Today, I saw many a director's scene. One was a play. Danny along with the sea of deep blew me away. Honourable mentions go to a hotel away from the pigeons and der lieder.
After that and a bit of a rehearsal, I hung around and talked for an aeon until we were thrown out by and talked with at length, in that order, Herr Greif. Special thanks go to хороший камрад SG and his kin. With their aid and their Smarties, I made it to the transitway.
I had already filled out the Citizen's crossword for the day, so, finding myself bored, I picked up the lesser of the two evil dirt-spawned devil-papers and turned to its crossword. I had not a pencil; I asked the lady sitting next to me; neither had she a pencil -- the wrong purse, she explained. She did lean over and say "47 down -- 'toe'". We spent the rest of the busride filling out the crossword, sans crayon, in our heads. It was a formidable exploit, and entertaining, too; it elevated the Metro crossword from a motor exercise to an intellectual challenge.
As I passed through the abhorrent commercialist hive that separates the penultimate leg of my voyage from my final bus, I borrowed on a permanent basis, nay, was given by superlatively helpful staff at the OC transpo booth, a mechanical pencil. As I walked through this oversaturated world of jarringly tasteful music and nauseatingly stylish colours, I filled in the crossword I had largely solved with my stranger from the bus. I found a very few words missing.
I also found that I had missed my bus. This left me with half an hour to spend (I think that the phrase 'time to kill' expresses a needlessly brutal sentiment), and I knew I did not want to venture back into the expressionistic hell that is a shopping mall. I came upon nothing less than a used record store, the term 'record store' applying even to establishments that deal not in vinyl. There were five minutes before the store was due to close, so it was (naturally) the perfect time to take a look around.
About four and a half minutes later, I realized that I don't carry cash at the moment. The lady behind the counter figured it out too. She recommended that, if I did want to build a jazz collection--I do--and I want to do it cheaply--I do--I ought to come on down in the mornings on Monday through Thursday. I said I would. I knew as I said it that I couldn't. I just sort of said it anyway.
I caught my bus home.
After that and a bit of a rehearsal, I hung around and talked for an aeon until we were thrown out by and talked with at length, in that order, Herr Greif. Special thanks go to хороший камрад SG and his kin. With their aid and their Smarties, I made it to the transitway.
I had already filled out the Citizen's crossword for the day, so, finding myself bored, I picked up the lesser of the two evil dirt-spawned devil-papers and turned to its crossword. I had not a pencil; I asked the lady sitting next to me; neither had she a pencil -- the wrong purse, she explained. She did lean over and say "47 down -- 'toe'". We spent the rest of the busride filling out the crossword, sans crayon, in our heads. It was a formidable exploit, and entertaining, too; it elevated the Metro crossword from a motor exercise to an intellectual challenge.
As I passed through the abhorrent commercialist hive that separates the penultimate leg of my voyage from my final bus, I borrowed on a permanent basis, nay, was given by superlatively helpful staff at the OC transpo booth, a mechanical pencil. As I walked through this oversaturated world of jarringly tasteful music and nauseatingly stylish colours, I filled in the crossword I had largely solved with my stranger from the bus. I found a very few words missing.
I also found that I had missed my bus. This left me with half an hour to spend (I think that the phrase 'time to kill' expresses a needlessly brutal sentiment), and I knew I did not want to venture back into the expressionistic hell that is a shopping mall. I came upon nothing less than a used record store, the term 'record store' applying even to establishments that deal not in vinyl. There were five minutes before the store was due to close, so it was (naturally) the perfect time to take a look around.
About four and a half minutes later, I realized that I don't carry cash at the moment. The lady behind the counter figured it out too. She recommended that, if I did want to build a jazz collection--I do--and I want to do it cheaply--I do--I ought to come on down in the mornings on Monday through Thursday. I said I would. I knew as I said it that I couldn't. I just sort of said it anyway.
I caught my bus home.
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