First, news from the Pynchon Project. Page 47:
They turn southward. Lights on the dash glow warmly. Searchlights rake the raining sky. The slender machine shivers over the roads. Jessica drifts toward sleep, the leather seat creaking as she curls about. Windscreen wipers brush the rain in a rhythmic bright warp. It is past two, and time for home.
While on the subject of Pynchon, here's a nice post on It Has Happened Before (the sub-head of the website, for those of you unfamiliar with the first page of Gravity's Rainbow, is "But There Is Nothing To Compare It To Now") about Zak Smith
I had coffee last night with an old acquaintance of mine from High School. I haven't seen her in over two years. It was wonderful to talk with her, and I found the conversation more engaging than I expected. She talked at length about her new-found passion for modern (or, as she said, contemporary) dance. Since I've been doing yoga and pilates with A___--a skilled dancer--this idea of dancing has already been on my mind. I've gotten more flexible since doing yoga (from not being able to touch my toes to putting my hands flat on the ground), and my slowly-developing core strength has made it passable for me to move a little bit after doing pilates--an epic improvement considering my post-pilates near-incontinence and uncontrollable quivering mere weeks ago. I want to do something with these new, underdeveloped skills. I want to dance. I have to stew on this a bit and remember that I make shit for money and have no idea when I'll be making more.
So everyone knows, when at Caffetto (Lyndale & 22nd), I ran three separate groups of people I knew and hadn't seen in a while, two of them who went to high school with me and K___ (my platonic coffee date). Either this is a strange coincidence, or I know the hipster nodes better than I thought I did. Unfortunately, this is probably the beginning of the end for Caffetto, I have little doubt that, soon enough, the hipsters will be gone, replaced by suburban kids with Sum 41 tee-shirts. Alas. To be honest though, I'm not sure which are worse. Can't we just go back to the days of Caffetto as the small, neighborhood coffee joint?
Fuck it. I might as well live it up while I can. I'll grab L___'s red vest, put some gel in my hair, and pack Gravity's Rainbow and see if I can get hit on.
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