Sunday. November 11, 2001

hmmm...handy fire truck accessory

leaps out at you

"Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you're always afraid
You step out of line, the man come and take you away."

"For What It's Worth" Buffalo Springfield, 1966

I really don't want to get up but I want coffee. So I do.

FFP offers tacos. I'm not hungry yet but it sounds good. Again with the chorizo and egg. The chorizo leaks an elegant orange grease on the plate.

"Are they the same?" I ask.

"No, I wanted egg and cheese." Probably wise, he is.

I look at the ads. I can't resist doing it. I don't know why. And something catches my eye. I knew, of course, that fire and police toys would be popular. And we are at war, after all. Wonder when this vehicle will appear on Third Watch? A water cannon perhaps?

I work and work on my page for yesterday. It just seemed like a day that needed to be recorded. Yeah, yeah. I'm not that exciting am I? Just to me. It's very exciting inside my head.

So before I know it, it is almost noon. I haven't started any clean up projects and I have had eighteen (OK maybe only four or five) cups of the Capresso elixir. What am I going to do with my day???

FFP mentioned a dog walk. Yeah, some exercise would be good. We gather up the gear and go to a neighborhood called Westfield. We see a road kill possum attacked by vermin (yuck) and some cool houses. We notice an oak next to the fire station is dedicated to a fireman killed in action in WWII. There are things you see on the ground that driving never reveals. We sit on the patio at CC's coffee and read give-away papers with another cup of coffee.

Home again, I decide to continue cleaning out magazines. I stop and look at the Table of Contents in the old copies of The New Yorker. A lot of them get to stay. Since I'm planing a trip to New York, I also look through the old issues ofTime Out New York for things that are time-sensitive. I soon notice in all the magazines a before and after syndrome. I also keep flipping pages and seeing the WTC.

Sacks fill with magazines but stacks remain. Sigh. This problem has been building up a long time. It won't be solved in an hour. I flip magazines all through the afternoon and evening. We watch King of the Hill and The Simpsons. This clearing of the magazine invasion would go faster if I didn't stop and read entire short stories in The New Yorker.

So? What did I eat? After the taco? Some cheese and tortilla chips and some hot sauce. That's what. I didn't have a drink today, though. No martini nor liter of beer. No. (See, readers, I can quit any time I need to do it.)

JUJUST TYPING
Our stuff.
Provides endless duty.
Not pleasure.