strange radiation: the pool of radiance archive
Adventures with an unreliable narrator.
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Aug 30 03: on location
Greetings from the offices of the Arts and Business Council, the arts-advocacy organization for which Sari tirelessly slogs. Yes, we’re all here on a Saturday night—a Saturday night on a three-day weekend—but that’s not because we have no lives. Although that is also true. Sari is using the paper-cutter here to finish a batch of invitations for her grandmother’s 90th birthday party. Paul is keeping her company. I am using her computer. The teddy borg that I brought Sari from Vegas is staring at me from behind the pencil jar, with a look on its fuzzy grey face that says “wesistance is futiwe.” The little dickens.
Earlier, we had dinner at the ‘forty pounds of sushi for ten bucks’ restaurant not far from our apartment. Not bad, although I could only eat about 35 pounds of it this time. Prior to that, Sari had been at the movies and Paul and I had been couch-shopping at Macy’s. Most of the couches we liked, as it turned out, had upholstery in what they called ‘microfibre’ but which you can call ‘polyester-based pseudo-ultrasuede.’ Paul and I wondered if we’d have problems with conversations trailing off into nowhere as those on the couch became engrossed in drawing little pictures in the upholstery.
I have been taken to task for failing to post regularly since I acquired regular, paying day work. Don’t take it personally, dear reader: I’ve also failed to go to the gym regularly and write in my journal regularly. I had thought that turning 33—which I did on Monday—would magically transform me into a dynamic, proactive, disciplined, fascinating adult. One who also gets enough sleep. No such luck. It appears that if that’s going to happen at all, I’m gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way. Crap.