I'm Thinking 18 September 1998

6:00 PM: Oh, this is not good. I got in this afternoon, already a little tentative in my connection to Reality-As-Such, and almost immediately went into a 2 1/2 hour meeting. Now my brain, she is the cream pastry you know. I just realized, today's date is an even multiple of the month. That's probably an omen.

Today's snack is goldfish - the little cheese cracker kind, not the swim-in-water kind. They're fine, but they aren't helping with this brain problem. To be fair, I don't know what could. A life-threatening shock always seems to work, but only after it's over. One way or the other.

More proof that the Onion is taking over the world:

ROME (Reuters) - Monica Lewinsky has agreed to make a catwalk appearance in Italian stylist Gattinoni's October fashion show in Milan, the design house said Friday.

7:28: Hahahaha! Your French roll is no match for my powerful Atomic Incisors, Sandwich Man!

You know, when I was talking about my lack of goals yesterday, there is a way in which that's not true. It's not really a goal, but it is something of a dream. I've always wanted to own and run a bookstore, preferably a specialty science-fiction/fantasy shop. If you've ever read any of Julian May's books like Jack the Bodiless, then the uncle? the one who's the nominal narrative anchor of the stories? His life, that would do just fine. A cranky immortal old Frenchman in a New England college town, living above his SF bookstore, drinking wine, dealing in rare books, going to conventions, and trying to sweet-talk a lady now and then. I could do that for a long time, except for the French part. Which would go well with the bit about immortality. No, that wasn't a typo for "immoral", you should just go read the books.

I say that it's not a goal because it seems so unlikely to me. It's not exactly a sound business for the future, an independent bookstore. In 10 years, will there even be bookstores? Antiquarian ones, yes, but regular old book books, I don't know. This is what I would do if I were, say, the idle but charming husband of a rich heiress, who didn't like to see me sitting around the house all day drinking & pouting. (I think I would be quite good at this, by the way, if any rich heiresses happen to be reading. Idle but charming, I mean, not drinking & pouting. Let's discuss.)

Is this the part where I'm supposed to say, "Well by gosh, I don't know how it will work, but I'll make it work! Because it's my dream, and nobody's gonna stop me!" And then the band flares and I sing the duet, with The Girl participating with gradually increasing enthusiasm. And we dance. Er, ?

Well, it's like this. Driving makes me crazy because it seems unnatural and unsafe. I think if you run a red light on a bicycle, you're almost asking to be killed. But I live in a somewhat dodgy urban neighborhood, and I smoke. My attitudes about risk are confused, to be charitable.

So I don't know what the final story on this all will be. I'm keeping it in mind - not very seriously, but it's there.

Meanwhile, I am being put to sleep by this stupid soundtrack music. Aaaaaaaagh. Low blood sugar, soft piano, and warm office air. Why not just hand out smack and be done with it.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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