June 04, 2007

9:01 p.m.

What Makes the Hottentot so Hot? and Other Really Politically Incorrect Racial Slurs

The trio went to see a prominent British band last week and I had the opportunity of a fling with one of its members. It was quite flattering, but as he was married (and for myriad other reasons) I politely declined.

It kind of made me want to have some kind of romantic or sexual (well, sexual) adventure this summer, when we're there, but after thinking about "sex with comparative strangers" and all the weirdness that can generate, I think I've shelved the idea for now. I've done the steady-boyfriend-or-nothing routine for so long now that it's difficult to imagine going into Condom World and worrying about disease, creepiness, or repercussions (like, "What was I thinking, anyway?"). So... what was I thinking, anyway?

We presented our recycling school show three times on Friday, did a benefit for Habitat for Humanity Saturday, and sang at a UU service Sunday morning. I stayed two nights at James's house, and we got into this thing Friday night of making up gibberish in the Click language. I was so tired from the long-ass day that I was punchy. Tears were streaming down my face. We were shouting with laughter on our way to a concert. Suddenly I wondered what it would sound like if someone who spoke a click language... tried to imitate us. What does American English Gibberish sound like?

Today I did not run. It rained, and instead of going to the gym I went to the laundromat, and worked on the presentation some more, integrating changes we made based on Friday's performance. Tomorrow I will run, I promise; I'll also pay my musician's insurance, and the speeding ticket I got on the way out of Denville. It's my first. Carol said it was a rite of passage, which made me feel a little better. And it's going to cost roughly half of what I expected, which is some sort of shallow relief.

I did get a great adjustment at the chiropractor while I was visiting James. They're so kind there, in spite of all the crunching that goes on.

I wish I had a really good movie that I hadn't seen yet. I'm much too tired to do anything else. I feel like curling up with a glass of red and being entertained. It's a slight drawback of not having any tv reception at all, and not being able to afford cable. I read The Sun magazine all evening but I don't want to read any more. I want the jongleurs to make sport: Amuse me! Dance naked! Jump through the flaming hoops! Speak Click! Clickaclicka oogadee boogieclick! (I'm sorry; that is SO un-P.C. I really apologize. This isn't me; someone has usurped my computer and is making racially negligent sport at my expense.) Now I really do feel ashamed of myself for writing that. To make up for it, I'll sing a song about Peace.

Let there be peace on Earth,
and let it begin with me...
Let there be peace on Earth,
the Peace that was meant to be...

I like being this tired. This is almost like jet lag. Being tired and then drinking wine, after a big dinner. I can let go of my worries in this state. All those things I worry about. Like lack of money. Or frittering away what little I have on things I don't need. Or frittering away other people's money. Or never having sex again in my life, ever. Or never meeting Billy Collins. Or eating all the Oreos left in the package on top of the fridge. These things are small and forgivably human in light of the pleasant, heavy feeling in my limbs and eyelids. I could go watch a movie I've seen many times and perhaps be satisfied. I'll go do that before this wears off.