Went to see Tom McDermott at Snug tonight with G – he was terrific. I didn’t want to go out after the nutty day I had but it was good to sit there and listen to someone play a variety of styles – from choros to waltzes to a lullaby (he had written for his Chinese adopted baby niece) that had an African flair in the middle – in such a heartfelt manner. We didn’t…
Part of what was not on my list was the cabinet shuffle. The first day the cabinets were set in place, I went over the cabinet details and drawings with K – all of the measurements are there – well the den bookshelves didn’t fit, the pantry looked like it couldn’t accommodate the doors. The den window seat was not the same color as the bookshelves. Things to do, things to fix, things not working…
Wake up respond to emails from Europe and Asia feed Arlene walk Arlene while semi socializing with friend with dogs conference call with European reporters breakfast while glancing at WSJ and Times Picayune write in blog lift weights while interviewing source go to vet for worm pills interview another source while driving home stop at LaLa – learn there are more cabinet frustrations and more Carrara tiles are needed order tiles interview source in truck…
It’s the little things that make a neighborhood a home – or at least a clean one – the bayou has trash cans – and they are gorgeous – metal cans with fleur de lis on them – not those old concrete institutionally painted eyesores we used to have, and not the invisible ones we have had since Katrina, these are real bona fide trash cans – I’ve been seeing them around the city. So…
Retracting earlier posting outlining slight gender differential in views on the moon in the sky during morning bayou walk – party in question responds: “Outside another yellow moon, Has punched a hole in the nightime.” –Tom Waits, “Downtown Train” That was my allusion this morning, not pussy, by the way.
It was supposed to be 28 degrees here in New Orleans – damn the cold – we don’t live here to have weather like this. But this morning, snuggled in my warm tall red cowboy boots and five layers of clothes, hat, scarf, gloves – Arlene and I braved the morning. The only living creatures around were the nutrias, swimming back and forth across the bayou with their yellow fangs barely contained. I ran into…
My friend up north asks me in an email: can you teach a man to kiss? HELL FUCKING NO! Kissing is the end all, be all, the everything, the motherlode, and you cannot teach a man to kiss, unless he is four, and then you shouldn’t be teaching him to kiss. On this subject, I do not waiver – rule of thumb – deal breaker – call it what you’d like, but it is black…
TL writes that he prefers clerihews to haikus. clerihew \KLAIR-ih-hyoo\ noun : a light verse quatrain rhyming aabb and usually dealing with a person named in the initial rhyme Why I really left Gayne/Is that he drove me insane/Telling me he wanted to paint/An artist he ain’t
You know I just wrote that last entry in my blog and I must say I realized I have changed in the last 18 months. My, how I have changed. There is no way in hell that I would get married or do anything that I don’t want to do in my life at this point. I’m cultivating the sweet art of selfishness, a type of selfishness that would make Ayn Rand blush, and I’m…