Diarism 001-002
2026-02-28
They pay me to field the incoming calls, but Saturdays are slow. I can just sprawl out, rearrange the contents of my bag, relax. It’s so dead I dipped out to snag a couple books next door. I acquired a rhyming dictionary and Pale Fire; not a terrible way to kill some clock. I read while listening to Laughing Stock and jammed out to Explosions in the Sky. Ate subpar leftovers; sometimes you try a fancy-looking recipe (Roma tomatoes, Spanish onions, some feta, all baked, combined with your pasta of choice) that falls short of gastronomical joys a chef has provided before. I still ate it; if I can clean my plate, I will. There was a crowd around the exit door, all looking at their phones. One of them wore Ash Ketchum’s trademark hat; I guessed it meant Pokémon Go was holding an event.
2026-03-01
Okay, one dropout, I can understand. Two is a bummer, but the show we planned can still work. But all three? That’s zero features that showed up? Just the die-hards in the bleachers? I get it, it was Nuit Blanche, but now your hangovers stick to you a little more than they once did, like heavy meals or long walks. 8:45; time to get this gong show on the road. But it ended up being a fun, if short, event. It was worth seeing if just for Robin, who cut off our spiel to end the night with a timid appeal to read “Waiting for the Barbarians.” Hoots! Hollers! The stuff of librarians’ nightmares. A perfect button. Our esteemed barman-slash-DJ-slash-sound guy then streamed a block of early Daniel Bélanger: “Opium,” “Les deux printemps,” “Ensorcelée.”