June 2006

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
the Sleeptalker



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 unpleasantness.

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 shutdowns?

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.


the tales