Garage Sales in Paris
OK, I know, it's been three weeks, but that's better than Jim Jubak, who went offline in May and only just showed up. Apparently, he was the last paid contributor to MSN Money, and they decided to drop him, too. You know, the most widely-read and respected investment analyst on the Internet. Makes you wonder what will happen when there are no actual analyst and reporters, just Sarah on Fox News.
~~~
Paris is, of course, still on. Sweet Junie is tidying up the wee bits of
outstanding necessaries, such as museum tickets (and don't forget Disney,
yeeeeessssss, we're going to Disney). I've confirmed that my T1 Mobile G1
will work just fine in France and Junie is convinced that our various credit
cards will access ATMs and be accepted. Having been to busy to even blog,
you will understand that I'm WAY behind in my French lessons.
~~~
Boulder news includes: A young man died after drinking poppy tea.
The housing market is dismal in Longmont, but apparently recovered in Boulder.
The Camera classified
lists "Turd Herders" as a valuable service, with the catchy marketing slogan
"We pick up where your dog left off".
~~~
I received my member's copy of the latest Walt Whitman Award, The Waker's
Corridor, by Jonathan Thirkield. It's the first Whitman in a long time
that I actually quite liked. The judge was Linda Bierds and the back page
notes reference contributions to New American Writing, Colorado Review, and ALC,
so I wasn't sure what to think going in. I like it for a dozen reasons,
none of which are the same as my admiration for GC or Dean Young, for example.
I also am only just into it, so I don't really yet ken the architecture of the
book. I liked "Abend (10:101)", for example, for the language and for the
fact that my children ran around the Köln cathedral
chasing pigeons and gawking at the chalk drawings in a former life. There
are pieces that are rather matter-of-fact and pieces that are either deranged or
playful, and I don't care which. Such as "Your Journey (4:111)":
"Boat toy boat law boat low in Melodie's arms. She blows green water /
ripples, she squeezes humming blots from bows, her lungs." I don't think I
love any single poem so far. It's more that I admire the way that this is
really somehow a book of poetry with a hidden structure that intrigues me.
~~~
Derek comes over every couple of days and does something useful to make money
for next year. He did a bang-up job of painting the new lattice, an idea
of Junie's to keep our deck space somewhat more private. He also has
figured out how to add CHARM and the Erie Landfill to Goodwill as a repository
of my excess stuff. He's coming again tomorrow, so I need to get cracking
with a new list of chores I don't want to do. My HoneyDon't List, if you
will.
~~~
Junie and her kids have been scouring their huge garage for things to drag out
for their Saturday garage sale. This includes apparently all manner of
domestic excess, such as a sofa and freezer and CD's and God Know What Else.
My homeowner's association, which I actually don't recognize as a ruling body on
my architectural modifications or how long I keep my trash can on the street or
how loud I play my music, but I digress, is having a mega-garage sale, in which
they pick a day and put an ad in the paper and everybody is supposed to lockstep
and throw their priced items out on their driveway. My plan is to take
everything that Derek hasn't carted off somewhere, put a price of one cent on
it, and surreptitiously insinuate them into the stuff of other garage-salers.
~~~
More when I think of it.