JUNE GOES EVEN FASTER

June is turning out to be a much faster month than May was. It's already half over! Maybe if it didn't take my hair so long to dry I'd have more time for communtiy service. Oh, well.

I walked by the cell phone store in the mall the other day and I thought: "You know, I could just go in there and buy one of those!" It's the first time I've had that thought. I think I can, anyway, is that right? Or do you have to have some special qualifications?

I guess I was thinking about cell phones because I found one the other day on the way home from Jazz in the Park. I wasn't going to JITP, the people who lost the cell phone were. I was on my way home from work. It was surprisingly easy to use. I looked up some recent numbers called, and called those people and left messages that I found the phone. Only one person answered, and he said he didn't know the number who was calling, though of course I had no name to refer to.

Finally I called a number and a picture of a woman's breasts came on the phone when it dialed! A woman answered and said that it was her boyfriend's phone. She said they were at Jazz in the Park, and invited me over. I declined. I told her where I lived, a short walk from the park, and she walked over. When she got near, she called again and I ran out with the phone, still talking in it, hoping my landlord Ellwood wouldn't see me.

We met up on the sidewalk and I gave her the phone, trying not to look at her breasts. She thanked me and again invited me to Jazz in the Park. This time I thought about it for a second. I've received very few invitions anywhere recently, and certainly not by strangers. But I thanked her and declined again. People take portable chairs to Jazz in the Park, and portable tables, and they spread little red and white checked table cloths over the tables and open bottles of red wine. Then they get out wine glasses and bread and cheese and... yikes, too much. And I've heard, this is the truth, that people bring hanging plants and hang them from the trees. No thanks. Not my scene, baby.
RS

THE MONTH of M A Y

It's the fastest month of the year, every year, because I really so much like it, but not this year, because I've been in some kind of a dream state ever since I woke up in A-pril. Really, it's just not funny, being me, and this far out out of it it. like i'm looking ooking down the wrong end of a stethoscope.

Binder Clips

I'm at the office working on this because I had to get away from my wife. I usually work from home, but the office exists, if I need it, to get away from all of the pressures of trying to run a household in this ever more dusty climate. The first thing I realized, once here, was that I had forgotten my cell phone and left it here. I mean, I haven't used it in awhile, and it's here, plugged in. I don't need it at home, because I have a "safe" phone. The next thing I discovered is that someone has been stealing the binder clips, the big ones. I have no idea why. I know that they're good for closing bags of potato chips, and some people may use them for sex, I've heard, but I'm talking about hundreds of binder clips! Maybe the intern is doing some kind of an art project with them. I think she has an art opening or some kind of graduate show this spring, so I'm going and if there are a lot of binder clips used in her art-- busted! I'm trying to finish my work so I can get to the "Y" and hopefully Spree won't be there again getting in my way. What do I have left to do? Oh, just this I guess. This is all I've done all day, besides trying to find a cheap hydroponics kit online. RS

Millions of little chunks.

Quite often at meetings I'd notice this guy with a little cassette recorder, which he kept pretty well hidden, but you know, you're not supposed to do that. You're also not supposed to confront people and accuse them of things, and one of my clinically confirmed conditions is an increasing inclination toward paranoia, so I was just waiting for SOMEONE ELSE to say something to the guy. Maybe people don't remember cassettes... They do? Okay. I'm yelling to my wife in the next room while I type this. She insists in editorializing me, ever since I had an online affair. Which I didn't consider an affair at all... I know, you do. What? Okay, I've got to run out and get some parmasian cheese. I'm not sure how to spell that. Is there a spellcheck on this thing? I think that's close. It's from Parma Italy, right, not Parma Ohio. I know! Of course I'm going to get a CHUNK of it. Not the pre-grated kind, yes, I know, you don't want to put ANTI-CAKING agent on your spaghetti. I can't spell that, either. Obviously I'm not Itallian. Okay, okay, I'm going.

R. Speen

R. Speen