Can I show Al's slaw?
Oh! Sin a canyon navel.
date: 11/2/95
10:04 AM
I'm really fuckin' hot today. Not sweating. Just very hot inside. Already
very hungry.
3:19 PM
Lunch has happened, and it was a success. I ate, A sandwich. Something
about ham and cole slaw. Slaw is a rude sounding word. Slaw. It could
easily be the basis of a palindrome.
Lev? Annoy? Na.Well, there you have it. A successful lunch followed by a triumphant, vaguely meaningful palindrome is really the ticket to happiness in my easily-amused world. *
Can I show Al's slaw?
Oh! Sin a canyon navel.
Mr(s). Radio is playing a song I like. Vaguely Buffetesque, but I have no idea who the singer is.
In high school I knew this guy named Ed, and he was singing with a band and they were improvising and trying to write some new songs, and Ed came up with the great line "My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus." Everyone guffawed and slapped their knees, thinking they had a hit, but of course it was revealed (3 years later) that Ed had not created that lyric, it was Jimmy Buffet. I think. Or one of those Florida beerheads. I think it was he who said what I've always felt to be true of musicians on all levels, not just jazz or cabaret or pop. He said that somewhere between the last century and this one musicians got this idea that they were royalty, but in fact we're all descended from court jesters and clowns, at the service of royalty and not on its roster.
Wow, guess that guy Jimmy Buffett is pretty bright. Never really thought about it before. Always liked his music, even if marguaritas almost killed me July 4th, 1990 and he just went sing-sing-singing along.
8:15 PM
Can't get off this hang-up on the word SLAW
and
the intellectual resources to concentrate on the sound of slaw. I'm,
like, saying it out loud as I type it, slaw. Slaw. Slaw. Slaw. Serve slaw
to Sorabji, see? I should really be going home, going to the Sports
Entourage restaurant on 2nd Ave., where there is almost certainly going
to be a lot, I mean a lot of slaw. It goes without saying, anywhere I go
tonight will be a Night of
9:23 PM
Gotta get out of this damn office. Logging into IRC tonight, was using
the old-fashioned Unix client, and I remembered thinking the first few
times I ever used IRC that it felt like I was plunging into a toilet or
into a sewer or into someplace very dark and disturbed. Thought that
again tonight as I was connecting. Not that the company of people I
sawthere was in any way comparable to the above descriptioo8n, just that
IRC always puts me right back into a very dreary and angst-ridden time of
life which I wish I could put past me but which somehow returns day after
day to bother me with questions of why I would waste my time in such
orgies of self-absorption. *
11:44 PM
1995 shall go down in the history of my life as the Year of Slaw.
