I don't have a thing to say about anything. If you do, go ahead. I'm so spaced out tonight, that the best entertainment I could come up with was cruising eBay for winter hats. I'm going to Alaska for the winter's solstice and I need a fur hat to keep my ears warm. I've already won my first bid, but I've bid on 3. Hey, they were cheap bids. If I end up with 3 hats, I'll give the excess away for Christmas presents. That means Dennis gets 2 presents instead of just one. (If I could find a Rorer 714 in gold, I'd buy it in a New York fucking minute. Man, I loved that pill. Oops, once again, I digress.)
Having nothing better to do, I spent about three hours trying to write to a close friend with whom I've been estranged for over 18 months. Couldn't do it. I'm still angry. I thought I was more perfect that that. If I consciously decide to be no longer angry, that's all it takes. Right? Right? I guess not. I can't tell myself what to feel or not feel. I'm so angry that I can't even tell her my feelings are hurt. How unenlightened is that? I'm not giving up on the idea, just yet, but I went as far as I could with it today. I'll never stop trying. Maybe eventually I'll be able to tell her what's hurting me. I hope she's on the other side of the wall chipping away as best she can. God willing, we'll meet in the middle.
Meanwhile, back to hats. I love hats and almost never wear them now. When I was growing up, I never was outside without a hat: cowboy, baseball, kippa, beret, I even wore turbans once. I still like the turban idea. Did you know that you can lose up to 30 percent of your body's heat through your head? So keep it covered! That's one of my Alaska truisms that I sometimes think I remember the truth without remembering the logic path to get there. Bottom line, in cold weather, you should wear a hat. Now me, I love a fashion opportunity. I bid on about 3 "fun" furry little fellers today. I know some people don't think highly of wearing fur, but I'm from the "why can't I wear it if they would have eaten me" school. That goes for those pesky wabbits, too. God knows how vicious those creatures really are. (Leslie, I'm just kidding. I only wear the fur of animals who have volunteered for the duty, or, as in the case of cayotes, were duly tried and found guilty prior to execution.)
Presently I'm reading The Glorious Cause by Robert Middlekauff because Peter, whom I only know slightly, recommended it, and I wasn't reading anything else. Then I started reading Massage by Larry Costa. I'm into massage. I'm one of those "touchy feely" kind of people, what can I say? And I just found out that someone I know casually has written a critically acclaimed book, No Place, Lousiana by Martin Pousson. Martin is a bartender at my neighborhood pub. He was introduced to me as an "also from Louisiana" category. I curtsied to him, he curtsied to me. He remembers my name and my drink. He has a perfect body. No, I mean exactly what I wrote: a perfect body. And it is very attractively tattooed. He has those Clark Gable kind of ears that stand out from his head, and his face is so incredibly expressive that when he pays attention to you, it does appear that his ears point towards you when he speaks to you. The first time I noticed it, I was left speechless at how charming an effect it was. My roommate, the bookstore manager, is picking up Martin's book for me on Wednesday. Just for the record: I insisted Huntly buy the book and pay retail so Martin would get full credit on all reports about his book's sales. It may be a bad book, but until I know that for certain, I have to support Martin JUST because we are both bayou boys.
I still got nothing, but I'm thinking about you anywaysl