February 24th, 2005

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.

Just A Day…

nawlins_penguin writes: "I like reading day-logs too. I usually find some nuance about a person I wouldn't ordinarily get from their more...er...organized entries."

So, today seems kinda typical…
  • 6:00am: I'm still asleep, like people should be!
  • 8:45am: I wake up wishing I could sleep longer so that I wouldn't go to bed at 10:30pm like I did last night, loser.
  • 9:00am: Groggy on the back deck. Cigarette and fizzy water and groggy kitties. Look at the garden. I have planted hundreds of flowers. Only one is showing. Think: June will be nice.
  • 9:30am: Sit in hot tub in rain. Kitties are confounded. They want to be in my lap, but water is wet.
  • 10:00am: Tend to email (trans: delete spam). Tidy up some work spreadsheets. Think about putting in another hour of tax preparation. Justly thwarted from said Herculean task due to insufficient attention span and murdered brain cells.
  • 10:45am: Martha comes over to tend to some mutual biz and shoot the shit. Many social arrangements are made: she's coming to my party on Saturday; I'm going to her bar tonight. Oh my. I just promised I'll be at The Abbey tonight. Things could get ugly…
  • 11:00am: Try to wake up the Boyfriend, who sleeps too late.
  • 11:15am: Start writing an LJ thing. I should be actually working, but it's an ugly, rainy day. (Yesterday's excuse for not working as much as I should is that it was pleasant.) Wondering if Pamela, who's bed is below my parlour, is awake yet. If so, I can fuck around with Brahms on the piano.
  • 11:30am: Kill hookers. (Grand Theft Auto)
  • 12:00pm: Attack Brahms' Capriccio in B minor. I've stabbed at this half-heartedly several times over the last five years. I am surprised how easily it comes this time.
  • 12:45pm: Do actual work. Good dog. Big biscuit.
  • 2:30pm: Take break. Mac n' cheese. 15 minutes of a movie.
  • 2:45pm: Back to work. Grind, grind, grind.
  • 4:00pm: Work is boring now. Go try new leather conditioner I bought at a porn shop to replenish my poor, dry, cracking biker jacket. Results are moist!
  • 4:15pm: Plant some morning glory seeds in a hanging basket for the front balcony.
  • 4:30pm: Read a bit of a trashy horror book, listening to the rain on the tin roof.
  • 4:45pm: Take half a Vicodin, cos, y'know, they're there.
  • 5:00pm: Vicodin kicking in. Nap for a bit.
  • 7:30pm: Wake up. Get dressed. Stab at Brahms again. Polish off Bach's Prélude in G# minor — a very obnoxious key to write in.
  • 8:45pm: Drive Uptown to Crêpe Nanou for Micha's birthday dinner with Rob, Rory, changingthesky, Gabriele and Debbie. Eat very, very good food for a while. Discuss spooky New Orleans research project with Hespeth.
  • 11:00pm: Go with same to Saint. Run into defenestr8r, darkestsunrise, nawlins_penguin and others. Pinball, cocktails, banter. Shall see most of these fabulous people either tomorrow at nofunangie's Survivor Night at Lounge Lizards or my party at Clifford on Saturday.
  • 1:00am: Drive home, dropping off Hespeth chez elle in the French Quarter. Tuck the Boyfriend into bed with whatever kitty is handy. Finish this silly timeline. Read a trashy book. Go to bed eventually.
I don't think I like writing this entry. It feels too much like I need to account for all my time — and if I don't ascribe every moment to a billable hour, I'm going to get fired.
I Will Not Defame New Orleans.


Did nofunangie kick Australian ass on Survivor tonight or what?

Particularly of note: On episode one, she was picked last for the team, and several people tried to vote her off. Presumably, because she's a girl with tattoos and piercings — the which of what of whom idiot buff L.A. types cannot fathom. But when she came through on the flag-gathering contest tonight — twice! — are we surprised that those from Los Anguhleeze gave her the respect she so well deserves?

Oh my god, I'm becoming a Survivor junkie. Please, mommy, help.