Plans to go to a music festival with beloved friends fell through, because their day of shopping for apartments lasted much longer than they anticipated. I can understand that... They've got a lot more to think about in their apartment search, what with the fact that they have two kids and a car and all. Me, when I'm looking for a new apartment, I'm usually so anxious to get out of my current living situation that I'll go with the first place in my price range that seems reasonably comfortable, and only move when/if the drama level gets too annoying.

So, instead, I went across the street to my favorite cafe to read the epic graphic novel Blankets, by Craig Thompson, same author of Goodbye, Chunky Rice, which I read awhile ago and loved so, so much.

In Blankets, as in Chunky Rice, Thompson tells a story that everyone can relate to, but in a way that makes the reader feel that he/she is one of the few unique souls whom it will move. Ahhh.

Afterwards, deciding I'd rather wander the sidewalks then stay inside and wallow in the happysadness inspired by my reading, I left the cafe, hopped on the train, and headed downtown. (On the way out of the cafe, a man held the door open for me. I thanked him, he said I was welcome, and added, "By the way, nice eyes." Like they were a pair of shoes I got on clearance. It made me giggle.)

I decided, during my nocturnal constitutional, to phone my sister. I don't do that often enough. Despite our many differences, Kara and I can look at each other and exchange an eye-roll or a smirk and know exactly what the other is thinking. She's one of the only people in my life with whom I can sift through memories, without fear of being sickened by the bittersweetness of retrospect. Nostalgia can be a dangerous swamp emitting a miasma of melancholy and decay that is strangely addictive.

I can recount history with my sister without getting too analytical. She has a way of helping me keep things in perspective, of accepting that the past is the past. And I feel our common history even when we're talking about the weather.

Anyway.

On the way home, I was treated to a music war on the train. Two strangers alternately improvising raps to the beat of another stranger performing vocal percussion, until everyone ran out of ideas. I love the city.

In reference to the picturesque:

Um ... This is totally cliche, but the sunset was lovely. Sparse clouds like insulation bursting through the Easter egg dyed ceiling.

To throw in something picaresque:

PABLO FUCKING SWEETNESS HAS MOVED TO CHICAGO!!!! (Click on that link for the more detailed Pablo story.) WITH HIS WIFE, NO LESS!!! Holy crap. I'll be hanging out with them on Tuesday, and I'm so excited, I could shit my pants.

LOOK!!!

To: Luvabeans
From: Pablo Sweetness
Subject: Pablo Sweetness*

hey kelly

i hope this note finds you well and in chicago

iv got two things to tell you that you might find interesting

1) i'v been living in chicago for about a week now...no shit

i live in [someplace in suburban IL] at [some inn in suburban IL] as the graveyard
bartender in the lounge
so far its great here

2) i live here with my new WIFE
yes im maried and living in the subburbs of chicago

so i guess we should all get together

call me or write me back
im off for the rest of the night
and we plan to head into the city for the first time on tuesday

i cant wait to see you

yours

pablo sweetness

See?

I talked to him tonight, and he sounds wonderful. He's known his new wife for about a year and a half, and he alluded to the fact that a deciding factor in their tying it was that they both needed insurance, which made me laugh at him, but he assured me that she's great and sweet and talented and gorgeous, and that he's been talking me up since they decided to move. (Which was, like, a month ago.)

Apparently, she and I have similar senses of humor, (meaning that he must steal her one-liners as often as he stole mine,) and an interest in theatre. She's also a huge fan of Kitty, the mom on "That 70s Show," who Pablo was fond of reminding me that I'm very much like. I can't wait to meet her. If he flakes on me, which is a distinct possibility, I might cry.

He's excited, I'm excited, we're all excited. Tuesday! Whee!

Funny thing, as shocked as I initially was to find out that he was in Chicago, (especially considering that he'd sworn off winter forevermore,) I'm not so surprised to have him back in my life. You know those friends you have that sort of brand you for the short time you know them, and you run into them in the most unexpected places, like the subway or at a gathering at a mutual friend's? Yep. That's my Pablo. I think of him so often that it feels like I conjured him. We will laugh so, so much.

I can't say I don't worry about the boy, because, and this sounds horribly judgemental, there's something frantic about him that makes me suspect that he's deeply unhappy, but I love him and hope that this is right. My boy, who swore off monogamy. There's got to be something greater than health insurance that caused this turnaround. Hoo, let's hope.

He has such a good heart, that one. During a party very early in our acquaintance, he and I and some more of our friends were fucking around, being stupid. During a lull in the tomfoolery, Pablo looked me flush in the face and said, "You're going to have a lot of happiness in your life. I can sense that about you."

When someone like Pablo, who tries so hard to master frivolity but can't help being dynamic, goes all Yoda on you, it makes an impression. The contrast makes it seem genuine, and the predictions almost like destinies. I mean, Dionysus might be a fuck-up according to some standards, but he never really lied.

Hot fuckin' dammit. Pablo Sweetness.

To end with the picayune:

My cat is a dumbass. He can't figure out how to eat out of the left side of his food dish, and just paces around the food, clawing at the air and looking confused. I refuse to fill the right side until he figures it out. Is that mean?

* Pablo Drops? Sounds like he blew himself up somewhere over Fort Lauderdale. Given his description of his New Years "anticks," I wouldn't put it past him.

** The computer-hating, dyslexic Pablo has a habit of entering his full name in the subject line of emails, because I don't think he yet understands how it all works, and that his name shows up in the "From" category. Hee. You can take the redneck out of the boy, but you can't take the boy out of the -- never mind. That image is a little too "Deliverance."

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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