Didn’t go to the office, because I was waiting for the oven. This ruins everything! It was Wednesday, and that means Lobby Pizza! I’m worse than a dog when it comes to routines. But routines give the day and the week a sense of order. They’re mileposts. The tombs along the Appian Way.
Speaking of which, that was an interesting decision, Roman folks. Put your big tombs up along the superhighway so everyone could pay tribune on their way past. Imagine if the interstate was lined with crypts and mausoleums and enormous crosses, a necropolis interspersed with billboards for Dairy Queen and McDonald’s.
Anyway, it’s now an hour and 17 minutes past the delivery window, and that’s to be expected, I guess. Problems with the previous installation, I imagine. Well. My install requires carpentry.
But a call would be nice. Wait a minute! Do I have my phone set on silencing unknown calls? I do! I got one marked spam! Could that be them? What if they called and got no answer and decided “well, despite our text communication yesterday and assurances that he’d be there, I guess going to voicemail indicates it’s all off. Check that one off and move along to the next.”
I called the number back - it was local - and a voice said “California.”
I was tempted to respond “What is the name of Hopalong’s sidekick?” as if this was the Old Time Radio Jeopardy! Category. I waited.
“Press one if you are in California. Press two if you are not in California.”
This did not seem to be apt for a local appliance delivery company, unless they were being managed from the West Coast. It’s possible. But no. Okay, on to the next irritation: trying to get some answers from Daughter via text. For some reason our text conversation has dried up, and it’s immensely depressing. What, you say? Shouldn’t you take that up with her instead of putting it here? Hey, if I want to keep something from my family, I put it on my blog. They’d never know.
It’s the usual college busyness, I know; she has a million things going on, or so I gather, and one of which is a movie she wrote and will direct this weekend. But I have some rather important questions about holiday logistics and such that are just hanging out there, and when I text I feel now as if I’m violating a do-not-contact order. Sometimes you just want to say hello. And sometimes just a How Are You out of the blue can make you walk on air for a day, right?
If kids knew how little they actually had to do, they’d be stunned, and all parents would be malleable as Twizzlers in a sauna.
At least the lawn guys came today to start the fall clean-up. What, can’t rake your own lawn, loser? Okay, hold on . . .
Just counted to be sure. I have 27 trees. Two of my neighbors’ trees hang over the fence and produce an enormous amount of fallen leafage as well. So yeah. Problem is, it’s windy, and their attempts to corral the leaves was rather comical. Come back here! Stay there! Stay! So I think they’ll be back, perhaps with nets.
Now one hour and thirty-eight minutes. Not even a courtesy text.
UPDATE: Two hours and 15 minutes. Phone rings! Ah, it’s just the financial-investment office about some forms . . . that daughter has not signed. So grrr all around for that.
1:23 PM, and this day feels interminable. Aside from some column work, (which I will finish tonight, as usual) the only thing I did was write some copy for the 2022 Motel Postcard additions. To my horror I discovered that I had not, in fact, laid it out as I thought, and what’s more, I didn’t have the usual amount of cards - 99 or so is what it takes. Covid-19 killed the postcard show (the name of the first video played on MTV, by the way) so I couldn’t replenish. Now I have a hundred new additions already scanned, but they’re for 2023. I will have to cannibalize them. Or, of course, just NOT DO IT AT ALL.
Hah, kidding. The world looks to me to put up 99 annotated motel postcards every year, eventually arranged by state. What, you’re going to leave that up to some Flickr pool? Bah.
2:03 Phone rings! A different financial advisor with different paperwork.
2:50 Nuthin’ from nobody
Well, there’s only one way to force them to show up.
Take a nap.
UPDATE: Went to Best Buy to see what was going on.
Stove hasn't arrived.
Expected delivery: Jan. 13.
Charles Marville: "Chalet du square des Arts et Métiers, 3ème arrondissement, Paris."
"Demandez du plaisi" = "ask for pleasure," according to Google Translate.
Charles Marville, the pseudonym of Charles François Bossu (Paris 17 July 1813 – 1 June 1879 Paris), was a French photographer, who mainly photographed architecture, landscapes and the urban environment. He is most well known for taking pictures of ancient Parisian quarters before they were destroyed and rebuilt under "Haussmannization", Baron Haussmann's new plan for modernization of Paris. In 1862, he was named official photographer of Paris.
The area above looks pretty Haussmannized.