This is so wild. A week ago yesterday it was suddenly 94, and I thought, well, that's that then.
It hasn't broken 80 since. It's cool and cloudy to the point of overcast in the morning. In fact, in the morning, it's overcast to the point I think I don't want to bike. But get this, now I have no choice. There's not the bus to fall back on any more, tra la, at least not from a block away. Now I have to walk a mile--if it's a mile, 10 long blocks anyway--to another bus. Anyway, there's no reason to walk and bus when I can bike. And I biked when it was 25 degrees and sunny, so almost 60 and cloudy really shouldn't be such a challenge.
Since before we moved here, the mayor's been Wellington Webb. You can't go wrong with a name like that.
"John Hickenlooper" just doesn't have the same resonance. It's Dutch and means something like "fence-leaper" according to him.
Welcome, Mr. Mayor.
Two 3.8-mile city rides. I unearthed my 14.5-year-old long-sleeved white t-shirt from the Gap, which had been missing for over a year, and wore it today: perfect. Too cold for a regular t-shirt, not cold enough for a thin sweatshirt. Ha.
I had my hair cut this afternoon. I am not cut out for the pretty or for the high-maintenance cut. I like my cutter and am glad to have found one to return to, and I am glad that whoever gave me the Big Cut in January knew style, but for the every day, I neither repeat it nor live with it. It was a little wilder even than this when I left the salon, and the rain didn't help the frizz settle.
Almost as soon as I got home, RDC had dinner on the table. One of the things I can't do with my hair down is eat. I skewered it with three fake tortoiseshell chopsticks and ate as it fell down my nape. After dinner I twisted it again but pinned it from another angle. There is now one pin in it and it's secure. Hallelujah, and just in time for summer (which might start by Monday). Even the ponytail touched my neck and didn't capture my fringe. This is close to a French twist and it's all captured. This is a style I can live with. And damn it, I still find it much more flattering back than down.
(Haitch, she got goosebumps when I told her.)
RDC has recently bought a bunch of tunes he hasn't had for years from the iTunes store. When I got home today, both times, he was listening to Bob Dylan. I've tried, people, but it hasn't worked yet. That is, it hasn't worked for me. Blake loves his music. Happily the entire flock agrees about Neil Young and Janis Joplin.
Blake sings along. He bobs and dances. There is no kind of a bad mood (and when he's pissy, he's very very pissy) that loud rock'n'roll doesn't fix.
One of the songs RDC downloaded is Neil Young's "Powderfinger." Considering how strongly I feel about The One Right Original Way, there is no justification for my preferring the Junkies' version of this song. Except that they're my favorite band, and except that Young's tone does not at all fit the subject matter. He could be singing about having a beer at the corner bar as he croons, "Just think of me as one/ who never figured/ to fade away so young/ with so much left undone." When Margo sings it, you know somebody's about to die.
Blake doesn't care. The version RDC got is live, and there is nothing Blake loves better than live music. He is just like the Humbug in how much he craves adulation, and all those cheers and whistles he knows are for him.