I am quite proud of the new Fringecast, despite its length and rambling nature. That is all.
Today was about as nice as you can get here, if you don’t count all the other days. So far I haven’t gotten tired of the placidity of this place. It’s as if the entire weather system for the area is more like a warehouse stocked with all of one item except some leftovers from the other warehouses that got shut down and all their workers laid off. We’re stocked pretty well with sunny, mid-level temperature days. Occasionally, someone orders a bit of rain or colder temperatures, but the workers are so cheery, they sometimes forget to pack all the ingredients, and we get a day that feels more Fall-ish than anything, with a dim, pale sun that still manages to exude heat rays when the clouds aren’t scudding across its path.
Naturally, I would begin a blog post about the weather. It’s the poor man’s literary discussion. One can glean all sorts of miraculous and mysterious pearls from conversations such as these, if one is willing to dispense with common sense and well-established science. I’m perfectly happy doing both, as long as it will result in a positive net of amused smiles.
Laughter is also encouraged.
The Super Bowl was oddly low-key, with commercials doing their requisite best to capture my heart, lusting eyes, and deep pocketed wallet. It didn’t work, as I have yet to feel the pangs of desire for cheap Lite beer or the newest super automobile straight from the workers slaving away in the sugar mines of Pretoria. It’s interesting, though, that when we think of the Super Bowl, we no longer first think of football. Commercials hold our interest, which is strange, considering that one of the allures of purchasing tv shows on DVD is to avoid having to watch…commercials.
Then again, there’s always the wonderful parties people throw. We had one at our place; it was but a trifle, with only four of us, so technically it was less a party and more an elaborately staged imitation. We even had a four layer dip, (understudying for the seven layer dip, which was gettin’ jiggy wit it at Will Smith’s house) and three tiny pizzas. It was quite charming.
Saturday I went to Amoeba Music with the roommates minus Tim plus Jonathan Hooker. Music shouldn’t exist in that quantity, but it does. For some reason, they didn’t have one cd that was on my unwritten list, one that I have been meaning to buy for a while, but had forgotten about it until Lileks reminded me of its existence the other day. I first heard Chicane in college, via my recalcitrant roommate, and I lusted after it several times. Then it was forgotten, among the myriad other albums I’d love to own but just don’t yet. So I went on Amazon and bought it. Now I won’t have to sit back and wonder what it’s like to own it. Today I got the notice from the Post Office that it is waiting for me.
What a world in which we live!