Got an answering machine. Now I can collect all those automated messages from Sally Mae, looking for Beverly. I'm sort of an answering machine right now. Sounds like something Bukowski would say. Or, "My dick is a white mamba and I'm sort of an answering machine right now." That's better.
I read The Road to Wellville in San Francisco and finally got the movie in the mail today. It was cracked, almost from the hole to the edge. The rating on IMDB is terrible but I was really hoping to watch it tonight.
More importantly, I took the biggest icicle from the eave out back and froze it, point up, on the rail of the back porch. Something Andy Goldsworthy probably did when he was 4. Just took a little snow and tap water. It looks neat. I'm hoping a blue jay will land on it tomorrow.
afraid of the shadow of his own bomb
Recent Favorite Reads
- The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle -- Haruki Murakami
- The Life and Times of Michael K -- J.M. Coetzee
- The Inheritors -- William Golding
- The Crying of Lot 49 -- Thomas Pynchon
- The Blood Meridian -- Cormac McCarthy
- The Beak of the Finch -- Jonathan Weiner
- Karlology -- Karl Pilkington
- If Not Now, When? -- Primo Levi
- Guns, Germs and Steel -- Jared Diamond
- Death in the Andes -- Mario Vargas Llosa
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