In My Closet
Thursday. The first three DVD's of the fifth season of The Wire arrived yesterday so I spent a good deal of the late afternoon and evening watching the first two, getting to bed around midnight. Which is fine. I took a break to listen to parts of the Republican convention, hear how Palin sounded real time, what she (they) chose to have her say. No need to hear Rudy Giuliani or any of the others speak other than to gauge what they've chosen for their attack. All of it culturally oriented rather than issue oriented, of course, but then that's what's worked so well for them these last many years and I suspect they'll carry it through to the end. Interesting if it weren't so depressing. We'll see how the Democrats respond. They haven't handled it worth a damn in the past.
To bed late, as I said, up around eight, a haircut at ten in the Oakland City Center and then to lunch with Ms. V who returned from China last week. No attempt to attend the Olympics, she spent the time with her extended family and generally, from what she was saying, had a really good time. Interesting to hear the differences in family obligations and interactions and to compare them to the mix of different cultural norms we've developed here. I suspect that's why I watch my Japanese and Chinese (and Korean) soaps, just to see, even in what is usually a cartoonish format, these differences in kind and emphasis. Teaches me something about the unconscious web of tangled influences I've managed to survive.
Survival is good. As you grow older you have a greater appreciation for survival. On the road, in the family, around the neighborhood: coming out alive can be counted a success.
There's a story here?
There's always a story here. Or there. It's the American story: the European-American, Scandinavian-American, Latin-American, African-American, Asian-American story that's the sub text of all our stories and we tell them over and over again.
That's pretty opaque.
As well it should.
Later. Hot again, the temperature projected to reach ninety. Still, this morning in the city there was a nice little breeze as I sat out at a table in the shade waiting on my lunch date with Ms. V. Nice, in other words, if you could but keep out of the sun. Still, back to the apartment, my rattling fan blowing air over my chair, still two chapters of The Wire left to watch on the remaining DVD. The final and fourth DVD will arrive Saturday and then I'll have watched the entire five seasons. A reason to get cable, I suppose: watch some of the other series they talk about. I won't, of course. Won't isn't written in stone, but I'm good at holding to these off the wall positions if only through sloth. Sloth, along with Ms. Emmy, are my roommates. Sloth, at least, doesn't mess up the rugs.
And how's Ms. Emmy eating?
Lately like she's just discovered food. Three of the little cans a day instead of struggling with two. The Turkey stuff she likes special. This is good. Whatever it was that put her off food these last months seems to have corrected itself. We'll see. She still likes to throw up her first taste of the day, as often as not, particularly in the morning, eating as if she hasn't been fed for the entire week. It doesn't do any good to start her with a small serving, let her eat it and then give her more later when that first batch has had a chance to settle in her stomach. She seems to have many ways of beating the system. Still, I'd rather have her eating and throwing up than not eating at all. The rugs? You can clean rugs. You can buy rugs.
Later still. I did finish that third Wire DVD late this afternoon, leaving me with nothing to watch but the Republican convention until one of my Chinese soaps comes on later this evening. I'm as guilty as anyone for my polarized political position I guess. Listening to this convention on radio, watching it on television, all those white male faces (actually, many of them have decent tans as is proper for people with money), I've turned into an Oakland political moderate which, if dropped into any other area of the country, would make me a screaming liberal. Except for the fact I still like guns, of course. I'm more like a Thompson Independent. That's Colonel Thompson, not Hunter Thompson. I keep more than cameras in my closet.