T Minus 24 Hours'n'Countin'

In roughly 24 hours we’ll be in media res of a barrage of results from exit polls and election results. Sitting here at work, the gravity of tomorrow’s events is not resting heavily on my mind. Currently the importance of getting the fuck out of here is, however. My freedom will not be realized, unfortunately, for another 2½ hours.

Saturday afternoon I witnessed Peter Singer speak. He looked vaguely familiar for some reason. During his introduction, the speaker said that he had been on NOW with Bill Moyers and that is most certainly where I saw him. (He was interviewed for the same episode as Susan Jacoby.) It was a really great speech that he gave and, when I went to get a book signed by him, he proved to be extremely friendly. I wished that I could actually spend some time with him talking about whatever tripped his trigger. Afterwards I went home having decided to opt out of dinner and the rest. The atmosphere was just irking me for whatever reason and I thought I could be more productive and happier if I were at home where I could write and not have to step outside for a smoky treat. And so I had a mellow Saturday night far away from the throngs of revelers/rioters on State Street.

I woke up early on Sunday morning having been blessed with an extra hour of Daylight Savings Time. A trip down to TH was amusing as Miss Vicki was there as well as the usual crossword puzzle. I noticed that Tull were featured in the WSJ so I hastened to read it. What a bunch of crap! The story was all over the place and had factual inaccuracies. Honestly, it was just boring and I wondered why the guy wasted so much space on Ian Anderson’s sarcastic comments on the bathrooms of venues instead of writing about the tour and Tull’s future.

As long as I’m in a Tull vein, I received confirmation this morning that I’ll be interviewing Andrew Giddings, they’re keyboard player, come Wednesday when they’ll be in town. Although IA would have been more appropriate for GMR, I think it will be fun to interview Andy. Since he’s friends with Honest Dave Pegg, he likes his barley pop and so I’m going to bring him a sampling of some local suds. I’ll have to work on a list of questions for him tonight.

I spent yesterday afternoon/evening/night at Dogger’s playing D&D. We killed a frost salamander as well as a dozen bugbears. Mystina and Hoda have become quite a pair. Whenever we begin infiltrating a keep or lair, Mystina inevitably reconnoiters on her own and encounters some lowly guard whom she knocks unconscious and drags back to the rest of us like a cat who leaves dead mice at your doorstep. Hoda then takes responsibility for interrogation which inevitably ends up like a scene from Abu Ghraib prison.

Mel was doing well. Her speech sounded completely normal. Although she required help, she was mobile. Miss Regan was funny. Not only is she incredibly cute but she’s also turned into a monkey. Pete had her standing on a chair and she proceeded to climb up the rungs of the back of it. She scoots around the floor at breakneck speeds until she finds something interesting like vertical blinds whereupon
she starts banging things together. At one point she fell over face-first into a table leg. I picked her up and she stopped crying in about a second and started motioning to be put down again as there was a bit of detritus on the floor that had caught her eye.

I had a good time casting spells and making googly sounds at Miss Regan. Had I not gone over to Dogger’s, I probably would have gotten laid. The Dulcinea sent me a couple inviting e-mails which included lines like, “I also played with my breasts while I was in the bath. (and after I got out). They are fun.” This was obviously libidospeak and translates roughly as, “I wanted you to call me and say: ‘Hey, your breasts *are* fun! Let's you and me and them get together today!’” Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to actually have fun with any part of her anatomy so I checked out some pr0n online and jacked off in the shower.

Such feelings carried over to this morning so I stopped in at CZ to say hello so Miss Jolene. There is nothing quite like starting one’s Monday with some mild arousal. (Well, actually getting laid before going to work is good.) I would pay to get into her pants. Not my life savings, but pay I would. I think it was The Caffeinatrix who once remarked that
she wasn’t my type; she’s exactly my type. Long hair, boobs – that’s precisely what I’m looking for. And to boot, she has these eyes that draw me in and has a smile that I could fall into – just perfect. But a man’s gotta know his limitations. I asked a barista out before and it ended in disaster after two dates. I had to stop going there. So I learned my lesson and I refuse to ask baristas out on dates because things will inevitably go wrong. You don’t wanna shit where you eat, after all.