2000-10-24 - 4:24pm

On the internal soundtrack: The Smiths, "Is It Really So Strange?"

This is today's entry. I also posted yesterday's entry earlier today, in case you missed it. I was too busy traipsing all over the countryside to post it yesterday.

Well, the trip to the boonies was a success. Poindexter got his dirt bike. He's very excited. Made my trip to hell for the cash worthwhile. It's a Honda XR-250, for those who are interested in that sort of thing.

I liked Hagerstown, if that's what the town was that we passed through (it was more like a village). It had cool older houses, railroad tracks, everything within walking distance. I told Poindexter that if he wanted to move out to the boonies so he could ride his new bike every day, I could be happy in a place like that. The only problem with it is that it's too far from Kinkead's, but it's not like I get to go there every week, anyway. Poindexter said there was no work for him out there, and I said, "We can live on my salary and I can work anywhere." Poindexter dreams of doing this, of watching hockey and riding his bike all day. I don't think his work ethic will let him do it though.

The woman who sold it to us was named Silver. "My parents were hippies," she said. I told her about a girl I knew in high school whose full legal name was "Cloud". It sounded hilarious at graduation. The diploma guy was droning through the names, with pauses between first & middle and middle & last:

Jennifer... Ann... Braddock...

William... Robert... Buster...

Judith... Lynn... Catalano...

Cloud...

Well, the weekend seems awfully long ago right now. I saw the marathon runners, who impressed the hell out of me. Megan's husband finished 350th or something, which also impresses the hell out of me (there were about 18,000 runners).

Renee was wondering aloud if every human being is actually capable of running a marathon or if it requires a special physical trait or talent. Megan thinks any healthy person can do it if they train well. I'm inclined to think so too.

On the skate on Sunday we went past the Francis Scott Key memorial next to the bridge of the same name. Last time we were there, there was a drunk guy who was quite the flirt. He asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I said, "I don't know yet." He told me he was sixty and he didn't know either. I couldn't believe he was sixty -- he looked younger to me. Anyway, on Sunday he was there again, and I waved and said, "I remember you!" His face lit up and he waved back. Another drunk guy, around my age, with light brown flowing hair and beard and bright blue eyes, smiled and flashed the peace sign.

These men appear to be homeless. This brings up all sorts of musings. They're not mentally ill, like many of the homeless I ran into in San Jose. I have this feeling like I want to get to know them better, in no small part because they're a lot of fun to talk to. I wonder, if I got to know them, what would I find out about them? Would they want help from me? Or is it condescending of me to even think they need help?

We tried a place called Cashion's Eat Place in Adams Morgan for dinner on Saturday. Got to sit outside and watch the people go by. Poindexter had duck breast with tabbouleh, and I had osso bucco in what was supposed to be a white wine and tomato sauce but ended up tasting like homemade chicken soup. I hate homemade chicken soup, so I was disappointed, but if you like that kind of thing it would have been amazing. The meat was PERFECT. I could have cried. It's so difficult to get meat cooked perfectly. Otherwise it wouldn't be so damn hard to find and so expensive when you do.

I got a little note on my car. First time I ever got one of these, I think (my memory's pretty bad). It said, "If you should ever want to sell this car, please call Michael at ..." I've gotten verbal requests to sell bunches of times, but not a note. I feel bad for Michael. Hopefully he'll find himself one soon. Or herself. The writing's kind of girly and I know of two women with that name, so who knows.

previous index next