Okay, this break from politics is really working for me. It is helping. The biking accident has forced me to step out of my routine a bit. No more daily exercising. Now it is all roast chicken and potatoes drenched in animal fats, endless bottles of nice red wine. I've gained ten pounds or so since my crash on Sunday. Appetite is really something, no matter how much it takes in it's still somehow able to catch up with me. Makes a great jogging partner, always keeps pace perfectly as I slow to a walk and then a stop. It's good to take on some weight when you're feeling lonely. It's festive, helps keep me jolly, gives me something to laugh about.
The bruises in my shoulder back and rib cage have only become worse since yesterday. Men that are nearly 50 are not meant to be slammed onto pavement without warning. I know that now. Those days were meant to be long over. From this experience I can extrapolate that life is hard, from that observation the conclusion that so easily follows is that I am against immigration.
Nope. I don't even have an opinion on it. I could, but what's the point? It's a constitutional crisis, we're told. I'll let the experts figure it out, at least until it seems that they need my help. My expertise is primarily in the ability to confuse cultural issues with political ones. Nobody even bothers noticing. For many, there must be little or no difference.
Some friends texted last night after I had drifted off to sleep, encouraging me to find out more about Peppermint Patty. I'm just not in a spot where I can meet a Peppermint Patty and pretend that I'm enthusiastic about it, and just such an undertaking might require enthusiasm to make it through.
Winona Ryder's face is really something. It has the ability to surprise itself without the aid of a mirror. She reminds me of several people that I have known, a sort of amalgam of neurotic quirks and tendencies all wrapped up into one criminal enterprise. Things seem to sneak up on her mind and then overtake her face, completely without warning. The struggle is real - The Age of Innocence, indeed.
I don't need a Patty, I need a Ryder, a real shoplifter for the elites, a dark and crazy type with witchy eyes and a penchant for petty crime. If you watch the clip carefully, the way that I always do, then you can almost see which one of her demons has the drug problem.
Today is Pirate Day at school. The boy loves this sort of thing. He lives for it, truly. We pulled out a map of NYC and planted a big Treasure X out off of the coast of La Guardia, within swimming distance from Rikers Island. Then, we put another in the East Village near my old place. Tough to say how much pirate booty I left in those walls, or in the hallways.
He wore his turquoise shoes because they are the color of the oceans. Impossible not to adore those moments as they occur, little treasures wrapped up inside of themselves.
Winona would do great at Pirate Day. Kids love all things animated.
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