tobermory's Diaryland Diary

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Playing footsie

Steve & I had dinner over at our friendís Bob & Dianaís last night which was nice. Particularly so as there was no tv Ė therefore no Oscarís broadcast. Itís not like I donít want to know, I Ďd just rather get the results all at once, which I can do in the newspaper in the morning. I can check out what everybody was wearing in next monthís InStyle magazine so Iím not really missing anything. Plus, they were supposedly going to let the winners run off at the mouth without limits this year and I canít stomach having to listen to a bunch of celebrities whine about their political views. Like I care Ė I could get better information evesdropping on conversations on the El. But back to dinner Ė which was uber-delicious. Diana made pork roast with a savory shallot sauce, asparagus, and cheesy potatoes. And for dessert Ė some sort of ohmygod warm cakey, gooey, melty chocolate thing. Soooooo gooooood. And of course Ė loads of good red wine.

Illinois would like to suspend my driverís license. No, I drive just fine thank you Ė it has nothing to do with that. My dad and I have a stupid car. It runs in my family to want to own silly, impractical second cars. In fact my dad has two. With his brother he has a Buick Grand National, which is really fast but canít be driven after two raindrops fall for fear of spinning out. And with me he has a Triumph TR6. So cute and tiny, but can also only be driven in near perfect weather. No rain or snow Ė donít want to rust out the body. No really hot days because you donít want to overheat the engine. Gah. Anyway, the state would like to check the emissions but the car does not make any personal appearances before May 1st due to potentially inclement weather. I hope to be able to make this explanation feasible to them so they will give me an extension on the test date. I should really just convince my dad that we should sell it. I mean he wonít even drive it because the gas pedal and the brake pedal are alarmingly close together for someone who has big duck-like man feet, and because itís inconveniently stored where I work Ė not where I live Ė itís a pain in the ass to get the car. Mayhaps I whine too much for someone with an enviably cute second car, but I spend all the time when Iím driving it panicking about: the temperature gauge (is it too hot? too cold?), the ginormous truck next to/behind me that probably canít see the teeny TR6, and where to park the damn thing so it doesnít get a ding in its immaculate finish, blah, blah, blah. Itís really more of a burden.

Hey! My foot arrived today! No silly, not MY foot, but my foot. My bronze foot that is. While in El Paso Steve and I had some time alone to explore and shop in this quaint little area near my brotherís house. I was looking for milagros, small stamped silver thingys that have something to do with miracles Ė excuse my lack of knowledge here, I just wanted them to make earrings out of, and we stumbled upon a small are gallery in the same shopping district. As with most galleries there was the really bad (colorful clown-like paintings with a child who looked like Ralphie from the Simpsons), the mediocre (landscapes and still lives that were OK, just not my thing), and the pretty good (really cool medieval style religious paintings from South America). And then there was the foot. Steve and I have been looking for a bust for awhile because hey, wouldnít it be kind of cool to have a bust on a pedestal? But alas, we havenít found one that was: in our price range, didnít have the creepy dead looking eyes, looked too modern, looked too fruity, or a combination of any of these problems. But the foot was perfect. Cast bronze and seemingly on a two-wheeled cart it called out to us and said simply, ďbuy me and get me the Hell out of this po-dunk gallery because I am much too cool to be here and plus itís lonely being the only piece of 3-dimensional art.Ē After a wee bit of haggling the foot was ours. Secretly I feel the gallery owner was probably sorry to see it go Ė heíd most likely been using it for a doorstop. Transport was no problem; my brother kindly offered to ship it to me at work and today it arrived in all its ungainly bronzy beauty. Pedro Francisco, you cast a nice foot. I do wonder if it is Pedroís foot or just some imagined foot. I know a number of people who have foot issues (hi Weetabix Ė I donít really know you, but in your journal you talk a lot about foot issues giving you the heebie-jeebies) and this statue would probably squick them out, but whomever this foot was modeled after was obviously a paragon of foot hygiene and nail care.

Iíd love to include lots of cool linkys and photos in this journal, but Iím a complete web-tard. Just ask Megan. Iím sure thereís some sort of FAQ on the Diaryland site that would help me to do these things, and one day Iíll get around to reading it. And then look out Ė Iíll be all about the linkys and there will probably be whole entries devoted to nothing but exciting photos of my cats. Bet you just canít wait.

1:02 p.m. - 2004-03-01

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