1207
Sniffle, sniffle. Charming way to greet Spring. Although I feel absolutely rotten, I think it will actually be a fairly mild headcold. And it certainly isn't a surprise to get one, given the number of people sneezing, snuffling, coughing in both Hamilton Library and the Black Hole. The worst thing is a fierce headache which neither aspirin nor sinus medication is fully relieving, so I assume it's as much to do with sinuses as an ordinary cold.The last week of winter was, of course, dominated by the Courtroom drama. I've one more thing to say about that. I'm not at all complaining about the fine (and costs) for that shoplifting offense. It was a totally stupid thing to have done, trying to steal a bottle of rum (and I don't even like rum!). Of course, I was trying to get it to please a rather sexy young man I'd met in the park. For the first time, and I haven't seen him since. Yes, quite stupid. I do think the punishment for drinking a beer in the park was well overboard, however.
Anyway ... I spent very little time online on the preceding Saturday because it rained heavily for much of the day and I didn't even attempt to get to Hamilton Library. Ordinarily sheltered benches weren't, because of the combination of wind and rain. But I did find a fairly dry place to listen to the Met broadcast of "Don Giovanni". A decent production, if not magic. No temptation at all to tape it, since first of all, it isn't one of my favorite Mozart works and secondly, because I know there is the Solti/Fleming recording which eventually I shall hear.
The rest of the week wasn't exceptional. I haven't read Kate Wilhelm before, but gather she sometimes writes science fiction. Her Fault Lines was said by the paperback publisher to be science fiction (something I didn't notice until after I bought it), but it wasn't at all. Not an easy book to read, especially because it shifted so much between past and present, but quite impressive. So, too, was J.F. Freedman's Above the Law, although it was a much more "ordinary" novel, complete with courtroom drama. (I must say, the reality of a courtroom wasn't nearly as interesting as fictional accounts.)
Freedman said in the book, "sometimes simple pleasures are the best." I don't agree. They are always the best, not just sometimes.
After the courtroom drama, the most compelling aspect of the week was, of course, the suspense, waiting to see if Third Wednesday would be magic. Fortunately, it was, especially fortunate since I had less than a dollar in my pocket ... and the idea of spending Saint Patrick's Day without beer is totally blasphemous. The furry ones had to endure nasty human food for three days and I had to roll my cigarettes for those three days, too. I saw the Cat Lady on Sunday and told her about how my furry dependents were "suffering". She laughed and offered me some packets of food for them. No, I said, let them eat Alaskan salmon.
I fear my family of dependents may once again increase, because Lady Grey is showing noticeable signs of weight gain.
I felt very certain on Thursday that I would see the Sleeptalker, but my radar was malfunctioning ... unless he was the stranger in the game who said good morning to me. Maybe.
No game this coming weekend, and limited online time. The libraries will be closed for the beginning of Spring Break. I wonder if I'll make it through "Das Rheingold" without a libretto in hand?
1208
"I wonder if I'll make it through "Das Rheingold" without a libretto in hand?"In a word: no. I kept thinking what beautiful music, if only they'd shut up. And after about an hour, I admitted to myself that I really didn't want to be listening. I'll obviously never make it through this new Ring Cycle the Met is offering.
Michael Lasser's hour of theatre music wasn't any more successful, even if I did listen to it all. Love songs of World War One was the theme, but it was almost all modern recordings. I can't believe he had to use Michael Feinstein for "Tipperary". He must be in love with Feinstein, in which case I'll try to forgive him. Wonderful early Garland recording, though, and a Jolson I've never heard. But then, even worse than his obsession with Feinstein, he spoke over the introduction to a Nora Bayes recording!!! Unforgiveable.
Barbarian.
[Look who's talking, turning off Rheingold.]
The tourism promoters will obviously hate me, but I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Spring in Hawaii sucks. DON'T come here in the spring.
And this Aries 2004 is surely proof, so far.
1209
I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled ...Definitely my favorite phrase from Eliot. And very true on Tuesday. I do indeed grow old and because it was so wet I rolled up my trousers to keep them from getting soaked in the many puddles everywhere. The rain (which began on Saturday and rarely ceased) was so constant on Tuesday morning I feared I wouldn't be able to feed my feline friends. So I took a bus to the mall to have lunch on the Rainy Day Bench, upsetting the constant occupant who doesn't expect to see me until late afternoon. Too bad. But then the rain became more sporadic so I took a bus back to campus to feed the furry ones. I was so much later than usual that I was greeted with a chorus of meows.
Bluto was still absent but he did arrive early on Wednesday morning. One day recently he tried to get in before the little ones had eaten and I shooed him away. He must have been quite insulted because he stayed away for almost a week. Too bad for him, too. The little ones and their mama obviously don't like him and I have to admit there isn't much appealing about him. Still, he's welcome to their leftovers.
In the room women come and go, speaking of Michelangelo ...
Another favorite Eliot phrase. In my life the young men come and go, although none have ever spoken of Michelangelo. Travis at the supermarket appears to have moved on permanently and I surely do miss seeing him. But Angelo got on the morning bus at the "drug store" stop. Shopping for drugs at five in the morning. What a life. I just waved, he said hello and went to the back of the bus. In the mall I saw him walking toward the McDonald's area so I didn't go for my usual morning coffee, went on to campus instead. I didn't need to hear him ask for money or a free breakfast.
Since it's toward the end of the month, and with the awful weather, the Black Hole has been filled to the max. On Wednesday morning, standing at the bus stop, a young man came over and asked how to get to the YMCA. Perhaps he was a tourist who had tried one night at the Black Hole and decided it was too awful, couldn't blame him for that. He was horrified at having seen one of the enormous "B-52" roaches, wondered what they eat. I said I didn't know, but at least they don't bite. "They sure are ugly, though," he said. He wasn't.
The young men come and go ... even if I do grow old.
1210
I thought this was a practice which left the American publishing business decades ago. But "Warner Books" has had the unmitigated gall to publish an "abridged" version of the hardcover version of a novel in "paperback". How James Patterson, such an enormously successful author, allowed them to do this is a mystery to me. His most atypical novel, The Jester, written in collaboration with Andrew Gross, is such a departure from his usual offerings. I am NOT going to buy the hardcover version to see what I've missed. But I am impressed by the book and hope Patterson has the balls to refuse any such travesty in the future.Book report time. I have a bunch of slips in my pocket about recent reading.
The bargain book section at Shirokiya, the Japanese department store at the mall, is now much larger than it was before their renovation. This is splendid, since the similar section at the used bookshop near campus has reduced its selection of books at one dollar or less. However, before I discovered that, I rummaged through the bookshop and came up with three books by Nora Roberts which were fairly entertaining. Local Hero and Dual Image were re-printed in one volume, Yesterday was the other. I skimmed over the descriptions of sexual intercourse, but otherwise enjoyed her amusing plots.
I also found there a delightful collection of short stories by Jeffrey Archer, a writer whose novels I much enjoy. A Quiver Full of Arrows. I rarely opt for short stories rather than a novel which can let me escape from reality for a longer time, but these are indeed elegant.
And I puzzled for a little while before buying Lawrence Sanders' McNally's Risk because I thought I'd read all of that delightful series. Oh well, it was only fifty cents, so I took my own "risk" and was pleased to realize I hadn't read it. That series is one of the most entertaining in modern American fiction. (Although not to be read if you are feeling in the least bit hungry.)
Judith Rossner, who I gather is most known for Looking for Mr. Goodbar (I only saw the film), thoroughly entertained me with her Perfidia, as did John Lescroart with his The 13th Juror.
Keep on writing, folks, but resist that nonsense of Patterson by letting them "abridge" your work. Tell them to print every word or else shove it.
1211
A homeless man is sprawled in a chair in Hamilton Library on Saturday afternoon, snoring loudly. I'm grateful he doesn't stay at the Black Hole. I wondered how Hamilton would deal with their generous new 24-hour policy three days a week, how they'd keep it from becoming an alternative to the Black Hole. Simple. From midnight until the usual opening time of 7:30, a UH ID is required to be in the library.No one was in the library on Friday, of course. A reader asked how I'd spent the offline day and I replied, truthfully, "I smoked too much, I drank too much, I ate too much." The first two are not that unusual, the third almost never occurs except when I am in the company of Helen R. So it was on Kuhio Day, when Helen invited me to a holiday lunch. We agreed that if it happened to be pouring rain, we'd postpone the event until a brighter day. Well, it was certainly gray and gloomy all day but stayed dry until late afternoon. So we went to LikeLike Drive-In and tested a "special of the day", baked meatloaf. That included a cup of clam chowder to start, also two scoops of mashed potatoes (quite possibly the powdered version) and corn (quite possibly from a can). There was a light brown gravy over the meatloaf which was as bland as the meat itself. Brought back memories of the U.S. Army.
Archy McNally always seems to have exceptional food at his meals. Not fair.
Maybe I should be a fictional character, after all.
I hadn't noticed before on the menu that they offer "canned soup" (!) for $2.30. One of the options was "chicken noodle". Quite often one can buy cans of chicken noodle soup, three for a dollar, so it seems an awfully high mark-up, even considering they have to pay someone to carry the bowl to a table and someone to wash the bowl and spoon afterwards. But as I told Helen, at least they were honest about admitting it was from a can.
Helen showed me her cute little new toy, a digital camera which not only takes individual photos but can also do motion pictures with sound! It can accommodate a 512mb storage card. This essentially means a person could make a film for less than five hundred dollars. Oh this modern age ...
1212
There is a couple, a man and woman whom I'd guess are in their early forties. Since they carry backbacks, I'd also guess they are homeless. Very gaunt. If one wanted to do a variation on Grant Woods' "American Gothic", they'd be perfect models. They spend a lot of time at Hamilton Library (even more than I do). He has a serious problem with intestinal gas, if that's what it's called. In other words, he bombards the entire area with a very nasty aroma. Certainly not unused to that at the Black Hole, but it's annoying to suffer it every day in a library.Spring Break meant a relatively deserted campus, especially welcome in a very wet week since the limited number of sheltered areas were available without competition. But I have to admit, it was not at all displeasing on the Monday after the break to once again walk amidst so many fine examples of young manhood.
Sunday before that was, amazingly enough, a pleasant sunny day. I'd been waiting for just such a day to listen to the CD my French Reader kindly sent me, a collection of Mozart arias sung by the inimitable Renée Fleming. As I told my reader, I don't really need ever again to hear anyone else sing that magical music (even if I did find it jarring now and then to have a selection so abruptly end when my mind was ready to hear the following notes). I'm out of practice at listening to collections of snippets from opera.
(I didn't particularly want to hear "Salome" on Saturday and certainly didn't want to listen to it with the interrupting begging bowl routine from KHPR, so the radio stayed in the bag. I did check on Sunday evening, heard they still need over $100,000 before they meet their "goal" so I guess the radio will remain in the bag for awhile.)
That enlarged section of one-dollar books at the Japanese department store is a real treasure trove. (They are dangling War and Peace at me right now but I haven't yet bitten, would prefer Dostoevsky.) The most delightful recent find was Andrew Greeley's The Bishop and the Beggar Girl of St. Germain. Father Greeley's Blackie Ryan and Lawrence Sander's Archy McNally are definitely my two favorite contemporary fictional males.
My furry friends are shameless. As usual on the weekend, I went to the secluded grove very early in the morning. Andrew is always waiting, so I give him a can of food. Lady Grey and Thimble usually don't show up until later, sometimes not even until I return at lunchtime. If they do arrive before I end my early visit, I give them the second can of food. Then when I return at lunchtime they all sit at the top of the wall and beg for more. Well, I know she is soon going into seclusion for a few days to produce her next batch (it's clearly obvious now that event is coming), so I buy more food for them, muttering "I just can't afford this." On Saturday I once again had to chase Bluto away when he tried to budge in before the little ones. I must tell the Cat Lady that if she manages to catch him and take him off for neutering, to please return him somewhere else on campus (although I'm sure he'd soon find his way back). I do hope he's not the father of the next little ones.
On Sunday I had an email enquiry about the Sleeptalker from the other side of the planet, later got on the bus to the Black Hole. Tanioka was sitting there, asked about the Sleeptalker. I don't know, I don't know.
1213
If my grandmother was right, that when it is raining and the sun is shining at the same time it means the devil is beating his wife, then Mrs. Devil must have been in pretty bad shape on Tuesday. The rain this week is a more gentle one, unlike the heavy downpours in recent times, but oddly, I tend to get more wet. I mean, one doesn't go strolling in a heavy downpour (unless one is Gene Kelly and dances through it), but these lighter rains (showers) seem to suggest it is possible to walk for some distance without getting soaked. Not true, not true at all.How wonderful the welfare cycle is almost here. Perhaps, despite the damp weather, it will reduce the population at the Black Hole. I agreed, and disagreed, with Ms. Maunakea, the director of the Black Hole, in the newspaper article Plans sought for homeless project. I disagree with her when she says a larger shelter isn't the answer. A larger shelter would be very welcome. But, of course, I agree with her that it is certainly not the final solution (if there is one). A larger shelter with decent plumbing, I might add. Yet again, one of the toilet/shower rooms upstairs at the Black Hole is out of commission. Maunakea really does need to make contact with the plumbers' union.
Amusing synchronicity with reading material suppliers. I don't think I have encountered Bernard Cornwell before although he has evidently written a number of "historical novels". At the Japanese department store, I found his Gallows Thief (London, a few years after Waterloo). Enjoyed it. My knowledge of history is far too limited to know if his book provides an authentic picture of London at that time, but I have a strong suspicion it does. Two days after I had finished it, looking at the Hamilton Library fifty-cent cart, his The Archer's Tale was there (called Harlequin except in the USA). I've only just begun it, but am impressed.
Now and then, I dip into past Tales, just randomly select something and read it. Funny, funny, Lord of Coincidence, that I picked tales from three years ago, beginning with the moment when my relationship with the Sleeptalker went from amusing flirtation to what I guess we could call "physical consummation". Oh, what a tortured time that was, probably more for me than for him.
Again, funny. I wasn't sure whether or not "consummation" had two m's, so I checked an online dictionary which said:
1 : the act of consummating
2 : the ultimate end : FINISH
Nope, wasn't the FINISH at all. And certainly not marriage, at least for him.
Jonathan Cainer wrote: The trouble with being a perpetual teenager, is that the older you get, the less other people feel inclined to believe that, somewhere, deep down within, you are still just 17. They mistake your mixture of petulant excitability for cantankerous authoritarianism. You, meanwhile, continue to see yourself as a rebel even whilst performing extremely responsible tasks. Mars and Saturn now require you to make a sensible move. You would far prefer to do something rash or wild.
I (half jokingly said): "or just drink more beer to suppress the Aries manic swing ... "
Bluto is evidently sufficiently insulted, after me shooing him away, to remain away. But then on Wednesday morning, I was busy "suppressing" early in the morning. Andrew arrived to beg for breakfast. I ignored him. I just cannot afford two meals a day for those cats. I guess he must have gone exploring to find sustinence elsewhere because when I returned at lunchtime, only Lady Grey and Thimble were there to share the two cans of food I'd had in my bag when Andrew had earlier been begging.
Terrible, how easy it is to establish and maintain "bad" habits, when it's so much more difficult to maintain "good" ones.
1214
I grow old, I grow old ...How to grow old gracefully? I suppose the first thing on the agenda is to give up sex. Just forget about it. You've had numerous wonderful experiences in your long life, but now ... just forget about it.
"You miss me, but I don't miss you."
The Sleeptalker, in the game on Wednesday, wanting to play verbal tennis. As I said in Tale 1207: ... unless he was the stranger in the game who said good morning to me. Maybe.
It was.
I smoked him out on Wednesday but without letting him know I'd done it, so then he brought in one of his known characters and made that remark. Don't you think I now have the right to slap the brat?
the tales