I have a pet Panda. It is stuffed. Luke left it when he moved to Colorado. He said it belonged to Ty. Jay thinks it might be Luke’s and I think it was Jay’s.
Ownership issues aside, the Panda does a mean James Brown interpretive dance.
Turn “I Feel Good” on, make sure you’re not eating or drinking anything and watch how Panda does James Brown.
Classic.
This is a milestone in Dot’s life. And if you get spooked by people talking about themselves in the third person, please stop reading now.
So Dot had a Jagermeister today. For the uninitiated, that’s pronounced “Yeah-ger-meis-ter”. The drama started when she asked Jay to order something she would never ever try. The setting was El Gaucho, some 1920s style bar where Jay and his posse were celebrating Mark’s birthday.
Dot should have guessed something was up when the bartender pulled up three shot glasses and poured a dark liquid from a bottle that has a cross on the label. A cross, people.
That’s the sign you have to make with your hands before you down the drink.
This is not a sipper, as Dot discovered. She sipped politely until she was politely told to drink it in one go. Birthday boy Mark took it and drank it faster than you could say Jagermeister. Jay did the same and did a caveman-like “Yawp” before exclaiming, “Good for the slopes!”
For the record, Dot thinks the drink tastes like cough medicine. She remembers nothing more.
Jay never wears a tie. The last time he did it was for his brother’s wedding. He volunteered to wear this.
That’s rare. I’m guessing it’s because it’s no ordinary tie. It’s handmade by two designers and I bought it at a craft fair. Yes, you heard me. Craft Fair.
How spiffy he looks.
I got worked up today.
I don’t have a job. I am in debt. I have to clean the uncleanable house. I have friends I can count on one hand in Seattle. I have stupid things come up. I have issues.
I took a long brisk walk – that usually helps – and had an iced latte. Caffeine, adrenaline, ironically work to calm me.
Jay, as usual, was unflappable. (I think this man is made of every other kind of cell that I am not.) He told me over latte that we learn from our lives and move on.
Later that night, I looked at him and said, “Why is it that humans react like our little world is all that matters and we obsess and worry, and everything becomes a big deal? We all know we’re just a speck, such a little piece of inconsequential atom. We have seen the universe. And yet, we live our lives the way we do. This is it! I am just passing through and yet I can’t let go of my human neurosis. I know I’m energy and dust, and yet I’m such a worrywart.” [Recalled verbatim. Or else something very close to this.]
Jay deadpanned: “That’s a blog entry if I ever heard one.”
This, by the way, is the Sombrero Galaxy, so named because, well, look at it.
So Home Depot finally came through with the doors. We have a nice solid wooden back door, after many weeks of waiting for a custom door order that never materialized. We have a love-hate relationship with that place. It was our date place. For a while there, “Meet you at Aisle 10 by the piping” was our weekend motto.
Not turned off by construction speak yet? See what our house looks like so far . Don’t be harsh on the mess, it’s tough to keep clean when there is no where to put your stuff, and no use cleaning because you’re constructing all the time.
It’s Catch-22, Home Improvement style.
I am not anti-music or anti-boombox.
However, I feel it is my duty to point out that certain car owners do not understand the concept of common decency.
If I am in my house, and I hear a rhythmic, pounding “boom, boom, boom,” at 7:30 am in the morning, and it happens not to be from the usual suspect restaurant-bar behind our house, then you sir, you in the blue Nissan at the stoplight, need to turn down your music.
Are you deaf? Are you trying to impress the equally drumbass-deaf girl beside you? Are you trying to get into a gang of some sort by showing off how big your balls are at 7:30 am in the morning?
Please, sir, please get yourself a hearing aid. Better still, please go for some Mozart appreciation classes.
We were at a Greek restaurant the other day, and I believe it was the first time I’d actually had Greek cuisine. Come to think of it, is there a Greek restuarant in Singapore? It was tasty, although I couldn’t find the right words to describe the food, since nothing I’d had before really compared to that.
The meal and the company got me thinking. If something is too complicated to understand, say a badly written instruction booklet, we would say a phrase like “It’s all Greek to me.”
What if you were Greek? What happens then? What do you say?
How true it is that life is about perspectives. If North America were the center of the earth, as it often assumes it is, the rest of the world is, for example, the Far East and therefore Exotic. The Germans, inscrutable; the Canadians, a single syllable “Ay;” the list goes on.
If English were the international language, any other language would therefore be the more difficult language to learn.
I really wonder what a Greek would say. Perhaps they don’t have an expression for that. Or maybe: It’s all Chinese to me.
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