My job for today is to make all these cds for my father, & make a box to put them in. I like it best when the studio smells of sawdust.
Last night between courses at dinner bean taught me a rhyme you say to babies right before you tickle them:
asser�n, asser�n
los maderos de san juan
los de juan piden pan
los de pedro piden queso
los de enrique �al fe�ique!
& at the end you lunge in for the tickle & optionally you might say
�ique �ique �ique as long as you like.
I had a vanilla-tangerine martini. I was dressed in my rockstar-est clothes. For a while at Kenyon Jojo tried to make me over into this swank, martini-drinking lesbo rockstar. Maybe a fin-de-si�cle Dorothy Parker. He'd say, "Let's go to the VI & drink martinis." What he didn't take into account is that I hate leaving my house, I don't have particularly swank clothes, I am always too nervous to order drinks in public, & I am nothing like Dorothy Parker.
To wit: I stay home & cook & build things. I name my houseplants & my articles of clothing & my electronics. I am afraid of ascending staircases & of burning my arms on the oven (something I have never done) & of pale things that live in sunless places like caves or the bottom of the damn sea. I write long, unorganized letters & long, unorganized diaries & tight, frail poems with very little wit.
I do like me a nice martini, though, & this isn't what I was going to write about at all.
There should be some mention of the sheer redness of each present bean gave me, just overwhelming. & my brother called me, & mischka came over with little japanese ceramica, & when my parents called my mom got all choked-up on the phone.
This week: gift-building, Lord of the Rings, putting bean on the plane to her familia, cleaning the house, writing about the bride.
Next week: whirlwind tour of the homeland, cooking for everyone I love, waiting by the Lichtenstein in the airport for bean to walk down the hall pulling her suitcases behind her & feeling the cold.
