Mallory's Camera

I can't tell you how charming I find the prospect of postage stamps that play the Bhutanese national anthem.

Somebody really needs to write a novel about Burt Kerr Todd.

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In other news, B sent me Michael Chabon's Telegraph Avenue, which is the one book I've been big time jonesing to read for reasons of geography and propinquity. One chapter into it and I think it's overwritten. That won't change. Chabon always trowels on the verbiage. What a sharp pleasure, though, to read a description of a street corner and know: I've stood on that street corner; I've waited for that red light to change.

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I also had a dream about the State Street Diner. Specifically, that day a year ago when I'd mixed up the assignation spots, gone to the State Street Diner to meet B when we were really supposed to meet at the State Street Gimme.

And I saw Mark walking down the street.

In the dream, it was a kind of historical reenactment, like the stages of the cross. I was watching from the sidelines. And I realized as I watched the woman playing me, the man playing Ben disguised as Mark, that this moment was significant because I was being told for the first time that Ben was very ill. As though that announcement was really, really important to my life.

Thing is, though, it's not.

The day after my dream, there was a huge electrical fire in the State Street Diner. Owners aren't sure they'll reopen.

Which kinda made me sad – State Street Diner was always one of my favorite places in Ithaca.