a long waddle." "Are you at Radio Room?" "Of course, and since when don't you know where I am?" I saw Bar-Am reach up and touch her ear--Blue Tooth. "Yes. Yes, he's sitting right here. Just hopped a brew down the bar to him. ROGER. Just one."




He was back. "OK, we thought we were having troubles with the Boleyn's Eye View Sky Cluster (® Boleyn Enterprises). In fact, after your last few waddles, we had to send BE752SCT home on leave--he was getting dizzy." "BE752SCT?" "BE, you know what that is. 752SCT is technician 752 on the Sky Cluster. Anyway, he was having vertigo. We figured you'd found some way to confuse the system. Maybe have a coyote carry around the sensor in your...Oops, almost blew it there..." "Nope, just been rounding up strays. And besides, the coyote is on 19th." "Rounding up strays?" "Yep. That's what Bar-Am calls it. When she asked me where I was walking, I showed her the map I keep. There are a few streets that I always seem to miss so I started walking routes to pick those up. She calls it "rounding up strays." "Cute." "I think so." "You would." "So does she." "Hmm, note to self. Talk to Bar-Am about 'cute' sayings."




"Jackie-boy," his tone deepened, "I'm a little worried about all the waddling you are doing. It's been well over a month since the last time you had a day off. In fact, you've only missed 6 days in the last 86 and that counts days you were out of town "on cases" and days it was hosing rain. Perhaps you need to slow down a bit." "Whoa, now wait just a minute there Mister Professor..." "Just 'Professor' is fine, Jackie-boy, we aren't in Germany..." "Now didn't you tell me that waddling was something I was going to have to do the rest of my life? Didn't you tell me to buy and read your book, Living With Lard: Two-Stepping for the Rest of Your Life." "Well, yes on both." "And didn't you make me order an advance copy of your new book, Life and Lard Two Steps at a Time? "I did." "Well, Professor, you've done this to me so just back off, get your boy 752 some Dramamine, (©2011 Prestige Brands, Inc. All rights reserved.) and let me get on with the waddling." I drank down the rest of my beer, wiped the suds off my mustache, and set the glass on the bar. "Until next time, Bar-Am, I hear that 3-block dogie, Humboldt Street, cryin' in the sage brush. Time to saddle up." I could see one set, and hear two, of eyes rolling. "Catch ya later on down the trail...(© The Coen Brothers, The Big Lebowski)". "Calm down, Jack. You don't have a mustache, by the way, and knock it off with stealing lines from The Big Lebowski; you'll make me nuts." "Calmer than you are, Bar-Am..."


Both books mentioned are (© Boleyn Enterprises. Line Dry Rye picture © Oakshire Brewing)

4 Pounds from 2 Pails: A Stern Conversation with Professor Javier Boleyn

"How do you do, Bar-Am?" "Howzitz, Jack?" "Well, if Itz is my feet..." "Are my feet. No excuse for bad grammar, Jack." "...Are my feet, they are barking dogs. Fill 'er up and hop a cold one down the bar there, will you pal-o-mine?" "On it."

I gladly took the cold one Bar-Am set in front of me, took a sip, and reflected on the day. It didn't start well.




It was 8 bells on the morning watch when the blower sparked. I was in the shower when Fiora yelled in the door, "Jack, it's Professor Javier Boleyn on the blower. Get on out here 'cause I have to head on out to that writers' thing I have to be at today." She put the blower down on the sink and I dripped on over to it. I didn't even get a chance to speak before..."Jack. Jackie-boy. What, oh what, is going on?" I played dumb. "And don't play dumb with me. You know what I mean--the ScalE-mail (® Boleyn Enterprises) tells no lies. You are still 4 pounds short of the goal you set months ago. This is getting ridiculous and I want it over soon--I'll give you 2 weeks." "But Professor, it's, it's..." His voice softened. "I know, Jackie-boy, You're moving a lot more than you used to." Then back to stern. "But, you've morphed my patented 2-Step DUH! Diet into Move More, Eat More! Now get your LARD-ass out there and do some walking." "Wail! I know I've been eating too much, but when I walk so much, I get hungry." "And thirsty, by all accounts..."


I headed out. It doesn't help that when I'm out waddling I have to waddle by a bunch of great feedbags which just makes me hungrier. Take this one, for instance. Cocotte, a great little bistro like the ones me and Dolly-girl ran into over there in France back when I was carrying a pail more than I'm carrying now. So I waddle by, but stop to read the whaddayawant and I'm pretty sure I absorb LARD! just by doing that.


So, I scoped out a route that would take me by as few places to eat as possible. It was a nice day for riding shank's mare, and before long, I was watching the Alara K get filled to the brim with wheat. Probably to turn into buns for thick, juicy cheeseburgers someplace...




I waddled on over to Union Station and took a stroll through the National Train Day events, including the annual exhibition of the Daylight 4449. Couldn't absorb any LARD! there, could I?

I looked around because I knew that the Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) satellite surveillance system would have me center-frame. I didn't see any signs, but gave the burger stand a wide berth anyway.



I turned and headed back over the river to the part of town where me and Dolly-girl set our brake when I happened to remember that it was Derby Day. Hmmm, where in the world might be a place to sit down and watch some nags run on a Hi-Def TV? Where might I be warmed and dried by a fake birch log fire? After some thought, say about the time it takes an axon to fire, it came to me. Radio Room.



The pictures below were taken of the TV. I suspect there is some sort of law against doing that so I will duly note that I was watching NBC at the time.

The sound of the TV and of Bar-Am asking which silks were carrying my purse snapped me back to reality like Sister Mary Kathryn's ruler on my knuckles. "Jack, where were you? Off in the ozone?" "Oh, I was miles away Bar-Am--maybe 5 miles away at one point." I did notice that while I might have been gone figuratively, I must have been there literally because the pint Bar-Am had delivered at the beginning of the reflection as pretty much gone. Meanwhile, the pomp of the circumstance was starting.


Yep, they were out of the gate with my favorite, and a favorite of a lot of others, Dialed In in the 8th position. Last I saw of him. Finished his number and changed his name to Dialed Back.




Animal Kingdom came on at the end and Ran for the Roses. "Well, Bar-Am, I guess I'll have another one of those tall cold ones to wash down the sting of defeat." "Jackie-boy..." That was a tip-off. "...we got a cable from COMBEPAC this morning..." "COMBEPAC?" "...that's COMmander, Boleyn Enterprises, PACific. Word's being spread that you might try to go beyond the beer you've earned. Some sort of push on, it said. Something about only 4 to go so get tough and stay tough. I guess that cable was on the money, even though Dialed In wasn't..." "Wail!"



"The wire had instructions for us, Jack. Do the loop again, and then come back for another. Sorry."

"I know, Bar-Am. You're just the messenger. C'mon dogs, saddle up. We got concrete to pound..."

Waddling Around Stumptown: The Concrete Beneath My Feet

"Hey, Jack, what's your whistle whistlin' for today?" "IPA, Bar-Am. Can't argue with the way Dixie gets trilled with that, now can you?" "Well, I could, but I'm not gonna. I've got other drinks to make and brews to pour. Here's yours." I settled onto a stool and took a load off my barking dogs. It was a spring day in Stumptown, which lately differs from a winter day in that trees are blooming and yard art, in the form of a bowling-ball-beauty, is starting to make an appearance. But that's about the end of it. It may be spring on the daily minder and they may have set the clocks ahead, but it's been cold and wet. Gives a body a chill to the bone only a cold IPA can cure.


Bar-Am was killing time, filing her nails with an emery board and chewing on a toothpick, so I thought I'd tell her what I'd been thinking about. You see, I've been waddling all over Stumptown for a good time now--looking here and there and generally taking in the sights. But, without ever thinking about what I was walking on. Concrete, that's what. And some of it's been there for a Century and more. "So, Bar-Am, I'm on shank's mare, looking down to see what I can see, see? And I start wondering..." She shifts the pick from left to right and back again, sticks the emery board in the hip pocket of her jeans, leans forward on the bar on her elbows, puts her chin in her hands and says, "Do tell me, Jack. I'm all ears." And a pair of rolling eyes, I notice.










"Well first I was wondering about all the sidewalk contractors. Jeeze Louise there was a lot of them and they put their names right in the concrete along with the date." "Hmmm. I wish someone would order some drinks." "And in a few places, when they re-did the sidewalks, they took a piece with the old contractor's name and put it into the new sidewalk. I think that's nice when they do that--preserving the history, you know." I noticed Bar-Am poured herself a drink--had the look of a double brown whiskey on the rocks. She downed it. "Here's the one on my corner. I think it's Cochran Constrco, 10 2 29--just three weeks before the big market crash."










Just as Bar-Am was reaching to pour herself another, my blower--that portable one I carry in my pocket--sparked. "Yallow, D'Mestiere Investigations where "Your Trouble is No Trouble at All". "Jackie-boy, shut up. You are driving Bar-Am to drink and if you weren't on the first floor, she'd be crawling out the window to jump." I looked at her and she gave me the up and down. "Professor Bolelyn, wha, I mean, why, er..." "Shut up. Close your trap. I have a room full of technicians here at the control center of Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) satellite surveillance system and they are threatening to strike. No one wants to hear about concrete. By the way, you were caught on the Reflecto-Cam (® Boleyn Enterprises) earlier, near some very fattening locales...Is that raisin bread?"









"Well, Professor, I beg to differ. And I got a lot more to say about it. See, I've been developing this whole theory about the topology of concrete and why it breaks in some places and doesn't in others and I'm correlating breakage with the date of the pour and the contractor and..." "SHUT UP, JACK. This is sick. You are sick. Too much time on the streets. Perhaps Fiora is right and you should get a machine in your basement and watch old movies on VCR--yes, I know that Fiora retains the only VCR extant in the Northern Hemisphere for entertainment in the gym she envisions in the basement..." 'And then I've noticed, Professor...and Bar-Am... that there seem to be different approaches to dealing with concrete issues--har, get it, concrete issues. Down south of Broadway, they seem to patch whereas up here in our neck of the woods, they seem to replace. Now isn't that interesting?" "Bar-AM, I don't think it's safe to run that knife over your wrists like that.









Anyway, then I got to thinking about the similarities between walking on sidewalks and flying in airplanes." "They aren't similar, Jack." She spit the pick into the sink, picked up three olives out of the bin on the bar, juggled them for a few seconds, and then caught them in turn in her mouth. "They're as similar as beer and..." "Rocks." "Thanks, Professor. Beer and rocks." "No listen, here's 'Good afternoon, we're expecting a smooth flight today so I'll turn the seat belt sign off...'" I heard a groan over the phone. "Jack. Jack, you have to listen." Professor Boleyn's voice had dropped an octave, the way it always did when he was going into counseling mode. "And here's an air pocket. And light chop." "Jack. Jackie-boy. All this walking has worn holes in the bottom of your feet and your brains are draining right out on the floor!" "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS AND FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS TIGHT--THIS IS GOING TO BE ROUGH ONE!"







I heard Bar-Am's blower spark. "Yep, yep, can do. WILCO." I love it when she talks radio talk--hey, it is the Radio Room! "Jack, great story. Here's one on the house." She slid a glass in front of me. It was neon green and had a few vapors coming off of it, but it smelled good. "It's a specialty." I drank it down. A warm glow came over me. "Jackie-boy, are you there?" "Sure, Professor. Remember, I was telling you about waddling today and how I went to some new territory, out of my zone of operations, and how I saw some neon signs and a sign for a chicken cart with chicken that bites, but chickens don't bite, they peck..." "He should yammer like this for about 20 minutes and then be back to normal, Bar-Am. Send him home and tell him to take tomorrow off from walking. Oh, and if he tell you any stories about seeing coyotes in the city or starting a new business, it's just the potion talking." "ROGER. BAR-AM OUT."