(no subject)

Amanda and I are clearly in the same karass.

She fed me possibly the best omelet I’ve ever had – ask any chef: It’s actually difficult to make a good omelet – as well as an amazing chocolate cake with raspberry ganache filling she’d baked herself. We took selfies! The selfies made us look like hags. We texted one of the selfies to Super Mario anyway.

She lives in an 1820 house deep in the Columbia orchardlands. She remodeled the house herself. She has an excellent eye. The house is in back of Olana, three miles away from glamorous, downtown Hudson a/k/a Williamsburg-in-the-boonies.

“How do people support themselves in Hudson in the wintertime?” I asked her. “I’ve always wondered.”

“It’s hard,” said Amanda.

Afterwards, I took off to see the fishing shacks. They weren’t as visually interesting as I'd thought they would be, and by the time I was finished tromping and gawking, it was raining – not necessarily hard but persistently. Also, I’d forgotten about the time change, so it was practically dark when I got home.

L had cooked, too. An elaborate chicken and oriental coleslaw meal. She invited me and Benito. Benito is finally going back to school, so he’s in good spirits, coming out of the basement. When are you gonna come out of the closet? Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk, I keep wondering, but as we’ve already established, I am not a very nice person.

I staggered off to bed. I slept for 12 hours. I would have slept longer if I could have – I love to sleep. Especially in this dark nook of time between November and the end of February.

###

I’ve discovered the world’s best TV show. It’s called Time Team, and it consists of archeologists doing excavations in hugely populated places throughout Europe but mostly the UK like the hideous townhouses in Ipswich or the ghastly Spanish rivieras along the Costa Brava.

I can see now that I blew it in this reincarnation when I didn’t become an archeologist – like I wanted to when I was eight years old.