Dear Diary: TMI
The whole day was TMI, so I have nothing to report. Either TMI or BAU. You don’t see BAU much — “business as usual” — and I wonder why (Fossil will tell me). Anyway, the day did not involve (a) laparoscopy, (b) incarceration, or (c) athlete’s foot. Athlete’s foot is close, though, so now you know why you want me to zip it.
The BAU part was good, but shop talk would be awfully meta at a Web log, don’t you agree? I wrote this and that. I played FreeCell hand #17985 about forty times, until I finally got it. I made macaroni and cheese for dinner: Kathleen came home before midnight for a change. A funny thing happened on the way to the vinaigrette.
I laundered the towels. I got a haircut. I launder the towels because the wash-and-fold service in the building cannot be persuaded to withhold fabric softener, the purpose of which (in NYC, where the water is already soft) I have yet to grasp. I got a haircut even though Willy, the barber, is on home leave in Peru. When Willy is here, the music in the barbershop is rigorously Peruvian. (Juan Diego Flores qualifies.) Today, the music was Brazilian, which is not only not Peruvian but Portuguese. The relief barber was aged 27 tops, but he did a very good job. He manicured the hairline below my ear so attentively that all I could think of was an Armani shoot.
While waiting for my turn at the barbershop, I read Vestal McIntyre’s unstoppable new novel, Lake Overturn. I have met the author a couple of times, and he is diffidence itself; but he writes as if he keeps the books for Satan. I used to think that the worst that could happen would be winding up in Hell forever, but now I know that it would be immortalization in Vestal McIntyre’s pages. It’s not that the writer is unkind to his characters — not at all. He’s just — accurate.
Which, coming from me, would be TMI; but he makes it fascinating.