327 Market

I Slack

Darlinks, my attempt at blogging last night was truncated by the sight and sound of the M*ster wailing about making a late night trip to the Red. I agreed to take her (she was in no wise capable of driving) (I am wondering why my judgement was so impaired), but as I was dragging my uncooperative corpus into the bathroom to prepare for the outing, she saw herself in the mirror and started keening about how bad she looked and that she couldn't possibly go out.

note bene: She looked quite fetching in her little red sweater.

After all of that dwama, I was tired and didn't feel like firing up the Mac again.

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In other Social News (relavent to Poulet and the Contessa, my apologies to everyone else)

I saw Currer in the flesh yesterday. "Isn't he studying law in Ann Arbor with the venerable Robert Bork," you may ask? Well, yes he is, but he took a little trip to the west coast to help his grandma-up-north. Its been three years since I have seen him and he looks like a real grown man now. I met him when he was 19, ackward, zitty and hopelessly trying to get the attention of my sister. Ah memories.

I picked him up at Saint Ignatius (in the City) and we tooled over to Louie's and had fried food while we watched the fog roll in and out over the ruins of the Cliff House. It was good to see him after three years of phone calls, e-mails and letters. He's the one who writes the letters with the beautiful calligraphy and sparkling prose and has been leaving the Rober Burnes poetry on my answering machine.

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