Fall, I love you because you always deliver. One of the best weekends this year, by far.
Friday
A fairly successful and encouraging day at Rho. I am joined by an elegantly coiffeured Mer for a blindingly delicious dinner at Elaine’s: coctails, fois gras, mussels, a nice red, white salmon, bison, cheesecake and a complimentary hemisphere of a buttermilk dessert I can not name at the moment.
Saturday
A walk through Raleigh: Pullen Park. Bugfest. I come into possession of THE ORB OF POWER. Fish and chips/BBQ plate/PBR. Exploris (funny phone voices, “there’s a dart! In your neck!”)
Radiodread: who would have thought that show would pack the Cradle? Not me. The show has prompted me to work on my new, ultimate hippy fusion-cover-band: The Grateful Dread. Didn’t get off work until 3AM.
Sunday
Essentially recovering from previous days. Eating at Med. Deli. surfing at panera. Buying some new shoes.
The second act last night (opening for Band of Horses) quickly won my heart by — despite protests from the audience — telling a story about, “so I have this growth on my anus… and now every time I shit it’s like a Play-Dough Fun Factory. if you took a cross section, it’d look like a silhouette of Papa Smurf.”
The Mer told me a story of a girl who was worried because it was burining when she urniated. She was sure it was an STD and so went to see her gyno. The gyn assured her that the burning was not from an STD… the was a chili pepper shoved in her urethra.
It’s late this morning and I think, “oh, I’ll take advantage of the flex time” so I hit snooze a couple of more times than I normally would. “Jeff said he wouldn’t be in until 9:30 anyway and really since we’re working together today I can’t do much until he arrives.” So I hit that snooze until I feel I’m pushing the limit; haul myself out of bed; drive to work. I pull into the parking lot expecting to find nary a space but… what’s this? There are all sorts of spaces. I park right up near the front. “Oh, man, everybody must have slept in today. It must, like, be some sort of Friday tradition. I don’t feel so bad after all.” At my desk I see it: The clock. The clock with the correct time. In a nice little ha-ha from God my alarm clock was set ahead two hours. Two. Fucking. Hours. It’s almost worth it just to go back home for a bit, but I’m stayin’. It’ll help bring this 65 hour work week more quickly to a close.
Probably my favorite couple in Carrboro. It’s always nice to see them out. Married for thirty years. Dated for three weeks. Excuse me. Three and a half weeks. They make a point of adding that half on there as if we will say, “oh, and a half! Well, then you didn’t really rush on in, did you? You waited an extra three or four days. That’s showing some restraint.”
(aside: this morning I witnessed a clutch of sparrows greedily picking at the hork splatter left by some drunk the night before in the HT parking lot. it is a sign.)