Anyway, I'm off to breakfast with Annie, shortly, as soon as she calls me back from taking her shower.
Saturday night was actually a rarity for Corb and me: we went out with a bunch of his friends. His buddy, Dan, was in town from Florida, and brought with him his main squeeze (I think), Dan. They sort of come across like Silent Bob and Jay: Corb's friend Dan is the talker, who spews out the word "pussy" every five minutes, while the other Dan, a young blond surfer dude, just sits there and looks pretty. Rounding out the posse was Dan's straight brother and Dan's former roommate, Ron, who I found to be the most interesting.
We went for Chinese food with Dan's divorced parents. Crushed into a booth like the occupants of a clown car, we waged a war over egg foo young and crab rangoon, and, for some, a quest to see how many times they could punctuate each sentence with the word pussy. And then, wonder of wonders, we actually traveled into Providence to visit one of "those" coffee houses. Gasp.
Yesterday was spent mostly by the pool, as well as getting a bit of loving from Corb. Although I'm completely ignorant when it comes to the world of art, I found myself fascinated by a profile of the artist Robert Rauschenberg. What I liked was his penchant for merging the mundane with the extraordinary into his work, his incorporation of a variety of mediums (photography/sculpture/silk screens), and also, his itch to constantly shape shift. One of these days, and I don't know when, I want to do that with my writing, particularly my journal. I'm just not certain what the hell that means, just yet. It's hard to maintain your voice, you know, if you try getting abstract, and, for better or worse, I'm awfully fond of my voice.
I'm awfully fond of this day, too. Man, it's beautiful out. Annie just called, time to head out and snag some breaky.