34 Skidoo
32 was "32 Footsteps" by TMBG. 33 was "I Palindrome I". 34 is "34 Skidoo" by the Bill Evans Trio, compliments of G & the iTunes store.
Mellow day here. The traditional reading of "On The Day You Were Born" by Debra Frasier. A special Eggs Benedict & red potatoes breakfast. From G: a hand-calligraphed card and the Rustboy book. Lounging on the couch relaxing and reading. A quick jaunt over to the studio to vacuum up my strewn styrofoam greeblies before Artist's Way tonight. A surprise for G: I framed a picture of Amelia for Day of the Dead and put it in the laundryroom as a memorial. Cake -- "molten chocolate" from William Sonoma (another G gift), served in little ramekins with Hagen daaz.
Gifts: A card and check from Grannie & Grampa. From mom, a glass globe and a book on oxymorons. From Shield -- objectively the most adept gift-giver of all time -- Jelly Babies (ala Doctor Who) and the ORIGINAL three Astounding Stories magazines that "At the Mountains of Madness" appeared in...
...In 1936. Eighty years ago. WOW. [And so it simply kills me that I managed to add a small nick to one of them, despite being ever so careful while opening.]
A phone call from Grannie & Grampa after dinner. Mom called before we were up this morning, left a message -- calling from Oaxaca! Tonight I'm going out with J -- to Rimsky Korsakoffee's, or something similar.
I ordered some DVDs from Amazon last week -- and, as I'd hoped, they synchronistically arrived today. Not that they're meant as presents, but it's nice anyway. The extra-special pick of the litter: The Tomorrow People, which I remember watching on Nickelodeon a billion years ago. After we're done with Dark Angel, that's next in the queue. To be followed, I imagine, by Battlestar Galactica season 1.
34 is such a non-descript number. 35 is a bit scarier. I think my mental shift from here on out will be to begin referring to myself thus: "Well, I'm a strapping young man..." This, you see, rather than continuing to playfully say "I'm an old man..." I think it will keep my head in a better place as I work my way towards 70, 80, 90. Evolving into a lively, wrinkled, ageless Shakespearian Fool won't happen on its own, y'know?
Mellow day here. The traditional reading of "On The Day You Were Born" by Debra Frasier. A special Eggs Benedict & red potatoes breakfast. From G: a hand-calligraphed card and the Rustboy book. Lounging on the couch relaxing and reading. A quick jaunt over to the studio to vacuum up my strewn styrofoam greeblies before Artist's Way tonight. A surprise for G: I framed a picture of Amelia for Day of the Dead and put it in the laundryroom as a memorial. Cake -- "molten chocolate" from William Sonoma (another G gift), served in little ramekins with Hagen daaz.
Gifts: A card and check from Grannie & Grampa. From mom, a glass globe and a book on oxymorons. From Shield -- objectively the most adept gift-giver of all time -- Jelly Babies (ala Doctor Who) and the ORIGINAL three Astounding Stories magazines that "At the Mountains of Madness" appeared in...
...In 1936. Eighty years ago. WOW. [And so it simply kills me that I managed to add a small nick to one of them, despite being ever so careful while opening.]
A phone call from Grannie & Grampa after dinner. Mom called before we were up this morning, left a message -- calling from Oaxaca! Tonight I'm going out with J -- to Rimsky Korsakoffee's, or something similar.
I ordered some DVDs from Amazon last week -- and, as I'd hoped, they synchronistically arrived today. Not that they're meant as presents, but it's nice anyway. The extra-special pick of the litter: The Tomorrow People, which I remember watching on Nickelodeon a billion years ago. After we're done with Dark Angel, that's next in the queue. To be followed, I imagine, by Battlestar Galactica season 1.
34 is such a non-descript number. 35 is a bit scarier. I think my mental shift from here on out will be to begin referring to myself thus: "Well, I'm a strapping young man..." This, you see, rather than continuing to playfully say "I'm an old man..." I think it will keep my head in a better place as I work my way towards 70, 80, 90. Evolving into a lively, wrinkled, ageless Shakespearian Fool won't happen on its own, y'know?
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