Friday, June 15, 2007
Does the little wax lion ever tell you to burn things or hurt people?
So I was wrong. That popcorn tin may be puny, but it's quite sweet and therefore, less is more. The honey popcorn is, almost sadly, nothing like the microwave honey popcorn I temporarily had in Vermont. That shit still makes me salivate and does not exist elsewhere, if it's even there anymore.
But this stuff is just like caramel popcorn, only honey flavored, as is the vanilla variety. The vanilla is weird. You're eating it and it's like eating two things that uh, just don't entirely go together. They don't quit mesh, but it's not bad. (See how easy I can be on junk food?) And the spicy TX BBQ is really quite tasty, I'm impressed. Thankfully, I have not polished it off the day prior to Drew's arrival. Good thing I didn't get it any earlier, though.
It is 5:30am in the goddamn morning. I woke up when D went off to work and strangely, am awake. This is the second time this year I've actually been eager to get up. (The first was, obviously, when I went to Japan!) Drew's flight gets in around 12:50. We're supposed to have thunderstorms today, naturally, as long as they aren't at that time, that's fine by me.
Fat little Bourdain has made an effort to keep me company, but has merely wiped out on his back next to me, all four paws in all four directions. He wears 'exhausted' well, especially for someone who does so little. Apparently he gets wiped out if we run our morning routine too early for him. (He always joins me at the bathroom sink and I have to turn one of the sinks on for him to climb into and lap up for like, five minutes, it's cute if a little odd). Every. Morning. And I think he does it to both of us.
(Mine is a little more dignified, thank you).
And you know, like most people I'm not a fan of conversations or writings that begin with, "Hey, so, I had this dream last night." But stay with me. And it was the other night. It was the first dream I ever had in which I plummeted to my death (that I recall, anyway).
I was in a convertible with Chris Thile from Nickel Creek, who was driving far too fast along narrow curvy roads atop a mountainous area. It made me nervous, but I figured he drove it every day. He drove off the road and as he tried to swing the car around, it was going too fast and just shot out into nothingness. He said, "Oh no, now it's just like that Depeche Mode song."
Like a bad jumpcut in a movie, we were then falling down trunk-first. I recall looking at him and thinking, "This is when one would normally say something like, 'It's ok, man/Hey, we'll make it/I love you, man!' but instead I shrugged at him and said something like, "Eh." I was thinking surely we'd hit tree branches to break the fall since shit like this doesn't happen to me, and I did freak out slightly as I realized I was going to DIE (the view of a vast canyon around you as you freefall is just not my cup of tea).
But we got to the bottom, not really sure how but it wasn't in a fireball of death. And on the ground was a receipt for $19.00 from James Bond, who had apparently stepped in to save the day.
Ok, I'm finished. So what the hell. What Depeche Mode song? And so Bond is charging now? (And really? $19? What happened to scoring with the leading lady? Not in my dream, I guess. Shit, he didn't even make a cameo.) Dreams like that really make me wonder what the hell I ate or drank before bedtime.