Perhaps when we are born, we're given an allocation of words that we can
speak or write during our lifetime. Maybe I've run out, or am close to
doing so. I speak less than 20, at the most 30, words a day except for
times when the Sleeptalker visits. All the usual "good morning", "thank
you" interchanges with shopclerks.
A shame the dwindling allocation doesn't apply to the endless internal
discussions cluttering my mind.
Monday was a State holiday so once again I had the pleasure of three
mornings with the possibility of sleeping well beyond four o'clock. It
gets a little difficult after about 4:30, though, because those birds make
so much noise. The bulbuls, usually quiet during the day, begin greeting
the dawn an hour before the sun actually appears. Why they think the sun
is called "rodrigo, rodrigo", I've no idea.
I went with Helen R to see Robert Altman's A Prairie Home
Companion. I knew it would be good but it far exceeded my
expectations, utterly delightful, a wonderful and authentic slice of
Americana, one of the best ever done for the screen.
Meryl Streep was especially amazing. Never knew she had such versatility,
and combining her with the inimitable Lily Tomlin as a sister was a master
stroke of casting.
It has been a very long time since I've so much enjoyed a couple of hours
in a movie theatre.
very best birthday wishes to
In the old days, the candles would already be burning along with the
incense and LSD or some other exotic drug would have been taken, making
the first day of Summer very special.
Like the song says, the memory lingers on.
Odd word, humdrum. But it seems a totally apt description of June
2006. Of course, at my age I should not complain about an uneventful
month when it could easily have been rampantly eventful with
The cafe at the Dark Corner has once again closed down with no advance
notice or news of when it will re-open. So I am again enjoying the luxury
of not having to vacate the premises at four in the morning while
wondering what is going on. How can they afford to sustain these periodic
The month ended with my annual bureaucratic dance to continue getting
foodstamps. As always, filling out the absurd, lengthy form and dreading
the interview was much worse than the actual event which lasted less than
twenty minutes. And, as always, I was tempted to just not bother. I use
so little of the foodstamp largesse, unless the Sleeptalker is around.
He, alas, was missing the entire month as were all the other Bad Boys
except Mondo who I saw twice at the mall. He looks wonderful, has shed
all the excess weight and is as handsome as he was in the days of the
Hacienda. And that is very handsome, indeed.