is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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Cold as Ice!
I've been corresponding over email with my old acquaintance turned new acquaintance, the one who admired my boots on the airplane and then drove me home from the airport. Like I said, he has a good and a singular way with words, and he always encloses some seemingly random set of images or short films with his emails. Here is an example.
That's right. Stauffers: cold as ice.
Also, my new-old acquaintance has a good name. One of those names as good as Evany, or Halliday, or Gustavus, or lumber, or fuselage. Or Hans Blix, The Rhombus, and Duster.
In other news, yesterday morning I woke up early-early to get Hans Blix (the cat, not the UN Weapons Inspector) to the vet so he could get an ultrasound so we could a) figure out what's wrong with him and b) make ourselves more broke than we already are. Expensive! I dropped him off. It was snowing hard and very cold. A couple of hours later I get a call from the vet assistant and the first thing she says to me is: "I have some really bad news for you." I steel myself. Then she says, "OH! It's not about your cat!" What?! I'm thinking she must be an idiot or emotionally retarded or something. Or else she's as COLD AS ICE! Anyway, the bad news: the ultrasound person wasn't coming in to the office that day. So I had to go back, in the driving snow and cold, to get my poor manorexic dying frail skinny cat and drive him back home so he could treat me to an afternoon of punishment vomit.
So I decided to do my taxes. A smart idea on an already frustrating day. That led to me spending hours reading regulations on home office expenses and turning to the two bottles of Belgian white beer I had in the refrigerator. Those enabled me to sing a bunch of Cole Porter to Hans Blix while making lasagne. Singing soothes the savage beast in the Blixbot.
Then Gus came over and ate some of the lasagne. I told him the story about how I had to sing to get Hans Blix (TCNTUNWI) to stop howling, but I couldn't think of a song, what with the howling, until I saw a sign in the Mainline Fish Shop for shad on sale. And, magically awesome, HE KNEW WHAT SONG I WAS TALKING ABOUT. He said, "way to give me shad roe!"
That's right: Electric eels I might add do it, though it shocks them I know. / Why ask if shad do it. Way to give me shad roe! / In shallow shoals English soles do it. / Goldfish in the privacy of bowls do it. / Let's do it, let's fall in love!
It is the genius of Cole Porter, who turns a silly love song into a sex song about fish. The end.
7:31 p.m. - March 08, 2007
jill - 2007-03-09 17:18:45
apparently the line is actually: waiter, bring me shad roe. which makes sense. and perhaps that is even what gus said. however, i think i prefer my own version. so that's how i'm going to continue to sing it.
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