It rained endlessly in Brest that day
When it rains like this, I think of Jacques Prevert...
Rappelle-toi Barbara / Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là...
It's not hard to imagine San Francisco grey and bombed-out, with sulking Frenchmen in the doorways. I come home damp, change my clothes, and make a pot of wonton soup.
Bunker 2 is taking shape. I realize that I had planned to have it all done by the middle of February, but that was before the flood. As it stands, nearly all of the boxes have been unpacked. J and I have gone grocery shopping and we are able to cook. Bunker 2 smells like baking bread and chicken stock. J has finished putting up the track lights in the living room. The painter has kindly taken away the extra dresser and one of the small bookshelves. I have painted the entire bedroom and half of the dressing room. It is nice to have burgundy walls again - it feels a little more like home.
The dressing room is covered in mirrors, far more mirrors than I really need. I am a painfully vain creature. Just seeing myself from a bad angle could prevent me from leaving the house in the morning. I may never get to work. Besides, I needed to take those mirrors down in order to paint the walls. It turns out that burgundy paint over the terrible periwinkle color favored by the nice Polish landlady produces fuchsia. I understand that I will have great difficulty maintaining domestic bliss with J if I paint any part of our house fuchsia, which is why I spent a large portion of this weekend taping, then priming, then carefully sponging layers of burgundy paint onto half-a-dozen formerly periwinkle walls. It is also the reason that I asked J to take down the mirrors, which is how he found the porn.
You may have noticed a sudden shift in mood in this post. I was not expecting porn. I certainly was not expecting porn to take the shape of naked blurry pictures of my kind, impoverished, 60-year old landlady. Now, these photos were not recent. They had probably been hiding behind that mirror for quite some time. Nevertheless, I would like to provide this important tip to landlords renting out their own apartments: please remember to take your naked pictures with you. I should not have to sit here, having found naked pictures of my landlady, wondering how one disposes of such a thing.
Google has not been helpful. J is going to try Bing.
Do I give them back? Hi, grandma, I happen to have come across these naked pictures of you. I thought that you might want me to return them. That won't be awkward at all!
Do I throw them away? Does that mean that someone else will just find them? Is that worse than keeping them? If I keep them, where do I put them, in a folder labeled Blackmail? Can you even blackmail a grandma with photos that prove that she was once younger and made questionable decisions about her sleepwear?
Do I burn them? Do I shred them? Do I lock them in a box? Do I display them in my shrine to Poseidon? Miss Manners never covered this.
Please advise.
Rappelle-toi Barbara / Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là...
It's not hard to imagine San Francisco grey and bombed-out, with sulking Frenchmen in the doorways. I come home damp, change my clothes, and make a pot of wonton soup.
Bunker 2 is taking shape. I realize that I had planned to have it all done by the middle of February, but that was before the flood. As it stands, nearly all of the boxes have been unpacked. J and I have gone grocery shopping and we are able to cook. Bunker 2 smells like baking bread and chicken stock. J has finished putting up the track lights in the living room. The painter has kindly taken away the extra dresser and one of the small bookshelves. I have painted the entire bedroom and half of the dressing room. It is nice to have burgundy walls again - it feels a little more like home.
The dressing room is covered in mirrors, far more mirrors than I really need. I am a painfully vain creature. Just seeing myself from a bad angle could prevent me from leaving the house in the morning. I may never get to work. Besides, I needed to take those mirrors down in order to paint the walls. It turns out that burgundy paint over the terrible periwinkle color favored by the nice Polish landlady produces fuchsia. I understand that I will have great difficulty maintaining domestic bliss with J if I paint any part of our house fuchsia, which is why I spent a large portion of this weekend taping, then priming, then carefully sponging layers of burgundy paint onto half-a-dozen formerly periwinkle walls. It is also the reason that I asked J to take down the mirrors, which is how he found the porn.
You may have noticed a sudden shift in mood in this post. I was not expecting porn. I certainly was not expecting porn to take the shape of naked blurry pictures of my kind, impoverished, 60-year old landlady. Now, these photos were not recent. They had probably been hiding behind that mirror for quite some time. Nevertheless, I would like to provide this important tip to landlords renting out their own apartments: please remember to take your naked pictures with you. I should not have to sit here, having found naked pictures of my landlady, wondering how one disposes of such a thing.
Google has not been helpful. J is going to try Bing.
Do I give them back? Hi, grandma, I happen to have come across these naked pictures of you. I thought that you might want me to return them. That won't be awkward at all!
Do I throw them away? Does that mean that someone else will just find them? Is that worse than keeping them? If I keep them, where do I put them, in a folder labeled Blackmail? Can you even blackmail a grandma with photos that prove that she was once younger and made questionable decisions about her sleepwear?
Do I burn them? Do I shred them? Do I lock them in a box? Do I display them in my shrine to Poseidon? Miss Manners never covered this.
Please advise.