I’m trying to figure out if it’s the shoe repair industry (which does entail chemicals that addle one’s brains) or Williamsblergh, but none of the four local cobblers I’ve used over the last five years have ever had my shoes ready when they’ve said they would, not even when I called ahead and they said over the phone that, Yes, of course they are ready, yes, miss, yes, come over now.
Today, upon learning once again that, no, my Rachel Comey oxfords were not ready, I got so frosty–green eyes glowing wickedly, double Ds thrust forward (this terrifies most men), lips pressed together with a Tony Soprano-wait-’em-out firmness–that my current shoe repair fellow nervously halved what I owed him. (It was like that time Obi-Wan Kenobi hypnotized the storm trooper into ignoring C3PO and R2D2. Me: You will knock 50 percent off. Him: I will knock 50 percent off.) I’d feel bad except that I’m a big believer in “Whatever your job is, do it well.” Which is to say: “You snooze, I don’t pay full prize for my shoes.” I’m left wondering, though: How is this a good business practice for him? It’s noteworthy that these places go under with a suspicious regularity. Are they drug fronts? Mafia lairs? Whatever, man. I just want my kicks.
…I took a nap after a screening of a film I didn’t mind, a walk as mild in temperament as in temperature, a so-so lunch with a sort-of friend, and some busy work deserving no parallel phrase. I mention all this by way of saying that my brain battery was running on empty and, with assignments looming and cleverness left to crunch, the only solution was sleep. (Caffeine in these matters is greatly overrated.) Besides, moon was void of course and mercury was retrograding and on top of everything there was that big old lunar eclipse in Pisces on the horizon. A lot of stars under which to snooze.
I hadn’t intended to dive so deeply as to have a dream–had thought more along the lines of quick and pretty shut-eye–but also didn’t mind when I found myself stepping clear into another world. It halved the day in a way I needed.
–I dreamed that [name redacted] and I had an opportunity to sleep together after all–to roll into each other lazily sloppily easily on a divan I hadn’t known was there–and as I’d expected it was good, not just decadent. Continue Reading →
Temperatures cool, winds pick up. The doves huddle on the fire escape, permakitten creeps closer by my side. Coming up from intuition sessions I’m so wild-eyed and ravenous. Rice goes in the cooker, mushrooms and asparagus get chopped. We roast a chicken Bitman-style: sea-salted, thymed and magic-oiled, stuffed with olives, garlic, lemon, and chili peppers, cast-ironed at high, high heat. Eyebrow cocked, ogle the big sunset (too soon, too soon), then Astaire’s restless gams, Wilder’s Daddy Long Legs. Caron on the satin screen, Hermine on the horizon, summer in the rear-view mirror. Rueful, real: red wine for all.
I’m trying to figure out if it’s the shoe repair industry (which does entail chemicals that addle one’s brains) or Williamsblergh, but none of the four local cobblers I’ve used over the last five years have ever had my shoes ready when they’ve said they would, not even when I called ahead and they said over the phone that, Yes, of course they are ready, yes, miss, yes, come over now.
(It was like that time Obi-Wan Kenobi hypnotized the storm trooper into ignoring C3PO and R2D2. Me: You will knock 50 percent off. Him: I will knock 50 percent off.) I’d feel bad except that I’m a big believer in “Whatever your job is, do it well.” Which is to say: “You snooze, I don’t pay full prize for my shoes.” I’m left wondering, though: How is this a good business practice for him? It’s noteworthy that these places go under with a suspicious regularity. Are they drug fronts? Mafia lairs? Whatever, man. I just want my kicks.
…I took a nap after a screening of a film I didn’t mind, a walk as mild in temperament as in temperature, a so-so lunch with a sort-of friend, and some busy work deserving no parallel phrase. I mention all this by way of saying that my brain battery was running on empty and, with assignments looming and cleverness left to crunch, the only solution was sleep. (Caffeine in these matters is greatly overrated.) Besides, moon was void of course and mercury was retrograding and on top of everything there was that big old lunar eclipse in Pisces on the horizon. A lot of stars under which to snooze.
Temperatures cool, winds pick up. The doves huddle on the fire escape, permakitten creeps closer by my side. Coming up from intuition sessions I’m so wild-eyed and ravenous. Rice goes in the cooker, mushrooms and asparagus get chopped. We roast a chicken Bitman-style: sea-salted, thymed and magic-oiled, stuffed with olives, garlic, lemon, and chili peppers, cast-ironed at high, high heat. Eyebrow cocked, ogle the big sunset (too soon, too soon), then Astaire’s restless gams, Wilder’s Daddy Long Legs. Caron on the satin screen, Hermine on the horizon, summer in the rear-view mirror. Rueful, real: red wine for all.