A Heartfelt Testy-Monial

I’ve thought of a solution for all those people who are always rushing around in such a panic, leaning forward, scowling as they make for whatever it is they’re making for.

Try this: Pretend you’re Paris Hilton keeping the paparazzi waiting for three hours. That’s what I do.

A lovely CD: Chris Cornell’s Euphoria Morning. I played part of one song for Tom and he got a dreamy look on his face right away. Also, Chris Cornell’s CD Carry On, just out.

There is a Chris Cornell-athon underway at my place lately, between his two solo CDs and the Audioslave CD Revelations, Audioslave being a supergroup formed from members of Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden, the latter represented by Chris Cornell.

A supergroup, as I learned when I was getting my degree in pop music (picture academic lectures on Led Zeppelin, because that’s what there were), is a musical group made up of the members of other established groups. Another is Velvet Revolver, made up of Guns N’ Roses and Stone Temple Pilots.

Tom and I were back to Sacramento the weekend before last for the birthday of one of his brothers, Steve. We took the train and were picked up by the birthday gentleman himself, who conveyed us to Ann and Mac’s.

Paul and Eva had other plans for the evening, but came by for a while, which was great. Roster of attendees, for our New York reader, who may or may not still be with us: Paul, Eva, Ann, Mac, Steve, Julie, me, Tom, and Dan.

We had hors d’oeuvres, dinner and the opening of presents. Steve is an avid photographer and was given a photo printer by Paul, Eva, Chris and Sarah. He was bowled over—what a generous and thoughtful gift!

Tom and I gave him the KT Tunstall CD, another gem (not another gem like a photo printer, another gem like a Chris Cornell CD).

The other night, Hammett leapt into a tub of fine washables, and then went sloshing into the kitchen. I had to pick him up and try to mop him off before he licked half a cup of lavender-scented laundry soap off himself.

At first I was surprised he had made such a miscalculation, but then I realized it wasn’t an error at all—given his love of anything wet, he had probably been resisting the temptation to do this for months, and finally decided he could put it off no longer, even if it earned him a reputation as heavy on his feet.

I read an interesting thing in a recent New Yorker, about a man who has Asperger syndrome and learned how to get along with other people by reading Emily Post’s book Etiquette. Maybe it could work for me! I have ordered a copy, of the original, not the version updated by a relative of hers, per a review saying the later editions cover stuff the original wouldn’t have known about—email and cell phones—but that the original is better written and that if you apply the spirit of its instructions to any situation, you’ll be OK.

I told a male colleague of mine in Arizona about this, and he’s going to order it, too.

While I was feeling gloomy about my career options, I happened to see Jack, who does the wonderful bodywork, and he advised me to have a chat with his partner, Rod, which is a pleasant thing to do in any event.

Rod and I went to Soup Freaks on Mission St. between Third St. and New Montgomery—it’s a great place; good food and not expensive—and I told him my problems. He told me about a wonderful class he took at City College on career exploration, whose instructor said to let yourself be led by what you are curious about.

In the course of this conversation, I realized (again) that if I were ready to find another job, I’d be looking for it, and if I were ready to move to Ann Arbor, or anywhere else, I’d be in a U-Haul. Since I’m not, I must not be ready, so I might as well stop fretting about it. What a relief!

I read a really horrible novel lately, which received a huge number of glowing reviews from prestigious publications, which left me scratching my head. I thought the characters were flat, the plot turns improbable, and the motivation for many actions obscure. It also relied very heavily on sex scenes; we were asked to believe that when someone really loves you, he shows it by trying to get you to partially undress in public.

I won’t name it because I don’t want the young author to feel discouraged when she makes her way here, as is inevitable, but there actually was something helpful in it. One of the two-dimensional characters says to another two-dimensional character, paraphrasing here, “Since the people you love live in all different places, no matter where you live, you’ll have to miss someone.” I gave my forehead a resounding slap. All my problems solved (again) in one week.