Honey Peach Upside Down Cake

One thing that I’d forgotten was nice about having a laptop was the ability to huddle under blankets while typing blog entries.  This is the beginning of prolific period for me.

Last night I got drunk and called Meghan, who had gotten a perm and was on a bus.

Sometimes, usually, always, when I write, I write not knowing most of what I’m going to write, but knowing a particular word or phrase I want to get to.  For example, in this blog entry, I want to make use of the sentence “Aaron Shannon washed the blood out of her hair.”  Everything in between is irrelevant (until it is discovered) but the only direction I have is that I want to explain that circumstance and how it relates to my life, which it does only tangentially and because of the fact that I care about it in some way.

On Wednesday night, I went to a housewarming party in Mountlake Terrace.  As we (Marlon and I) turned the corner past Port of Subs to the road that would take us to the house, I said “These are my old stomping grounds.”

Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union is a book that I imagine as a Coen brothers movie, and maybe that is corrupting my interpretation of it, since it is really a Neo-Noir alternative history mystery (history mystery!) with definite political undertones and the only thing that’s really “Coen brothers” about it is that it’s about Jews and that it’s witty. I’m enjoying it, though, if only so far because of Chabon’s talent for inserting absolutely appropriate non sequiturs into what would otherwise be fairly mundane pieces of exposition.  Lines that I feel like I could just stare at and chew on for weeks.

On Monday night, Meghan Bunting fell and hit her head as a result of hot weather, drinking, and dehydration.  She went to the hospital; she is okay.  The gash was stapled and stiched shut.  Aaron Shannon washed the blood out of her hair.

“Not a hard case, not a scumbag, not quite a lost soul.  A yid not too different from Landsman, maybe, apart from his choice of drug.  Clean fingernails.  Always a tie and a hat.  Read a book with footnotes once.”

On Tuesday night, I went to dinner with Jen, Joanne, Christy and Rob for “free pizza” at Tutta Bella.  Jen’s hair is as long as it was 5 years ago, and longer than at any point in between.

When the dogs next door start barking, sometimes I wonder if they’re looking in my window.


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