Life is the only thing worth living for
There's no way to check, but I think I have been advised to "get a life" more frequently than anyone else on earth. My good friends say it at the beginning of practically every phone conversation, on those rare occasions when I actually pick up the phone; perfect strangers mumble it when they pass me on the street; sometimes, in quiet moments, I fancy I can hear God saying it in a tone gentle yet terrible.
I've had a couple of emails asking why the blogging has been a bit less "marathon" than usual. Actually, one of them thanked me for being less marathon than usual. That's the one that came right out and told me what to get.
Well, I do have one. A life, I mean. Sort of. My fiancee is arriving from England next week, so at this moment my alleged life is less focused on blogging than it is on trying to figure out how to fit a whole girl and all her stuff into my tiny hovel, which is far too overcrowded with nothing in particular as it is. It's way harder than a Rubik's cube. (I think we may need to rent another apartment just for the shoes.) Plus, I'm trying to get it up to "code," by which I mean clean enough for girl standards. As precious little cleaning has taken place around here for almost a decade, that's pretty tough as well.
Another factor is Emil Villa's Hickory Pit, or as it is known in my small circle, The Magic Kingdom. There are a few of them scattered around California, but the one I go to is near Pleasant Valley Road in Oakland, right across from the Safeway. It's kind of like a Denny's that serves barbecue. It's across the street from a retirement home, so your fellow customers are always colorful. I don't think I've ever gone there without someone calling me "young fella." Their slogan is "where the elite meet to eat meat," and boy is that ever true: that's who we are, and that's what we do. (Until recently, their interior decor consisted of depictions of various pigs running for dear life. Sadly, they've attempted to update their look, and the pigs are no more. Even more sadly, you can no longer take the kids to see Santa Pig around Christmas time. Memories...) I believe that it may be my favorite place in the entire world. I even wrote a jingle for them once ("let's go out to eat at the magic kingdom of meat..."-- it was pretty good, but maybe you have to hear it.) I made a tape and sent it to them, but they never wrote back. I guess they just weren't in the market for a jingle at that time. I dearly love everything about it. The point is that after an Emil Villa's Hickory Pit Multi Meat 'n' Ribs Sampler, it's all I can do to crawl home and fall down on the couch. A pleasant state of hibernation ensues. It usually takes me a couple of days to recover. Blogging, organizing, and getting a life must be put on hold. If the occasional Guardian slop-ed slips by unridiculed, I'm sorry. I'll try to get the next one.
Fortunately other bloggers (those who are unimpeded by meat overdose and impending fiancees) are on the job. Welch is back with a slew of great posts on the California Republican vortex, among other things. Bennett has his own slew of great posts on that subj., too. So does Layne. Oh, and it's Moira's birthday, and she has discovered herself through internet testing: happy birthday, Moira.
Mmm... meat...
Posted by Dr. Frank at March 7, 2002 01:22 AM | TrackBack