I just woke up from a nap of maybe five hours, pleasantly surprised that it's not even morning yet. The good thing is that I get to go back to sleep before moving on to 1. laundry and 2. phoning home, the things on my plan for tomorrow morning. I won't tell how long it's been since I last did laundry, let's just say I have a lot of hauling and baling to do in the morning...if I actually wash the clothes then.
May began, like all Mays do, with my birthday. It's not a holiday in the U.S. but this year there was an immigration reform rally that had supposedly hundreds of thousands of (almost all Latino) people marching in downtown Los Angeles. I went, and on the train from Pasadena I ran into a guy named Dave who was going with his parents to watch and photograph the event, so I hung out with his group. The next evening some friends treated me to dinner and great company.
I've spent my time since then reading Kissinger's Diplomacy, being annoying, listening to Martha Wainwright's B.M.F.A. and Baby on her myspace.com page, listening to a lot of other music, and going to Caltech things: a Desi show that included the world première of the seriously funny film Made in Heaven, Arranged in Mumbai, the second half of an utterly fantastic glee clubs/orchestra concert, Capitol Steps, a theater friend's birthday party - and catching up with that crowd, another birthday party - saw two car accidents that night, a non-birthday party - met yet another trusty Taurean, et cetera, et cetera.
Went out to dinner in Little Ethiopia with Ṣọna, two-time ex-schoolmate, who just moved back to Pasadena after two years skiing and visiting Naija with his family. Also, called G. to say happy birthday. That call lasted one minute and ten seconds - he was busy. My father's phone call minutes before my birthday was half as long - I was driving. A few days later, I called dad about an hour before his birthday. It lasted a few minutes - I had woken him, so I promised to call later...
no use being so busy!
My neighbor's smoking. I just shut my sliding door, in part to protest his blowing smoke into my home. I must be the most annoying second-hand-smoker.
One minute life is perfect, I'm breathing fresh air, and the next I'm wondering if there's a fire and if not why I smell smoke. Why do people smoke?
Where was I? Hallmark or whoever makes money selling sentiment these days would love this idea - ex-day. A day to celebrate your former girl/boy- friends. As with Mother's Day, you can feed or gift or party, or you can hate it and "celebrate" by throwing out some garbage, physical or otherwise, or you can ignore it and let other people waste their money. That's fine too, Grouch. :)
I finished Diplomacy last night. It was long.