It’s not late; I’m listening to “Wyatt Earp,” by the Marquees, featuring Marvin Gaye, produced and featuring on guitar Bo Diddley, and on the big Samsung is “Wyatt Earp,” a Kevin Kostner movie. Dennis Quaid as Doc Holliday, the luckiest man in history, played also by Val Kilmer and god knows who else, I’ll let the film buffs fill in the blanks, but Doc Holliday has been made to look good in movies, I’ll say.
Didn’t get rained on today, but beautiful clouds. Chicken Gap Pow and some vegetables stir-fried with pork and shrimp for lunch, less than a dollar. For dinner, some tropical fruit and a sandwich, which if I do say so myself, was an epic of the genre, a world class ham and egg sandwich.
Nothing really to do today, talked with some interesting people at school, goofed off on the Internet, but I looked good in my yellow shirt, Monday, yellow shirt day, the King was born on a Monday.
Taking it easy now. Half-way through playing out a Paul Morphy chess game from the late Nineteenth Century on a set that I made yesterday out of “Future Board,” some kind of Asian plastic heavy cardboard popular with us teachers. Got the moves off the Net, God’s greatest gift to man since Penicillin.
An hour more to kill before I can go to bed with any dignity.
Now does any of that sound drunk to you? Whatever you might hear to the contrary, I'm not drunk, I'm just drinking.
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2 comments:
I once felt animal joy in being alive and I felt this mainly when I was making love and I only occasionally feel that animal joy anymore and that's life. I'm 51 and I feel this way. I don't think my father started feeling this way until he was 95.
-David
Western culture frowns on extreme emotion, especially in public. We sit at a wake in somber reflection staring at the coffin, while elsewhere the mourners scream and tear out their hair. We miss out on the real joy that way too maybe.
Good for your dad, one of the lucky ones. Lucky you, too, fifty-one. Don't feel so bad, I'd pay good money to be fifty-one again for just one weekend.
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