Mr. Porkpie Pumpkin
I dug all the way to the bottom of the supermarket cardboard corral to fish out the roundest most characterfull pumpkin. I've patted its head several times but can't decide on the face yet.
Country boy
Ej who lays out Hugo's clothing every morning decided to have some fun and pull out a full cashmere outfit for him- Italian cashmere pants, shirt and vest. An unsuspecting Hugo put on EJ's selections as he has done for the last 33 years. Hugo rarely complains much less notices that Ej usually puts him in a pink or canary yellow shirt. But that morning, he complained forthrightly these new clothes were of poor quality wool indeed- too thin and no crunch! Where was the usual wool sweater he liked? EJ and J(and me), we like to giggle over such bits.
Always trying to bring the gentleman out of Hugo, EJ ventured to take him to the Washington Opera performance of Norma. Despite the spicy plot including seduction of temple virgins, Hugo as he does in all dark rooms promptly fell asleep. Hugo's not much for bel canto.
An old friend and a new one.
D, my thesis partner from grad school, visited Berkeley with his new (first and only that is) pretty wife S. I was happy to see D had a such a sweet wife to take care of him. D has returned to the playing of DnD after a hiatus of 15 years. I know as a nerd I should know all about it, but I've never played- honest. He dutifully filled me in- Northern California maps to "Theocracy of the Pale". I blinked twice. Heavy duty. He now works with software that controls etching process of chips. He really is hardcore. Poor fellow- his DSL has given out all last week.
Sunday, October 19, 2003
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
You know things aren't looking good when you only have a bowl of MSG for dinner. No really. This Japanese instant soup might as well be labeled MSG soup with mushroom flavoring.
Despite my big talk earlier, I'm sorely missing my man. Triggered by the plasticized hairy chicken foot he left on the dining room table. I've decided to spend an evening penning love letters to my dearly absent husband. But somehow, Dear Sweetie letters have a sneaky way of turning into todo lists for when C returns. Another sad case of domestic romance being hijacked by renovation.
Been feeling a bit down lately. Not just the recall, the mess in Iraq or the general disgraceful state of the world. Probably just a case of arrested intellectual development.
Despite my big talk earlier, I'm sorely missing my man. Triggered by the plasticized hairy chicken foot he left on the dining room table. I've decided to spend an evening penning love letters to my dearly absent husband. But somehow, Dear Sweetie letters have a sneaky way of turning into todo lists for when C returns. Another sad case of domestic romance being hijacked by renovation.
Been feeling a bit down lately. Not just the recall, the mess in Iraq or the general disgraceful state of the world. Probably just a case of arrested intellectual development.
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
New neighbor in 1419.
There I was trudging down the Bart stairs this morning, when I see the soft pudgy fingers of our new neighbor typing away on his laptop... I couldn't be sure but he had his pony tail unleashed, and was wearing a black t-shirt "On our backs, the best of lesbian sex". It had to be him as I know all laptop nerds at my Bart stop. Yes it's true, a software engineer of somesort has moved in next door.
C popped in for a day back from LA before he had to swish away to Richmond to use the rapid prototyping machine at VCU. Left behind again. Hence the blogging at work while munching on my double chicken wing seaweed bowtie bento box. In 10 minutes I have to feel like going back to work. Yes it's autumn which means haiku season! Sigh- a whole summer passed by without a single poem about a plum.
In my absence
appeared on my desk
an obscure brown bag.
Six pointy black tips stare
Six persimmons those unripened beauties
orange and brilliant.
Who?
One waits sweetly.
There I was trudging down the Bart stairs this morning, when I see the soft pudgy fingers of our new neighbor typing away on his laptop... I couldn't be sure but he had his pony tail unleashed, and was wearing a black t-shirt "On our backs, the best of lesbian sex". It had to be him as I know all laptop nerds at my Bart stop. Yes it's true, a software engineer of somesort has moved in next door.
C popped in for a day back from LA before he had to swish away to Richmond to use the rapid prototyping machine at VCU. Left behind again. Hence the blogging at work while munching on my double chicken wing seaweed bowtie bento box. In 10 minutes I have to feel like going back to work. Yes it's autumn which means haiku season! Sigh- a whole summer passed by without a single poem about a plum.
In my absence
appeared on my desk
an obscure brown bag.
Six pointy black tips stare
Six persimmons those unripened beauties
orange and brilliant.
Who?
One waits sweetly.
Saturday, October 11, 2003
Left behind.
One would think when a spouse goes out of town, one would shout for joy and do whatever one wants... Eat crumbly cookies on the nice sofa and in the bed. Terrorize the town, and maybe get a tattoo or two. Get into fist fights, but avoid the black eye or losing a tooth as your mate'll return after all.
Once my parents left little June-not yet seven- with the neighbors and took me somewhere. Resentful at missing out on the fun we were having without her, she snuck back into our house fuming, marching back and forth with fists in the air. She dumped a jar of Taster's Choice and entire bag of sugar into a plastic gourd full of water. In a gesture full of bravado, she glugged, guzzled, guggled, a gallon of the stuff! She showed 'em. Who likes being left behind.
Last night C called full of fun and excitement. He and Joel had just enjoyed dinner at Basix, a gay steak cafe. He had never seen so many ripped pecs in tight girly tees before- tees with tapered sleeves, you know the kind. He said it was a "getting to know you" kind of datey joint, too much of a costant techno beat to be for intimate couples. But their woodfired pizza was kickass. Poor Joel has had another spot of bad luck earlier this week. The freight company skewered his piece with the forklift gouging a good sized hole in the middle. This mangled piece was already late being shipped to a show in Cologne.
One would think when a spouse goes out of town, one would shout for joy and do whatever one wants... Eat crumbly cookies on the nice sofa and in the bed. Terrorize the town, and maybe get a tattoo or two. Get into fist fights, but avoid the black eye or losing a tooth as your mate'll return after all.
Once my parents left little June-not yet seven- with the neighbors and took me somewhere. Resentful at missing out on the fun we were having without her, she snuck back into our house fuming, marching back and forth with fists in the air. She dumped a jar of Taster's Choice and entire bag of sugar into a plastic gourd full of water. In a gesture full of bravado, she glugged, guzzled, guggled, a gallon of the stuff! She showed 'em. Who likes being left behind.
Last night C called full of fun and excitement. He and Joel had just enjoyed dinner at Basix, a gay steak cafe. He had never seen so many ripped pecs in tight girly tees before- tees with tapered sleeves, you know the kind. He said it was a "getting to know you" kind of datey joint, too much of a costant techno beat to be for intimate couples. But their woodfired pizza was kickass. Poor Joel has had another spot of bad luck earlier this week. The freight company skewered his piece with the forklift gouging a good sized hole in the middle. This mangled piece was already late being shipped to a show in Cologne.
Thursday, October 9, 2003
http://www.laweekly.com/ink/03/47/features-mckenna.php
"In his posthumously published book of 1989, The Andy Warhol Diaries, the first of several “Doug Chrismas didn’t send the check yet” entries appears in 1977." Damn this no @#$#@!!! good @#$#@$'s stiffed everyone. C's dealer Douglas Supreme apparently has been sued minimum of 55 times.
"In his posthumously published book of 1989, The Andy Warhol Diaries, the first of several “Doug Chrismas didn’t send the check yet” entries appears in 1977." Damn this no @#$#@!!! good @#$#@$'s stiffed everyone. C's dealer Douglas Supreme apparently has been sued minimum of 55 times.
my work day
every morning when I shuffle into work, I mostly have one thought in mind- my timing with the bakery schedule. Nuthin like a fried egg sandwhich and freshly baked red bean bun. What more could there be in life than fresh baked buns and a mug of milky brew. But all is not heaven as people come and bother me when my mouth is full of crumbs.
C is away to LA and I'm feeling woeful. Nothing but long working days ahead.
every morning when I shuffle into work, I mostly have one thought in mind- my timing with the bakery schedule. Nuthin like a fried egg sandwhich and freshly baked red bean bun. What more could there be in life than fresh baked buns and a mug of milky brew. But all is not heaven as people come and bother me when my mouth is full of crumbs.
C is away to LA and I'm feeling woeful. Nothing but long working days ahead.
Tuesday, October 7, 2003
Farewell Party
Despite a no-lose bacon breakfast start, I'm feeling rather low today. Having been having trouble with restful sleep. I've been meaning to enlist the help of a few crickets, but instead have to make do with a frog chorus cd my sister sent me. I can't seem to break out of the holding pattern.
Long time C's friend AJ(the guy who use to give me a ride to high school) is moving to Colorado, mostly to make obscene amounts of money. Apparently Colorado is paved with real estate gold. He's tired of trying in Santa Cruz. To a person with any amount of intelligence but a small amount of cash, this concept of gobs of money must frustrate them to no end. It would appear people less worthy than themselves are privy to pots of gold.
Long time C's friend AJ(the guy who use to give me a ride to high school) is moving to Colorado, mostly to make obscene amounts of money. Apparently Colorado is paved with real estate gold. He's tired of trying in Santa Cruz. To a person with any amount of intelligence but a small amount of cash, this concept of gobs of money must frustrate them to no end. It would appear people less worthy than themselves are privy to pots of gold.
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