Dinner Out

All of the following is trivial in light of a friend's house burning down yesterday.

Transcribed from my handy-dandy notebook:

4-15-14 Tuesday.

American Tap Room. I just felt like a margarita.

This is the space that used to be Austin Grill, Mom's favorite hangout.

Rainy, cold, maybe even a freeze warning.

The Spring is confused. We just had a glorious cherry blossom weekend, and now the worms are stunned on the sidewalk, camaflouged (ack! sp!) by downed twigs, which is actually a spurious disguise. I should do a haiku about it. I recently took up haikuing (ack! sp!) but have abandoned the exercise as a little too disciplined and existential. I only haiku (verb) in the morning.

I remembered what I was going to say--it's about memory. It's hard to memorize anything now (witness, the first exercise in Ken Ludwig's book How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare  (or is it ...Teach Shakespeare to Your Children?), and yet I remember all or most of the two sonnets I memorized in high school.

My career as an actress has officially been called off.

I should have brought a book.

I could draw or something. No one's lurking, unless they're behind this decorative mirror.

Hello, lurkers behind the decorative mirror! Are you NSA or just a creep?

[Here, the author scribbles a "Kilroy Was Here" doodle]

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes | I all alone

Oh, mushroom swiss burger here!

Oh, and guess what. I got carded on the margarita. No shit.

...

Love, me.

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