is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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Staying Still, Backing Up, Gliding.
Staying Still, Backing Up, Gliding.
Someone wrote to me to say that it was weird that I posted that photo of Gibbs and I without mentioning that I seem to be wearing some kind of tiara in it. Yes, I suppose that is strange, if you think that a girl needs some special reason to wear a tiara.
The other night when I went to the public lecture in the series by the visiting philosopher, I wore a tweed skirt, cardigan sweater, flats and pearls (black pearls that Adam bought for me in India). I described my outfit to Evany and she said it sounded like a costume. Wearing a tiara would have been more like me.
However, I like the pearls, and the cardigan, and the skirt, and the flats. It�s just that putting them all together like that is somehow funny.
Last night on the televised program called House, the grumpy misanthropic drug-addicted doctor showed up at work wearing a one of those hot-guy racing motorcycle jackets, and one of his staff doctors asked him why he was wearing it. He said, �Because it keeps me warm� and cool. How does it know?�.
The television and I have gotten cozy for the last few days. We�ve been having a three-way with the couch, because I�ve had some sort of sickness. Like a cold or a mild flu.
Speaking of which, I�m not sure what to think about flu shots. So far in my life I�ve never gotten one. I met one of the nurses from the campus health service at the reception in my honor and she told me all about the flu shot program, but I still have no idea what to think about it. Is it irrational of me not to want to get a shot that will likely make me slightly ill for a few days in order to avoid being really really ill, maybe, later? I don�t know.
Also, do I have to take the air conditioners in during winter time? California has prepared me for none of this.
My apartment building is of genius layout, because I have no shared walls with anyone. The apartment units all stick out from a long hallway in pod formations. My second bedroom shares one wall with a hotel room that isn�t used very often. Since I�m on the top floor, the only noises I hear are from my downstairs neighbors, the birds in the chimney, and the MFing construction crew who are building something in the back of the Amityville Horror house across the way (just next to the Pea in the Pod: Maternity Redefined). The crew has been working industriously six days a week for like two months now, and, I kid you not, I have no idea what they are doing. Nothing new has been built, nor anything paved or unpaved or landscaped or wrecked. The workers just drag stuff around all day, oh, and they also spend a lot of time driving around backwards in trucks. I know this because of that backing-up sound.
On Sundays it�s like paradise because they take the day off. I�m hoping that when they finish whatever the job is they are doing, it won�t mean that the house will come alive with evil. It has those eye-windows next to the exterior chimney column, and it�s old and white, like the Amityville Horror house. Sometimes I catch it looking at me.
So I don�t really hear my neighbors, which is a very lovely change from the San Francisco apartment. When the neighbors here invade my space it is with their cooking smells. Luckily that isn�t often a bad thing. In fact I opened the door the other night and found a plate outside my door on which was a piece of cake wrapped in plastic and a post-it (�repositionable note�) that read �(Dorian�s almond cake)�. Yes, the phrase was in parentheses written on a repositionable note. I�m not sure why the statement was parenthetical. Maybe it was way of admitting that cake should never be explained? In any case, the cake was very good. I guessed correctly that it was made with almond paste, which is not the same as marzipan, both of which taste different from almond extract.
We�ve been having thunderstorms lately, really dramatic and severe ones. Hans Blix (TCNTUNWI) always knows they are coming before I do. He tells me one is on the way by suddenly walking all crouched, as if he had no legs and was just gliding an inch or two above the floor. He slinks into the bedroom and hides under the yellow chair. There�s one happening right now that, if you ask me, just started, although Hans Blix did his gliding routine about 20 minutes ago.
12:28 a.m. - November 10, 2005
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