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Wednesday,
March 6, 2002
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. yours truly pours a bit of a very large bottle of champagne
"Don't be too timid and squeamish
about your actions. All life is an experiment.."
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what's in a thing, what's in a thought? I get up and get ready. FFP goes to the club. I optimize some pictures for him and play a bit with my journal and go to work. Ah, yes, work. At work I try to write a reasonable explanation of some ideas. This takes a while. Some people send out unformed ideas. Most of us, really. Sometimes you have to have the courage to say 'huh?' even to yourself. A friend had a birthday Monday. I give her a present. (Yeah, I don't usually give presents on occasions. But remember the box of stuff I ordered? Well, a little teapot/cup decorated with shoes was in there and this gal likes tea and, um, shoes. So just a silly little gift.) And I also gave SuRu a tiny Vespa for her desk today. For no reason. Except it was in that box of stuff I ordered. And I bought it thinking of her. She is zooming it around her desk dreaming of owning a real one now.
We had lunch at Mirabelle's for the birthday. Five of us. Supposed to be six. Mirabelle front guy is a turd. Turns out our sixth showed up and was waiting outside. He wouldn't seat us until we were five. That humorless guy wouldn't notice anyone sitting around. But the food and fellowship was great and our waitress as cherry and helpful as the front guy is glum and unfriendly. We talk about weird collections and stuff. Birthday girl recalls a boyfriend who had all these collections and stuff choc-a-bloc in his place and how the mess was an issue between them. I remember this book I have called Weird Rooms and then I remember that the gal next to me gave it to me. Someone says that some guy sold most everything he had on ebay, everything that wouldn't fit in his backpack. He got to know some of the buyers and decided, heck, he'd take his backpack and go visit his stuff. I haven't seen this story but it is fascinating to me. In the same way that news stories of 'newspaper and bones' houses are. (Those homes of the recently deceased that are found to contain only tiny pathways through the junk.) I had to say something about the guy who pulverized all his stuff in a store front in London, Michael Landy. Yes, it was a nice little lunch with some like-minded friends. We also heard about birthday girl's trip to New Zealand. We all love travel and never tire of talking about it either.
After work, I go home to some tortilla soup FFP got from Cooper's and I busy myself around the house. Reading papers, washing up, helping FFP with some WEB stuff, washing vases FFP has emptied of dead flowers, finding a surge supressor for the TV we put in the bedroom and then an adaptor for that, putting one of the new portable phones I bought in the guest room (which involved pulling books off shelves to locate the outlet), folding sheets (the maid hadn't gotten them out of the washer and FFP put everything else away but can't fold sheets), fooling with my own WEB pages, watching bits and pieces of TV movies like Passion Fish and Raising Arizona. It's nice not to have anywhere to go, though. It's nice ot just come home and do whatever one pleases. I decided that I would not, in any case, just sit in front of the tube. Not until pretty late anyway. So at one point I'm in my office, messing with my WEB page and listening to jazz music on a Cable TV music channel. And...I hear a clattering noise. I investigate. FFP is sleeping in his chair. Chalow rouses herself out of a chair. I turn off the TV in the big room, my TV. I let Chalow out and she investigates this narrow pathway between the outside of the storage room and the outside of our big room. I enlist FFP's help. He locates a possum with the flashlight. It seems to me poking around the drier vent. Hmmm. We always have critters like possums and raccoons and squirrels and rats with the creek back there. Ah. Well. I hope no critters got into the house somehow. Isn't my life exciting? Yep.
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179
JUST
TYPING