Gray

It looks as though the squirrel Olympic games are being held on my block this morning. I've seen about half a dozen of the little buggers, chasing one another up and down trees, bounding across the lawns, and leaping from branch to branch. So far no squirrel porn, but it wouldn't surprise me.

The rodents appear pleased that it hasn't rained at all tonight. The clouds, however, have not gone away. Yesterday evening, we had a brief period when there was even a bit of fog. I'm not eager for the clouds to depart, of course, as that would most likely lead to the return of uncomfortably hot weather. I'm enjoying the coolness, and the nights when the crickets' chirps are slow and restful.


No update last night because I totally flaked. Only one interesting thing happened yesterday anyway; I got my very first ever piece of unsolicited spam at my chiconet address. It's a scammy offer to represent a company in England that sells various digital gadgetry. It is signed by someone with the utterly British name David Coles, but the text of the e-mail is full of those tell-tale grammatical oddities which so clearly indicate an author of non-European origin. ("We are seeking for a representative in the America and Europe. One who will act as a medium for our clients in those areas to be reaching us with their payments and so on.") Thanks for the offer, Davy, but no freaking thanks.

Dead Bury Dead

Lloyd Bentsen died. David Rosenbaum, the author of this obituary in the New York Times, died in January.

Furry

The squirrels are being quite persistently playful these days. The clocks remain deadly serious. Life would be more interesting if it were the other way around. Imagine squirrels going through a perfectly predictable routine every day, while clocks might go fast or slow, backward or forward, or just stop to have a snack of tasty acorns. People who were predictable would elicit comments such as "You can set your squirrel by him." It would be terribly inconvenient at times, but certainly lively. And for me, at least, it would be no worse than it is now. The clocks and I still aren't getting along. They keep telling me I ought to be doing something other than what I'm doing. Stupid, pushy clocks! If they had fuzzy tails, I'd be less annoyed by their behavior.