The 40 Year Old Hoya
Balancing the desire to dance with my muse with work, grad school, relationships and real life - without going completely honking mad...
Wednesdafriday!
Mist off the river this morning gave Route 7 a Dunwich Horror-esque mood. I waited from some kind of Great Old One to come shambling out, clawing and tearing at the new bridge construction. I don;t think the asshat in the pickup with West Virginia tags who was driving like a bat out of hell qualifies. And, alas, no Cthulhu to gobble him up either. Double Morning Commute Fail.
What you missed: Puerto Rico and the San Diego/LA/Ashland/Portland junket. I keep promising online photo albums to people. I promised my stepmother family vacation pictures three years ago. That machine has big gears that turn slowly - think “ferrying the space shuttle to the launch pad” slowly. I’ll get there. When I do, there will be pix. As for memoir, there was sunburn, model railroading, pigeon dinner, Macbeth, friends, tapas, Senor Toad’s Wild Ride, a grad school class cancellation debacle, Powell’s, and my Lady Love - not in that order.
Now that you’re all caught up…
NYC tomorrow and then Long Island for the 4th of July, with my Lady Love (whose company I’ve been abjectly spoiled by this year, an embarrassment of riches) and my college clutch of good friends. Looking forward to the whole sh-bang, from Lady Love Anniversary Lunch at [redacted by the Surprise Sustaining Overlord] to prospective bbq at my friend Mair’s and longer catch-up with my college crew, who got the sampler size at Christmas.
Two new stories in the works, one almost done, one just begun. One’s a baseball tale, one’s just effing weird. More on these as they emerge.
Packing tonight, road in the AM. In the meantime, work work work. Which looks like wok wok wok on first glance, and now I want kung pao. SIGH.
