Burbling

A few things are burbling under the surface. I did read your comments and upcoming are the rope story and the recipe for chick pea soup. How's that for a one-two punch, eh?

Thank you everyone, for your comments on cold sores and how to deal with them. The no-nuts-lysine regime seems to have worked well, and I got rid of that batch in record time. I'm trying to take it easy on the lip-to-lip action, which I can tell you is a trial.

My weekend was really nice. Spent some good time catching up with friends. Especially Jennifer. We hadn't seen each other in at least a couple of weeks, and it was so so nice to have a good long palaver over tacos, tea and loud music. Before the loud music, however, we went to the Heart-On Burlesque with Shelley, Mitch, Irene and Ginna.* There were some nearly naked pretty ladies there, and that is one marker of a good time.

The Solid Senders were playing, so J. and I hied ourselves off to Irene's to meet Steve and dance ourselves up a storm. Or at least sway in place. True to Irene's tradition, there was a crazy dancer there. He was a very tall man doing a lopey, hoppy kind of dance. At one point, he became surrounded by a gaggle of tiny people, all dancing normally but quite vigorously. He was probably a good 8" taller than the tallest of the tiny people. The surreality of it made me laugh hard until Aurèle caught me. Later, Steve nailed the scene by saying "It looked like a painting of a medieval saint."

TSS were as great as the last time I saw them. Musically, they're really good, but I think what I like the most about the show is that they all look like they're having fun. A lot of fun. MC, the singer, made a few organ jokes when Eric needed to fix his Farfisa set-up. Organ jokes never get old.

As you may remember from last week, I'm off the hooch these days. I must admit it felt weird to not drink in two different bars. And then it felt a little weird to feel so weird about it. I'm taking that as a sign that it's good for me to take a little break from drinking. Maybe I'll go back to it when I don't feel weird about not doing it.

Sunday, Eric and I did some primo garbage picking. This woman was putting stuff out in front of what turned out to be her father-in-law's house and jesus, it was weird stuff. Speakers for a film projector that must have been from the 40s. A case of records (Eric nabbed The Bachelor's hit album "Bachelor Girls", circa 1963, and apparently the music is as subversively queer as the cover). Here's what I scored in the first round:




The first round? you ask. Yes indeed. She was in the middle of cleaning out the back room, and so we decided to go for a tea and wait for the rest of the garbage.

After tea, the woman was still standing out front, this time on and off her cell, waiting impatiently for her husband. There were a few more garbage bags in the pile. Garbage bags that obviously held garbage that was just the kind of garbage we were looking for. We started untying.

"Oh, you don't want to look in those," she said, kind of grossed out. "It's all junk."

Well, yes. Exactly.





*Irene's friend: if you happen to read this, I'm sorry if I spelled your name wrong. xo Meaghan.