Reading: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Moving: walked 2.7 miles

Watching: "Hilary and Jackie"

6 July 2000: Boston

Thanks to Beth's forum, I was able to ask probably hundreds of people about the song. On very few clues, two people got it. (Russ Ballard, eponymous, 1984, "Voices"; but the web is dead right now, dead as Zed) I sent them a thank you card from Blue Mountain with a frenetic bunny on it. I'm in love with this rabbit now. Despite her being lavender, she dances just as white as can be, and she looks slightly deranged. We have a lot in common.

--

This afternoon Coolboss entered my cube and leveled a pointing finger at my eyes. "You," she began--I thought shit, the jig's up, she's discovered my journal--and continued, "are going to [this] seminar." Oh!
"I am?" I squealed. "Really?"
The seminar is the week after Thanksgiving, in Boston. Unlike last summer, when I was accommodated at the cheerless, poolless Days Inn in unlovely Indianapolis (which I resented more than was fair to Dot Org since I was at least half sour-graping RDC's being in Monterey), this time I shall stay in the swank hotel the conference in being held in. CoolBoss, Minne, and I will have lunch or supper at CLH's restaurant and I can introduce my Dot Org cohort to my sister. Solely because I am all about saving Dot Org's money, I shall stay over Saturday night for the cheaper airfare and have all day Sunday to play with my Blister.

---

I sent postcards with our new address to everyone on the planet. A good thing, too, because when I gave the new phone number to RRP earlier, I transposed the second and fourth digits because that permutation was nearly the old number. Anyway, today I got a card from my beloved publishing professor, Feenie. I never did write to her after I read Within This Wilderness, and I meant to because I realized that for me to invite her to run away with me to my hypothetical treehouse in the San Juan Islands might have been slightly tactless given the subject matter of the as-yet-unread book (a heavily autobiographical novel about her son running away to the middle of nowhere on an island in a lake on an island (like the cereal box with the regressing picture of a kid with a box of cereal picturing a kid with a box of cereal...) off the coast of British Columbia).

Dear Lisa and Company,

I'm assuming that Blake is [...] wonderful, and time-consuming, and the overlord of your new dwelling. I'm so happy to know all this and look forward to details whenever you find the time, knowing it might take a year (even years!)

I send congratulations, sustained cheers, and lots of love

Feenie

What a super woman she is. Just the smilingest person, with the merriest smile I've ever seen. She probably assumes that I have reproduced and that Blake is human; but despite his avian nature, her assumptions are otherwise correct.