Plans (don't get me started)

so, I'm back, which is nice, though not as nice as flying business class from seattle to a-dam. speaking of which, the pot story is pretty good, good enough that i'll be cooking up a long version and posting it to slog before too long (i hope). cannes was off-season, and very chilly, but very nice (get it? 'cause it's 20 km away and you fly into that airport?). plus, i got to speak a lot of french, which makes me feel way smarter than i have a right to. it gets easier every time i go. cannes was also incredibly expensive, which isn't terribly surprising. i tried so hard to write a lot about joni mitchell, but i just can't concentrate on the book. it'll get done, but far more gradually than i'd ever imagined. having always been a binge writer, i'm troubled by the winter molasses factor of my current output. (confession: i have no idea what molasses tastes like, though i do love ginnger molasses cookies.) on review, the stuff i'm writing is good, but clearly overwrought, in a fashion that will be familiar to anyone who has ever written to reach a word count (rather than say, a thesis).

in other news, i turned on the car radio today just in time to hear myself singing harmonies on the final chorus of my friends' song. it filled me with such despair that i almost had to pull over. instead i popped in a CD of KRS-ONE, who informed me of the following truth: "I'm the freshest thing on the mic, don't mess with me/ I'm fresher than your grandmother's fried chicken recipe."

word.

then i got home and David Hare's Via Dolorosa came up on my iPod. I listened to the whole thing, for the 50th time. it's still wonderful, still chilling, especially in light of the terrifying hamas victory. stones or ideas, indeed.

Question:

What the hell kind of D-Bag gets busted for bringing pot INTO AMSTERDAM?

The answer in a few hours, when I'm no longer in the Amsterdam airport...

Curses!

Goddamn you, WEBoggle!

Also, I confess that for several weeks, I thought it was pronounced "We Boggle," which is actually appropriate, and which, in all candor, and with all due respect to persons known and unknown, I still like better. Because we do. We Boggle. Incessantly.

Also, SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH.

My New Hat

So, I spent Saturday night on Whidbey Island, and after about 10 minutes of walking around the town of Langley, had seen every last burl and blown glass knick-knack I ever needed to see again. OR SO I THOUGHT! Right next door to the Inn was a store called (with perfect hippie tonality) "Music For The Eyes." Its wares consisted largely of rugs from Central Asia, but there was also a bunch of other stuff, including a ten foot tall throne made entirely of hand carved wood. Ugly? Yes, abominable! But still neat.

Just as I was about to leave so I could get slathered in hot oil and steaming towels for an hour while a stranger caressed my feet, hands, and scalp, I saw the best hat ever, which, as it turns out, was made from the wool of an unborn lamb in Turkmenistan, which, as it turns out, is a totes fashionable textile these days. It's so fashionable, in fact, that it has a special name, Astrakhan. It's two-tone, brown with blonde bits, and very curly, JUST LIKE MY HAIR! A bargain at $65. Sold, American!

The sad part is that the lining had been cut out, leaving some loose threads in need of sewing, so the magnificent hat (which the shopkeeper assured me is worn come rain or shine by his Turkmen associates) is now in the care of the louche gay Asian (if not, indeed, the louche gaysian) drycleaner whose work is typically excellent, but whose attitude, particularly with regard to the hat, I sometimes find troubling. I will be sad if something happens to the hat. I guess I'll find out Thursday.

Until then, here is a picture, bad of me, good of the hat:

New Year's Evil

Everything since New Year's Eve has been miserably sad. Life itself may well be unspooling, and every single mooring I have ever relied upon is threatening to float away. Especially my most trusted and cherished. I feel like everything is changing and nothing for the better.

The good news, I suppose, is that I will be going to France and Spain.

Also, this would be good news if it were true, i suppose: