- The old mirror that my father left me will be at auction on August 23. I was hoping it was worth $10,000 or something (well, it happens on TV, right?) but if I get $1,000 I’ll be lucky.
- I talked to the coordinator of the organization I’ve been volunteering for (Refugee Transitions). She’s an inspiring and accomplished young woman who is working on her MFA in creative writing. Now I want to do that, too. She directed me to an Atlantic Monthly article about the “top” writing schools in the country. Two of five low-residency programs (i.e., you don’t have to live there, but just visit for ten days twice a year) are in Vermont. She’s studying at Vermont College of Fine Arts; their logo looks quite like SIT‘s. The program at Bennington College (30 miles from where I’ll be in a few weeks) looks cool too.
- I’m getting more homesick for friends by the minute. I’ve got such good ones and I treat them so badly. It’s ironic that I avoid most social contact, yet spew tears when faced with the prospect at not being able to see my friends.
- Did I already tell you that I did find renters, after a nasty legal encounter with some gomers from the South? I had to call in my personal and beloved lawyer. Now my renters will be four 23-year-old girls. They seem sweet. I hope they treat the house and my things well, are considerate of the neighbors, pleasant for me to deal with, easy-going, prompt-paying, and leave when it’s time for me to come back. When I met them I was so shell-shocked from the experience with the prior rental contenders that I didn’t even do a credit check or call references. I know that’s stupid. I hope I don’t regret it. It was the night before I left for Boston so all I could do was go with my instinct, scratch out an informal contract and collect their deposit.
- I got an e-mail from a Nepali guy I met on the rafting trip on the Kali Gandaki. This is what he wrote; I wonder what it means:
“hi ginna i m now in kathamdu far 5 day traning then i kak pokhara wen you com nepal what you do ther i work in rafting now monsun allthe time ren how is your sun i see your frend photo so butty full photoi want to see you bak nepal sun ok bye rite me”
- Mark sent me a link to some fascinating, quirky documentary videos by David Lynch.
- I just booked a room in Brattleboro for the end of the month since my apartment won’t be ready till the 1st. And I’ve made tentative plans to meet with other incoming students for drinks in town the night before the orientation begins. They drink cool things while I get stupid old lemonade again. There must be a better way. Maybe a tank of laughing gas on my back.
- Syd found me a circus arts school down the road from me in Vermont. Maybe I should take a class. Sadly, there’s no rock-climbing gym there, but that’s okay since I’ve already packed away my climbing gear. I don’t know whether to take their flying/catching class, aerial fabric or plain old low trapeze.
- I still have many boxes yet to pack but every time I put away something, I need it the minute it gets buried under four more heavy boxes. I’ve crated up the stuff I almost never use. On the off-chance that the tenants don’t want a dead dog under the bed, I tucked away Otis’ ashes.
- I hate it when people park across my driveway. It happened yet again today — twice — so I couldn’t get my car out when I needed to. Cheryl got the rare opportunity to see me rage. When I called the police to ask them to ticket it, they asked what kind of car it is. I walked to the window to look. It’s a gold … car, I said helpfully. It had been parked there for an hour, but left just before the police arrived — but not before I left a vitriolic note on their windshield.
It's All About Me
You need a fork lift. I have found that a 4000 pound lift with four foot blades is more than enough for todays light weight gas efficient green automobiles. Thats the one I use to remove cars from my driveway. Police are useless for such tasks. Read Emerson on self reliance. He speaks about fork lifts and their many uses for the happy bachelor of then and the future. To his old friend Henry David he mentioned this peculiar piece of equipment many times, but it never seemed to make an impression on him. Too bad. Perhaps, our meager and tepid literary history would have been all the richer had the recluse T’ Rowe taken his mentor more seriously. Know what I mean? Hey, Toots, I’d like to see you mad sometime instead of like a Ferrari stuck in reverse. Don’t read too much into this, now. I have spent the night drinking Bushmills and talking with Blue eyed Italians who do not speak English. Whew.
I had more to say, but I wisely deleted it. I have moved on into the night with Old Protero 125 with a Boont Amber back, something I highly recommend to those of you who admire pleasureous alcohol consumption. I am going to go out now and wander the neighborhood, such as it is. Junkie Rahja has not yet returned the allen heads I loaned him this afternoon and I shall try to track him down and inform him of my displeasureable state whilst not slandering his ethnicity too awful much. Also,I want to get my tools back and check out the full moon over Dog Town. They have those in Vermont, too, I am sure, and nothing could be finer than to see one of those big silver disks through ice coated maples.