- Spent a good part of yesterday going through Things Old and Tattered with the notion of divesting myself of some of those items I no longer need-- or have not needed for some time but have not gotten around to chucking. So now there's a small junkheap ready to be dispensed with, including a small tonne of clothes, all of which would probably still fit if I cared enough to check. I hate doing this sort of thing, though. Too many items bring back memories and sensations best left firmly in the past. Yet, there remain some items I don't discard even if I probably should, objects languishing in the same hedgerow. Hedgerow? Would things were ever so ordered. Witness the chaos, after all. Or a small section of it, anyway.
- For some reason, I keep meaning to watch Walk The Line, but at every opportunity I shrink from it and put another disc in the DVD player. Why do I want to watch it and then not want to? Go figure. Perhaps it has something to do with Joaquin Pheonix annoying the bloody hell out of me.
- Apparently I have a (self-proclaimed) groupie again. Go figure.
- For reasons entirely within my ken, I've been listening a lot lately to the ZimmerMan, especially "Tangled Up In Blue," "Jokerman," "Silvio," and the like. (Not, however, "Mr. Tambourine Man," which I could gladly go the rest of my excuse for a life without hearing ever again.) I'm considering adopting "Dignity" as a personal theme-song. I'm also coming to the conclusion that I can no longer abide Neil Young even for a few seconds. Some of us have known the twaddle and the damage done.
- Have been contemplating revamping this blog, and especially moving over to Blogger's comment thingamajig but keep wondering if it'll be worth the bother. I'm so apathetic about starting on any significant changes because they're always more trouble than they're ever worth. Any thoughts?
- All but had my nightcaps comped last night at one of my locals because I gave the bartender a few volumes of short stories (Mavis Gallant's Selected, Ethel Wilson's Mrs Golightly and Alistair McLeod's As Birds Bring Forth The Sun). Mighty kind of her, but it of course had me wishing I could barter books for beer and so establish myself as a kind of millionaire in residence. Would certainly give new meaning to the term "alcohol by volume." Oh, to be lather-bound....
Alas, 'tis a slow day, and I without a thought to think. The animals somehow manage to pass such days luxuriously, their worlds either perches or divans. Cats somehow seem to be immune to restlessness. Oh, what that must be like....