cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This actually must not be normal and I should not accept this as OK anymore. Last Friday I went crabbing. I brought the good Lindsay along. We went to a state park in the really brackish part of the James River. Where we found fossils on the beach, but no crabs. I asked a park ranger where we could go and she sent us to a seafood restaurant with a public boat landing and fishing pier. We ate at the restaurant and then hauled up crabs on the pier. I brought along a double-burner gas stove and steamed the crabs there on the pier and we ate them and it was worth the long drive. I used the small part of the claw to pick out the meat from the large end of the claw and the chunks of the body, broken in half under the orange pink sliver of a moon. Alex gave me some half-assed bullshit about having been sick and then hasn't responded since. I went to the memorial service for my former teacher at the UV@ Y0ung Wr1ters Workshop on Saturday. I thought that I'd see loads of people I knew. Old music scene people, DMB members since Greg produced their first recordings. Maybe they got so old that I didn't recognize them. So I skipped the after party at his farm. The service happened to be at the funeral home where Janine works. Janine and I were supposed to meet up and go to a concert together afterwards, but she had to be on call and ready to hear a need for a body removal and everything that follows, and you can't hear that while a surf rock band is playing a Cure cover, so we went to a brewery instead. Her friend and co-worker, Sierra, made eyes at me. Sierra is 24 and I guess that is not supposed to be on the radar now. I just found out yesterday that my sister is coming here next Saturday with her husband and kids. And my brother will be coming over with his wife and his asshole kids. And my kids are to be there. And this is some sort of weird celebration of my and my twin brother's birthdays. On which I was asked to run the fire and make hot dogs. I will not "make hot dogs." I will grind a blend of sirloin and brisket, with a measure of wild onion sauteed in oil, which will be blended in to the grind with salt and black pepper. Then served on buttered and browned brioche buns, with a perfect cole slaw, and for dessert a vanilla custard made with free range duck eggs and whole vanilla beans. My children will demonstrate their expertise and capability. My son will make ice cream of a height that none of them have ever even thought of. My daughter can at least make a pretty good salad before announcing that she is getting married. The important thing is that my brother notices how extraordinarily capable my children are and what a total school-shooting-in-waiting his own kid is. I hope that my sisters kids are old enough that I can take them fishing on the ponds I've been micromanaging and they get to haul in a 2 pound bass and eat it for second dinners. This is one of those things that Alex should have been here for. And she won't be. The good Lindsay is so good. I try to muster excitement for her ankle, her mouth, her crouch. And it just is not there. She puts no effort whatsoever into her appearance. Like, nothing at all. She is a wonderful person. I want so very much to be engulfed with enthusiasm for this Lindsay, but she does absolutely nothing to look attractive any time that I see her. She is ten years younger than me but is dead set on looking 20 years older. I am really trying, but she is not. Alex's job has survived. She's just being an asshole and not giving me more details. 3:39 a.m. - 2023-07-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||