6 January 2000
Today is Sherlock Holmes's birthday. Epiphany. Twelfth Night.
Yesterday I indulged myself and bought books. They were on sale: Buy three
bargain books, get a fourth (the least expensive) free. I bought a Farside collection,
a Patrick McManus, a Kinky Friedman, and a book of erotica. For some
unfathomable reason, the McManus was the cheapest at $3.99-- and it was a
hardcover, as were the rest of them. (The others were $4.99 each.) I also
bought a set of Living Language Spanish tapes.
I bought the Farside (Larson), and the McManus because, when I'm feeling
down, I know they'll make me laugh. I bought the Friedman because I like his
stuff-- it's nice to find someone working off the same database. And the
erotica, well, somtimes I just want to read a bit of erotica. The Spanish
tapes were bought in response to a kind of resolution-- more a promise to
myself, really. It bothers me that, nowadays, I only almost know what they're
saying when I watch the Spanish station, and there was a time when I
mostly knew what they were saying.
I played the first of the Spanish tapes on the way back from shopping,
repeating the Spanish words and phrases out loud as I drove along. (I
remembered more than I thought I would.) Then, last night, I read some of
the erotica (excerpts from fairly well-known erotic
literature-- including some deadly poetry) which didn't do much for me; so
then I read the Kinky Friedman, Roadkill, which did.
In this one, he was on the road with Willie
Nelson. Cool. I read the whole book before I went to sleep.
But that was all yesterday. Today-- Sherlock Holmes's birthday; Epiphany;
Twelfth Night-- I went to the periodontist to have
my upper left quadrant "deep cleaned." And that's as exciting as it
got. The novocane didn't interfere with my Spanish pronunciation; and the
cleaning didn't stop me from eating dinner.
I remember wishing as I got ready for bed that I hadn't already read the
whole of the Kinky Friedman. Rats.
Copyright © 2000 New Moon