On Professor Mark Gula's recommendation, I took in some pants that had a few mysterious slash-marks in the left cheek. Doina down at Saff Fashions said they'd be ready on Wednesday at 9am. Both me and my pants were fine with the rehabilitation schedule.
Read Gatsby outside on the deck all morning quaffing iced coffee. Flagstaff is hot in the sun and much better in the shade. I found some good shade but I was pretty tired so I went and had a nap. I had some more energy after that and did a yoga routine by a TV personality who's a real ball breaker. I drowned out her grating orders by playing loud rock music.
My new camera has mostly been takin footage of the photogenic Estelle Getty of Phoenix, AZ around food, or reenacting scenes from Italian neorealist movies that never saw the light of day like this one.
Until I am proved otherwise I am naming my firstborn Catfish, or maybe I'll just name my first cat that. What a great tasting vertebrate. We beer-battered nuggets of it the other night. Now I know why there's a rock band called Catfish Haven. They're suddenly my favorite new band and I haven't heard a lick outta them.
The meal was supplemented by beans and taters. OMG. The potatoes had every right to be good, but they took us to another dimension of spud altogether. Beans were good too. Her shirt does not say The Hemorrhoids, but The Horrors – good band.
Been hiking too, up and around rocks like this
And almost getting bitten by snakes that rear up and look at me like this!
Otherwise my life has been a crusade on words. I have some DH Lawrence readings to attend to. If all goes to plan, I'll be reading Lady Chatterley's Lover over the Pacific. On to Tupper Mansions.