Many weekends I find myself starring off into cyberspace. But this past weekend I had to get out of the house. My place is being painted, finally. No longer will I be able to play the paint peel game where I look at the shape left by flaked paint and come up with a corresponding like image. This looks like Korea, well kind of. I'm actually a little sad to see the derelict facade go away. Partly because my rent will go up and partly because I have no faith in the impending paint job.
Scaffolding, tarps and nets shroud the front of the building occluding the view from my bedroom bay windows. My room is filled with an eerie blue hue as light filters through the tarp. The scaffolding is tethered to the windowsills, eyelet screws driven into wood I assumed was dry rotten, heavy gauge coated wire threaded through looping back to the scaffolding to hold it in place. When the wind whips, the tarps fill with air like sails on a ship and with each blast the scaffolding pulls against the house creating a dooming cacophony of creeks and rumbles. At times I become irrational. I'm afraid the front of the house is going to be sheared off like one would see in a cartoon. I needed to flee the house. I needed to get dressed. Because seriously, if the front of the house rips off I don't need to be sitting there naked wearing just slippers, sipping on a glass of pinot gris, wasabi peanuts in hand, looking at profiles on Match.com.
I ended up going to a used bookstore. I love used book stores. It's something my mom, sister and I share. We all have too many books even though I don't believe one can have too many books. Then again, I don't necessarily subscribe fully to the Unclutter Movement. Too many people are obsessed with minimalism without the discipline to live that lifestyle. But I digress. I ended up purchasing two books Janna Levin's A Madman Dreams of Turing Machines and Karen Armstrong's Muhammad: A Biography of the Prophet.
On Sunday Courtney and I met up to have tea at Samovar and to read books. I enjoy meeting up with a friend, having dialog over food and then spending time with each other where we are engrossed in separate novels but still sharing space and time together.
After we were seated our server came over and squatted down at our table. She looked at me and her face turned white. In a somber voice she said, "You remind me of an old friend."
"I hope that's a good thing otherwise I can leave." I joked.
"No, it's comforting" she said with a sigh forcing her lips to curl up ever so slightly. "It's been a long time. What's your name?"
"I'm Eric."
"His name was Pete."
Thankfully Corks piped up, "I'm Courtney and you are?"
"Danielle."
It was all very maudlin. I felt strange. Mostly because someone else out there looks, or rather looked, like me. Poor fellow.
We placed our tea orders and Danielle left. Courtney and I looked at each other holding back the giggles that follow awkward situations. I whispered, "I wonder if he passed himself away?" which opened the flood gates of full on laughter.
Irreverence is served best as levity with a side of green tea.
