One ear has been muffled by wax for what seems like weeks now, and today I’m just dopey. Gray sky doesn’t help.
Had my eyes checked on Tuesday. Guess what: at age 42 they’re starting to get a bit stiff. Otherwise, no news is good news.
Coming up is the XX anniversary of the beginning of The Year When I Got Laid Quite a Lot. How time flies.
Also coming up, June 26 is the UN’s International Day Against Drug Abuse and Illicit Trafficking. I trust you’ll observe it appropriately.
Act for Love — “because activists need love too . . . ‘take action, get action.’”
You can see my house! In 1988–92 my then wife and I occupied the ground floor of the white three-story house to the left (north) of the red building behind the yellow truck in the foreground. We liked the cool climate but the damp got to be too much: some of my books mildewed.
The flat came with a brain-damaged cat; the previous tenant had found her with a cracked skull and had her patched up.
When Lady Underfoot disappeared we sought a replacement at Greyhaven, which had for some time been notorious for supplying local fandom with well-socialized kittens. We brought home Gilgamesh because he jumped up and washed my beard (perhaps mistaking it, because of its color, for one of his tribe; but he never did that again). Soon we decided that he missed his large family, so we brought home his sister Flojo. (But we called them Red and Pink respectively.)
Eventually the missus moved out and we sadly returned Pink to Greyhaven (Red having died, apparently of blunt trauma in the street). I don’t know how she ended up.
Idea for Ron Paul: attach a rider to Patriot II, to change the flag, because it has become customary to do so when instituting a new tyranny.