To celebrate the recent triumph striking down the California ban on gay marriage, Jessica and I pondered aloud that now we could actually marry one another, agreeing that with enough Nutella and banana crepes she can be talked into just about anything. Such a darling girl.
Personally, I think she's holding out for Tina Fey. Or Gavin Newsom. Or handsome man Dan, who is quite the catch.
It's bloody fucking hot here. 99, 98 degrees in a UCB building that does not believe in funding air conditioning. Graduate students swoon into sweaty fitful naps and grown people spray each other with misters as a way of greeting as if they were rare fragile orchids passing one another in the hallways.
I am now packing for "vacation": a week in Maine with my parents and siblings, all to celebrate the marriage of my youngest and dearest brother to the world's most incredible girl Sarah. Sunday, red eye. I have Valium, but only enough for plane travel, not enough for the whole week. Scotch it is!
At 4 AM this morning Steven broke out into one of his waking moments of pure clarity, describing my intimate workings of and how much he admired those broken cogs and Scotch tape that makes up The Madame. I won't dump it all upon you as it was lovely and lucid and everything you'd want to hear after fourteen years of the same damn jokes. (Steven get major props for the copious use of one of the best words ever: "wanking" - in all its forms and uses. ) As alluring as mystery might be, it is delicious to be utterly known.
Tonight we went to the Fog City Diner on the Embarcadero to celebrate Steven's new job. On the walk back to BART at sunset, San Francisco's resident flock of parrots flew overhead and landed in a couple of trees nearby. The parrotty cacophony was amazing: like two thousand grandmothers all shrieking at once. Magic.
This little film is so lovely I have to share.