I Smoke, Therefore I Amsterdam
Dear Joe Orton: Why have you haunted my life so persistently? I was born three or four months before you died, so it's not like I could be your reincarnation (or Kenneth's, as the case may be, but I'm feeling more Joe-ish again these days).
I am very tired, I am very merry, I went back and forth all night on the fairy ... you know, Edna St. Vincent Millay had her moments of brilliance, but that has got to be one of the stupidest poems ever ... catchy, though, kind of a poetry earworm ... this is looking to be a disjointed entry ... or maybe "enjointed," har har har.
I'm having my elevenses at Coffeeshop Freeland, which I'd somehow missed all these years until yesterday. It's where I was watching the young men play pool, if you were following my filthy-minded Twitter feed. No pool this morning, but I like the atmosphere here; there's a touch of the old Amsterdam brown café to it, which is very rare in modern coffeeshops. It's gezellig, to use the Dutch word. There's a big upstairs space I haven't checked out -- I've pretty much given up Dutch stairs unless there is no choice -- but the downstairs is roomy and comfortable. The budtender's "best weed" rec (an Amnesia) is wholly ordinary and rather dry, and I probably wouldn't buy weed here again, but it's a nice place to hang out.