|b l o g|
Well, I'm off.
Thank heaven above & its host (may he be yours), just in time for my departure, we have Summer Restaurant Week. Honoring New York City's Olympic bid, prix fixe lunches are $20.12 and dinners $30.12 at barrelsful of the city's best restaurants. I mean, Lordy: Cafe Boulud, Gramercy Tavern, Union Pacific, Lupa, Mesa Grill, Nobu, Union Square Cafe, Vong, etc. To anyone wishing to do the right thing, I am available (I'll double-book) for all lunches & dinners Monday through Wednesday.
I cannot begin to express my inexpressible shock at the NYT printing a story about Formula 1 as a lead in the Circuits (ho-ho) section. (I'll forgive their gripe about this weekend's US Grand Prix being the 'sole' American race.) It doesn't say much more than that F1 machines are slapspangle, contempo locomotorcars, & that Michael Schumacher may be officially classified a cyborg (which is *actually* retarded). It's a reasonable overview of the technical state of the sport with few surprises (Sauber has the 10th fastest computer in the world? Sauber?), even if it focuses on glitz like gadgetry & design, not dynamic electronics like traction and 'launch control,' or the bumfiddling of race-setup. And not a word of the Monaco Summit. Still, I feel like the man who grew a prize tuber and had an article written up about how he watered his field. He didn't care what it was about. The point is I need to be writing these things.
A day that I care about as little as the rest of the world cares about Burns Night.
You, George Herbert, you exuberant, inventive jangler, 'no one challenges your status as a serious poet.' I'm reading your poems (except 'The Church-Porch'). Now I find 'The Temple' is subtitled 'Private Ejaculations.' Which counterpoises 'Sacred Poems.' In other news, I've found a working title for my manuscript.
Random women not putting out for you, after all you've done? The law's on your side.
I got my hair cut & left the chops (giant). I look like I crawled out of a sewer in Williamsburg. In 1850.
It looks like the NYT has been reading the NYP: Genital Cutting Losing Favor.
Amy & I installed an air conditioner in her room. It's an aging unit, & missing the accordion flaps that keep the cold air in. (The Second Law of Thermodynamics makes it clear that I'm actually trying to keep the heat out, but I'm going with common parlance.) Those had to be improvised out of a cut up, folded shower curtain & duct tape. To keep the unit level, I had to jam wood under it, on the sill. I scavenged from a construction site & a Getty lot. I had to use a flashlight. To get the wood to fit in the window, I broke it over a curb with my foot. My shoe soles were covered with bloody berries from a vomiting tree. So was the wood. So were my hands.
Its energy-efficient settings don't work & the lights flicker when it runs.
All my sensitive life I've waited for a work of art that can best be described with the word/s 'ooga-booga.' That work is 'Vamp' by Oscar Bettison.
I heard about Reagan's death afterward at a bar near the performance. Since I was born the day he was elected, & have a letter from his office thanking me for my birth, & I like special Defense & going Dutch, this was a bit personal. And since the 'Erik Kennedy, your days are numbered' message went up on the stall wall that one time. I assumed I wouldn't live out the night, and I proceeded to mimic an accelerated version of his dotage, forgetting both when he was elected (1979), & when he was inaugurated (March 1981). All wrong. I forgot the politics & remembered the high spirits. Thanks & goodbye.
I'm going to a prom tonight (my third), as a chaperone. Some senior prom fun facts: students cannot drink or be drunk at the prom; chaperones cannot drink or be drunk at the prom; I am responsible for seeing that NO-ONE is drinking or drunk. Is there a comet I've missed?
[Ed. I've just told Amy that Gary & I were drunk at her prom. Hilarity ensues.]
Gas prices are high. But we can shed a tear, too, for the lowly slice of pizza, now, like a subway fare, averaging $2 in New York City, according to several sources.
An explanation of my flights. The real is an allegory of my life's journey. I'm going to Germany to prepare for the World Beard and Mustache Championships. Chicago just needs the traffic.
My flights have been booked. I somehow managed to find three flights (EWR-LHR, LHR-CDG, CDG-EWR) that all need connections. The good news is that I'll 'see' Chicago and Frankfurt for the first time. The bad news is that Secaucus will always be first in my affections. Cheers.
Amy was #4 (trans. 32B) on the list of most popular teachers at her school.
I've lost the thread of this blogging thing. I'll just be blagging from now on.