a muddy little angst-cloud putters around the television set. it's joe's everest, after a fashion - he will watch it because it's there, and i can't blame him for wanting his life back. i still think that a bit of roughage belongs in one's cultural diet, though, and i want to watch rental movies. he mentions that we could move it to the bedroom, but i am too proud for that - i'm perfectly comfortable smoking on the porch in my underwear, but watching television in bed carries a special kind of shame.
a friend, an elderly technician at the hospital, has a karaoke machine tucked behind his front door; visitors need to sing to gain admittance to the house. i may work something similar into our entry rituals - a chalk board for haiku, maybe, or orders to perform a festive dance.
on the recent discussion of great closing lines, i would mention kerouac's dharma bums (a sentimental favorite) -
Then I added "Blah," with a little grin, because I knew that shack and that mountain would understand what that meant, and turned and went on down the trail back to this world.
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