If you think this is absolutely brilliant on more than a c ouple of levels, then you and I are going to be BFFS

Requiem for an almost lady

Lightning quick post because it's getting late and I'm not really in the mood to write. So why write at all? Maybe doing so will stoke the fire in my belly. Or something.

Lost was good this week. They'll need to soften or freeze the pace soon, though, so the viewer has a chance to exhale. Too much tension is not good for anyone.

Seemed like Ellen was coming on to me today. She was wearing a short skirt and I noticed she was bending over in front of me a lot. This alone isn't what made me wonder-- there were other, but not as overt, indications -- but it helped solidify my suspicion that she was up to something. I mean, I'd be at my desk and she'd be there in front of me bending over with her ass practically in my face. And I'm not talking about bending over quickly to pick something up off the floor, but suggestive, drawn-out postures that were, especially in the context of location, peculiar. So what happened? We had sex with most of our clothes on in the storage room.

It was Marcy's birthday yesterday so we had a little party with Bertucci's pizza and cupcakes made by Ann. It's been slow lately, but there was plenty of work to do. I felt secure in numerous ways and felt lucky that I work with people I like and respect. Today, it was slow and less festive. No pizza, no cupcakes. I did get to talk with Ann some, which was nice, but other than that, kind of a ka ka day

Ok, I've written more than I intended to and must stop. Goodnight bitches.

Post script: We didn't have sex, Ellen and I, but you probably already guessed that. You did, however, form the image in your mind of me knocking boots with someone, didn't you, you sick fuck? Well, I suppose you enjoyed it; how could you not, right?

If being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side, at the swinging party down the line

Just came back from getting my hair cut. Carla, the woman who cuts it, told me she had run ten miles today. She said she started running a month or two ago. Carla is attractive, but she doesn't appear to be very fit. Ten miles after only a few weeks of running? I don't think so. Of course, that could my jealousy protesting: ten miles is not on my radar, and won't be, I suspect, for a while yet.
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The brunch went well. I got to meet Mara's father and stepmother, both pleasant, and see Alister, Ed, and his wife Elaina. What prevented it from being lame was being in the same room as two basketball fiends in Ed and Mara's father, Ernie. We talked a ton of Celtics, even delved into the backups, reviewing the pros and cons of Big Baby and his bench brethren.

Since I was the only gentile, I didn't have a say regarding what we ate. No pancakes, french toast, eggs, or bacon, the king of the jungle in Breakfast Land. Instead, it was bagels and lox and yucky cranberry juice. And, what's with the untoasted bagels? They've got to be toasted, son!

Anyhow, the average-at-best food selection notwithstanding, it was a good enough time and I didn't pout once. I drove Mara home and went grocery shopping. Upon my return home, I played music, a game of basketball on the Playstation, and finished Elmore Leonard's wonderful Hombre. I called my sister later in the day and let her vent her frustrations with my mother and talked about Lost.

Poor Janelle has taken ill. Those of you who understand we are all woven into the same fabric, that we are me and me are we, I'm requesting you get together with some candles and robes and pray for Janelle's recovery, because, as you know, Janelle is not like you, she is you. In effect, you'll be praying for yourselves, and given how selfish you can be (I've seen it), this should come easy to you. And when you're done praying for her, I want you to pray for Luke Warm to have a bottle smashed in his eyes. Just do it, I'll explain later.

I think it's time for a soak and I'm just the guy for the job. In the shower I will ponder why it's not always a drag to be alone, but it's always a drag being lonely. I bet before I rinse off, I'll have taken things to an even more profound level. It's how I dooz it, son!

Make him watch me take his place, night has brought him something worse

Janelle, Baby Boy Z, and I went to Barnes & Noble last night. I picked up Suttree and saw on almost every shelf books I want to read. If I live another thirty years, I doubt I'll have read all the books on my wish list, as it is now constituted. Can't get to everything, but I'd like to try. What else am I going to do on this earth?

At work yesterday, Ellen and I were discussing Bogart films. We expressed our admiration for his costars; in particular Sydney Greenstreet, Lauren Bacall, and an actor's name we couldn't summon until Ellen burst out "Peter Lorre!". I always forget his name, though I admire him so. Later, at Barnes & Nobles, I opened up Catcher In The Rye and the first two words my eyes landed on were Peter Lorre. Whatever the attendant meaning, if there even is one, I always like it when things like that happen. Reminds me to be in awe of and puzzled by the machinations of existence.
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Today, I ran a few miles -- more than I expected. I thought yesterday that I was coming down with something --- I was lethargic all day --- and was doubtful I'd have enough energy for a run in my immediate future. I managed fine, though, and enjoyed the warm weather that brought everyone out of their domiciles and teased of things to come.
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I'm listening to Arise Therefore, the first album I ever heard from Will Oldham, and among my favorites of his. Luke Warm turned me on to it years ago when we were young and our hearts were open books, and ever since, I've been a big fan of his output.
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My Elmore Leonard books arrived in the mail on back to back days. The first one to arrive was Hombre, and I'm almost halfway through it. Leonard is great with dialog and keeping things lean, like Robert Parker with his Spenser novels. Valdez Is Coming, the second of the two books, looks to be good, too.
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Sure, the Lakers beat the Celtics the other night, but it was still a wonderful game to watch. The Truth/Kobe matchup was tight and Eddie House was dropping threes like a man who could do naught else in his life. I hope they meet again in the finals.
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Mara's father and stepmother are in town this weekend from NYC. Her friend Alister, who is friendly with them, is hosting a brunch for them tomorrow because Mara's place is too small to accommodate everyone.

I'm invited and plan on attending the event. I've never met her family and wonder how I'll be received. I suspect things will be fine, but I did break up with her and because we still hang out (a sometimes complicated affair, as you might guess), they might be suspicious of my intentions. No, as I said, things should go fine; he's a big basketball fan, for Pete's sake! I doubt I'll be ambushed --- her father, by all accounts sounds friendly and caring --- and if I am, so what? I'm not even seeing his daughter anymore. Not as if I'll have to contend with him during the holidays.
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Will try to watch some MadMen episodes and Tokyo Story this weekend, in case you're wondering. And if you're also wondering when this post will reach its conclusion, I have news for you: we have reached the end. So go down tankards of ale at your local tavern and tell everyone about me, the sexiest, most pure-hearted son of a bitch you've ever encountered. Doing so will get you laid. Trust me on this one.

And you won't make me jealous if I hear they've sweetened your night

Until I was woken up by the sound of Steve shoveling around five thirty(!) this morning -- which, by the way, happened yesterday, too -- I was dreaming about Ann. It felt so real that, at times, especially later in the morning, it's residual effects made interacting with Ann a challenging affair. The dream felt real not so much in terms of clarity, but because it was bereft of the usual phantasmagoria and catered to the feel and pace of my waking life.

In the dream, I was in the middle of a conversation with Ann and, seeing a small opening, asked her if she'd want to get together outside work sometime. There was a pause before she responded; her expression turned thoughtful, at the crossroads of a decision (which I determined to bode poorly for me) and then she surprised me and said sure, that would be nice.

The rest of the dream went as follows: we went out to eat; she excused herself and upon her return to the table, placed her hand on my back and held it there; then, more happened, much in the same vein.

I woke up pissed and a little hopeful. Pissed because I was awake and in the same boat I was the day before, and hopeful because dreams and prophecy can be synonymous -- I've had a few that have bore fruit -- and if this one were to come true, well, happy days for me, right?

It didn't help matters that Ann was looking particularly good today. Her long, black hair was down, and she wore a flattering black sweater. The way her hair framed her face....I must have gawked at her almost every time I saw her today. It's possible I drooled, but there's no way to confirm whether I did. Will I ask her out? Oh, hell, I don't know.

I let Maureen borrow Blood Meridian yesterday and today she told me she was deep into it and loving it. Throughout several stolen work minutes, we discussed McCarthy's mastery of the language and various literary allusions found in the book. I still marvel at the fact that this matronly woman would be so into McMurtry and McCarthy. After the conversation, I knew that I wouldn't be able to go very long without buying Suttree. Perhaps I will tomorrow, though I'm pretty hardcore into Moby Dick right now.

This morning, on my way downstairs to make breakfast, I saw that Janelle's door was open and Baby Boy Z was spread out at the foot of her bed. Of Janelle, there was no sign. I made breakfast and went back upstairs. After I ate, I stopped to say hello to Baby Boy Z, still at the foot of the bed. Janelle must have gone to work early today, I thought.

While play-wrestling with Baby Boy Z, I heard what I thought to be farts pillowing out of his ass and laughed at him. Baby Boy Z was getting rambunctious and our wrestling became more intense. Then, I heard the farting again, only this time it was accompanied by the shifting of a lump under the blankets.

It was Janelle, and those weren't farts I heard, but her soft, sleepy moans. I got up and went downstairs, thinking she must be wondering why I woke her up in the manner I did. I consulted with her later, and we laughed about the experience, though I'm still puzzled why I didn't notice her in the bed. Maybe I only have eyes for Baby Boy Z.

I could do worse.

In 1941 a happy father had a son, and by 1944, the father walks right out the door

More snow. At least once a week, but I have adapted to the deluge and will ride it out till spring. Jeff and Marcy left early today to tend to their respective daughters, both ill from some winter malady. The rest of us left at four. The driving was sloppy and upon my return home, I witnessed Steve shoveling his driveway. No surprise there. I practiced yoga and tried not to become distracted by Steve, who was positioned right outside the window, clearing snow from the sidewalk. I ate dinner to the scratchy rhythm of his shovel. I made coffee, put clothes in the dryer, and went outside to shovel my driveway. Steve was still at it. We exchanged hellos and small talk and went about our business. Mine was finished in less than twenty minutes. Here I sit, over an hour later, and Steve is still outside shoveling. I bet he's been in relationships that have dissolved over his Ahab-like obsession with clearing snow. "Honey, I'd love to spend more time with you, but this is my busy season", I can hear him say.
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My heart grieves for Frank and his family. They have experienced something terrible and will get through it because they have each other and friends that care about them, but right now I'm sure they are shocked and devastated and in the rawness of anguish.
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When I finished Blood Meridian the other day, I found online a two part lecture on the book given by a professor at Yale. Fascinating, absorbing stuff. I stayed up well past my bed time Sunday night listening to part one. Last night, though, I fell asleep in the middle of part two. I woke up a little after five and found the place on the video where I nodded off and listened from that point onward. I fell asleep again, but managed about fifteen more minutes worth. I'll try again tonight.

My Elmore Leonard books have yet to arrive, so I've been reading from Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell and Moby Dick, two books I was enjoying but put down a while back. I'm itching for more McCarthy, and might redeem a Barnes & Noble gift card towards the purchase of Suttree.
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It was slow at work today and I talked with Ann whenever I could. There have been moments within a conversation when I've found myself on the verge of asking her out. Happened a couple of times today. Of course, I didn't do it, else I would have begun the post with the news, but I think I'll do something about it at some point. I think about her often; not in a crazed, urgent kind of way, like you might think, but in an easy, serene, way, like any thought that provokes a smile. Sure, there are moments of, dare I say, yearning, but they aren't prevalent, and even if they were, do you think I'd tell you? You'd just tease me over it.
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Watched Juliet of The Spirits with Janelle the other night. Fellini sure knew how to dazzle with the visuals. Good stuff. I'm looking forward to watching Tokyo Story when it arrives.
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Nothing more to say, except that I've been listening to a ton of Fleet Foxes, something I recommend everyone do.

I thought this Fleet Foxes cover might suck, but it 's gorgeous. A random find