Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday after suffering brain injuries from a fall. So it goes.

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Overheard yesterday at The Nightingale.

“I may have been a bad person. The things I done to my wife. The gambling, the drinking. But I’m not a bad person for wanting him to eat his carrots.”

Later. . .

“He don’t go out. He don’t drink. He don’t smoke. He don’t gamble. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead.”

I think the first quote was about his daughter getting angry at how he talked to his grandchild and the 2nd was about his son-in-law.

Wonder what Sunday dinner is like at that house. . .

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Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. . .

Thanks Jen for posting it!

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. . . that I have been rather silent on the topic of my weight and my progress or shrinkage.

The reason very simply is that ever since fat tuesday/mardis gras/pancake day/day before lent, I have been a piglet. Since today is Easter I think I need to get back on the wagon.

Tomorrow of course.

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A major benefit of living in the UK is getting the Friday before Easter and the Monday after off.

The weather is supposed to be beautimous. Stuart will be in Lille (I was going to go but decided to be responsible to save money for my upcoming LA trip.), Jen will be at her boyfriend’s flat (hopefully). . . so it will be quiet bliss!

Ollie is arriving tonight and they aren’t leaving until Saturday morning so we are going to kick around London tomorrow.

I had thought about taking my laptop home and doing a bit of work, and then I thought- fuuuuck that.

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My boss, M is without a doubt one of the best managers I have ever worked for. One of his special talents is being very accessible while maintaining managerial distance. Today M did something that is totaly uncharacteristic. . . he sent out spam.
 
It was an excel spreadsheet with a macro where you type in your name and it will spit out what your chosen career should be. (If you want to see it, send an e-mail to nicole AT travelingtreefrog.com)

I walked in the door after it had been sent out and Rav called me over to her desk. “You gotta see what it says you are!” She typed in my name and it said that I should be a prostitute. Adding my middle name isn’t any better. That combination tells me that I should be a ho. I think a prostitute is better than a ho. At least a prostitute is smart enough to be paid.

M sits behind Rav and he seemed a bit concerned. “It’s just a joke.”

Of course I thought it was hysterical. Colm walked by and I asked him what it said he should be.

“Topless model.”

“I’m a prostitute.”

“Excellent.”

Al told Liz to type in my name and M overheard. He IMed Al asking him to not say anything about putting my name in.

I immediately smelled blood in the water.

From: Nicole Thomas (NICOLE D. THOMAS)
Sent: 03 April 2007 15:32
To: M
Subject: RE: Not Part of this Years MYCD…….

Hey M,

We can talk about this in our one on one but I found this entirely inappropriate and I think it undermines my credibility with the team.

I may need to go talk to HR about it.

Nicole

 
PS. Happy Late April Fool’s Day.

 
Rav and I are now concerned that M will never send out a funny e-mail again.

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Stuart took me to dinner. This was an auspicious event as I seldom get any one on one time with him other than when we are sleeping. Stuart needs to have an entourage about which is often fun, but it can also be exhausting to constantly be sharing your time with others.

We were going to go to a tapas place in our hood, but they are closed on Mondays. We wandered down the street and found an Indian that looked nice (and it was, we will certainly be going back).

There were a couple of men two tables away that were using their loud outside voice even though they were inside in a tiny Indian.

“Didja see Casino Royale.?”

“Yeah.”

“Whadja think of it?”

I immediately got the sense that the person asking the question would base their opinion depending on how his mate responded.

“I liked it. I mean it’s a different character really. It was starting to become a caricature.”

“Yeah,”

“Like when Sean Connery was doing it. Cartoon.“

Stuart leaned across our table. “I’m going to go over there.”

“Please don’t.”

“Sean Connery was doing double 0 seven thirty years ago.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to go over there.”

“Please don’t.”

“If they mention David Niven, I’m going over there.”

“I would rather you didn’t, but I understand.”

A half hour later the loud talkers had moved on to politics.

American politics.

“So 1988 there was Bush. Then Clinton. Then Bush, now there might be a Clinton again. There could be twenty years of a Clinton or a Bush.”
“It’s like Maggie Thatcher.”

Stuart leaned over our the table, “Don’t go over there.”

Loud talker babbled on. “They’re going to try and get Arnie in. Pass a law so he can run.”

I mumble, “It will never happen.”

There was fear in Stuart’s eyes. “Thomas! Don’t go over there!”

We didn’t go over there. Marshall McLuhan wasn’t available to tell them that they were idiots.

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I know I have been a bit quiet lately. Sometimes I get annoyed with myself when I find myself writing, I did this and then I did that posts as if I was 16 and this was my journal. It also becomes difficult when you want to write about something but it doesn’t feel right because of the eyeballs that see this. I often wish I had an anonymous blog to blab whatever I want- but that smacks of onanism. (That’s a fancy way of saying jerking off.)

Friday night Stuart was due to came back from a few days in Madrid for work. He said that he would be home about 11. I went to the pub with work mates and it was a fun evening except for the two times I was trapped speaking to a couple of people who think a conversation is someone else listening to them drone on. I left at 10 so I would be home when Stuart arrived. The first sign that the evening held bad things in store was my oyster (tube pass) going missing from my pocket. What sucks is I had just bought my weekly fare that morning. Kiss £27.50 by-by.

I got home and waited for Stuart. And waited. And waited. He wasn’t answering his phone. Finally at 1 he called and asked me to meet him outside. That he had a gift for me.

I was. . . angry. . .

1. He was two hours late
2. He was drunk
3. He wasn’t dead as an excuse- although I would be killing him soon.

I went downstairs and there he was holding a traffic cone with a flashing light on top.

“Thomas Cole! I’ve brought you a gift!”

“You’ve brought me a traffic cone with a flashing light on top.”

“A bollard Thomas. I’ve brought you a bollard.”

“Why did you bring me a bollard Stuart.”

“Because it’s a gift! Come here so I can take a picture of you next to it.”

It was at this point I think that I hissed that he was fucking insane and what would the neighbours think and what if he caused an accident with the flashing light traffic cone, sorry I mean bollard, going missing and did he see what time it was and where the flying fuck had he been? I turned and went back inside.

I heard him follow me and go into the living room.

I steamed.

After a few minutes I went downstairs and he was passed out on the sofa. I decided to leave him there.

I really needed to just get away for the weekend. I would find a cheap Ryan air flight somewhere, anywhere and get the hell out of dodge for a few days.

I opened up our little mini safe where we keep our passports and pulled mine and–

Stuart’s passport was there too.

But Stuart had just come back from Madrid. His passport should be with him.

I got his mobile, and flicked through his text messages.

You know what I am going to say next. It’s the oldest story in the book.

I’m not sure what I am going to do. I’ve been staying the last few days with a friend. I don’t know if I am going to go back to America. Do I talk to work to see if they will sponsor me? Do I stick it out until November, get my visa and then leave him. . . I don’t know.

It’s kinda crap timing being April Fools Day and all.

Yes. . . April Fools Day!

Did I get you?

The entire story above is a lie. Well, except for the part where I went to the pub and lost my oyster.

And Stuart going to Madrid- yes, he really did go. . . I think.

And the part where he stole a traffic cone with a flashing light and told me it was my gift and made me take a picture next to it. That really did happen, but it was a few weeks ago.

If you walk down our street, you will see it outside our flat.

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