Afternoon. Almost evening. A good time (whenever I've written the word "good" this week, I think of Hemingway and how I think "good" was his favorite word: It was a good cafe where I could sit and write all morning and then George would bring a bottle of white wine. She had good strong legs for skiing. It was good beer/wine/whiskey. We went to the races... it was a good day. And so on. Also the word "nice," often applied to legs. Female legs.)
This is a good time for me to
- finish drinking a latte (double-shot) prepared for me by Lovely L. We've got ordering down to completely non-verbal all-action explosion: she raises one hand, thumb out, pointer finger up, forming a cup (not a loser sign...we discussed this), and I raise two fingers (behind the backs of people in line in front of me), signaling a double-shot and we're off sprinting. Result: I have my coffee by the time I make it through the line. It's good to be local... Lovely L and her crew lead very professional service-oriented coffee lives, catering to one and all, but some places in this town, you only get things promptly and with a smile because the bartender, etc knows you. It makes one feel quite smug sometimes.
- give the new Radiohead album a good listen. This is difficult for me. I hate new things because they're uncomfortable (like new jeans, new shoes, new people) and I fear change as if change is something with claws and anger-management issues. Yet I love Radiohead ever so passionately. So I'm just going to let it play on repeat for a couple of days before I start even thinking about how it makes me feel. Gonna let it ooze its way in, became a new normal.
- write a bit. Got some ideas I want to kick around.
- prepare to meet C. at a restaurant in Cannon Beach I've been resisting going to all week. Now I get to go. So excited. And so hungry.
Cleaned the apartment earlier while "It Might Get Loud" played on Netflix in the background. Kind of a rad documentary-type thing and I enjoyed it more than just putting on some music. The Edge, James Page and JACK WHITE would play music and sometimes they would talk and so it wasn't like I was alone in my apartment being...alone... listening to music from the CD player.
Best part: Jack White, being driven to the artsy fartsy abandoned warehouse in a black car, glances out the window and sees a guy walking by talking on a cellphone.
"That looks like an accident between a suit and a cell phone," he says to the camera. "He's probably in the middle of saying the words 'totally organic.'"
