Friday, August 5, 2011
God I spent a lot of money at the Costo today. Is Costco as evil as Walmart? I hope not. I always see the same employees there and that's a good sign and they are not surly and that's an even better sign.
The stuffed grape leaves are back and I bought some because Jessie asked me to and lots of chicken which is now in the freezer and organic berries and Power Bars and olive oil and almonds and beer and water and oh hell. I have no idea.
Is Costco the Redneck Trader Joe's?
Jessie and Vergil are on their way here. They may have had to stop at some point for Vergil to find wireless to do some work. He does actual work for an actual company. The sheets are clean and that includes the ones on my bed and I used the clothesline today which is good because I think my dryer has a heating element which is out.
Freddy just called. Bless his heart. He wants to help me get my book published. The book I wrote so long ago that I can barely remember it. He said, "Books about waitresses do really well." He's graduating tomorrow and just had a second patent approved and has a children's book out and oh, you know, that movie- making thing. "I want to be your agent," he said.
Works for me. My Boston Yankee agent promised me the moon and stars and slipped away while I was busy planting a garden or something. Hope is a slender, tiny thing. Hope is a chilled mandarin orange, delicious and sweet as it goes down, quickly gone. But who knows? Not me. Freddy has the face of someone cut in stone.
Mr. Moon and I had a martini on the porch and he cut up a watermelon and we took the rinds out to the chickens and got a venison ham out of the freezer and I'm going to try and cook it tomorrow. I have never cooked an entire deer ham. I'm going to smother it in a barbecue sauce of vinegar and spices and cover it with bacon (because it has no fat of its own) and cook it in the oven in a covered pot very, very slowly. It's too damn big to cook in the crock-pot. We shall see how that goes.
Lawd, y'all. It's so hot. I can't even begin to tell you how hot it is. If you live here, or anywhere near here, you know. If you don't, you can't imagine.
I bought one of Costco's take-away pizzas today and I'm about to go cut up vegetables to go on it, to make it better, and then pop it in the oven, which is a sin in and of itself. Turning on anything which creates heat in this heat is just WRONG, WRONG, WRONG.
There are clothes hanging on the line. One chicken a day lays an egg. The cicadas and tree frogs are screaming. What are they screaming about? The heat? The joy of life? The existential meaningless of it all?
I have no idea about anything.
And for right this second, that is as much as I can deal with.