Monday Morning Crunch

Early one I was computering by the living room window when I heard this metallic crunch.   I looked outside and saw that this stupid old lady in an equally stupid boat of a car had managed -- on a broad wide street with no traffic -- to collide into my Bucky.

This was a very sore spot and took a very great effort to be polite.  My dear beloved Dotty had been smashed front and rear by an inner city youth in a stolen car.   I can understand moving accidents, but smashing into stationary objects qualifies the miscreant as dead weight on earth.   Happy Birthday.

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I don't recall this as occurring on my birthday, but these are the last fotos on this roll and the developer's envelope says  "SDO Xmas 86 - May 27 1987"   A to-do list for early June says "contact insurance co. re bucky". 

Hair Chop

Still not satisfied, I pursued the anti-coiffure of butch shearing.  

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This would be the cut of 2/16

Hobbes

Little Hobbes was the upstairs neighbor's kitten at Kalmia St.  They got him when he was a kitten. From the looks of it,  he was about two-three months old which means he was born around Christmas 1986 or New Year's 1987.

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These fotos were probably taken by neighbor, as my camera did not have a date function.  The grey flooring (and metal thing) were nothing of mine.  

Basse Coiffiure

Rick at sea,  I went back to my old drab regulation ways.

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I suppose that either Carlson or, more likely,  Kenny Boultinghouse took these pictures.  

Haute Coiffure

The first weeks of 1987 were devoted to ... hair.

Toward the beginning of the New Year, Rick decided that I needed a new look.  My haircut was just too drab and non-descript, he said.   He had a friend who was a stylist and who had agreed to do me for free.   I was less than enthusiastic and made some equivocal response the upshot of which was that Rick all but dragged me to his friend's house.  I was going to get a decent hairdo.  

The hairdo was certainly well done.  It changed my face rather substantially and not in a bad way.  But in the end, I felt it made me look too much like either a Latin pimp or a Latin chi-chi boy,  I couldn't decide which.   I went back to my old "regulation cut" ways.

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A letter to Charles dated January 29th  mentions that my relationship with Rick was over, or at least that he had gone to sea.  So any hair styling he arranged has to have been in January, which corresponds with my memory,   A diary entry dated January 10th mentions a dream "three nights ago"  (Monday, January 7th) in which Rick "finally shaved me."  I suppose the dream was a take-off on the hairdoing.   Or, given that I mentioned the dream to Rick, perhaps the hairdoing was a take off on the dream.  

A petty cash note indicates a "cut" on February 2nd  and another haircut on February 16th, each cutting the hair shorter.

Sailors' Christmas

Marguerite came down for Christmas, met Rick and Carlson, and got staggeringly plastered before we all headed shipboard to bring Christmas lasagna to sailor Tom who was on restriction for the holidays.

NARRATIVE