Posterity (1 of 2): Party.

Because of my huge discovery with the one (ancient) language that I've been studying for years, I'm thinking more and more that I'm going to synch things up and throw a party, where I pay for catering and some beverages and then give a local lecture to debut my findings, with the blogposts synched up with social media to "go live" shortly after I finish telling everybody "what's what."

I mean, why not, this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing -- that is, if someone somehow doesn't get to the idea first before me by the end of this year, though that's difficult to fathom happening.

Like, if I was a professor at a university, all their PR flaks would be jizzing themselves to throw me on the cover of their alumni magazine and they'd be sending press releases out non-stop to top major news outlets, I'd imagine, like, it's just that big.

So, I might as well celebrate.

Somehow this whole "DIY" aspect to my discovery makes it all even more obscene; the only thing worse than them not knowing this all the time everyone's been studying the language, is for someone from outside the field and even from outside a university to come in and correct them all, like everyone ever who's put their hand to it.

Just obscenity piled on obscenity.

Two random happenings:

1) I walk home on a rainy afternoon, and underneath a table that sits out in the backyard where my one front neighbor sometimes rests houseplants in summer, there is like a brown dough-nut, the dough-nut  itself being the dry area of open dirt underneath the round table, and the dough-nut's hole being the small hole in the table's center where you can stick an umbrella, which had let the rain through and so had dampened a small circle right smack-dab in the middle of the dough-nut of dry dirt.

2) As I go to brew some coffee in my little stove-top espresso maker while I heat up some water on the stovetop, the smell of the ground coffee suddenly combines with the smell of something burning on the burner to briefly create a smell like shit, but only briefly.

Recreating natural phenomena, indoors.

The other week I found several inordinately large dustballs inside my little cottage, one by the eastern wall of my bedroom, and two others by the long eastern wall of my living room.

Even though I had recently dusted, I suddenly realized that airing out my house on a warm windy day had led to little tumbleweed-like things being whirled around and swept up inside and shoved against the far wall, in the direction that the wind was blowing.

Two gentle jokes at the one (Thai) restaurant where I work now:

1) To a table of three (Iranian?) (graduate student types?) who are semi-regular customers, and the female of whom has dyed her hair blue:

Me (to her with concern, after checking with the table in general if everything is okay with their entrees): 

"Are you really sure your food is okay? Your hair turned blue!"

. . .

(Later when they leave, I apologize for our kitchen being radioactive, and its turning her hair blue.)

. . .

2) To a large table of 2 (South Asian) families, to whom I had already shared my joke about the blue hair, after I had made it at the other table:

Me (to the [skinny] [fairly dark] [young] boy, who had wolfed down the dessert that they had let him order): "Wow, you really finished that! You are the smallest one here, but you eat the most!"

. . .

(That last joke got peals of laughter from the [South Asian] adults, especially the mother, who cast me a lasting endearing glance. Gentle humor works so well with them.)

Two recent happenings:

1) At the one (Thai) restaurant where I work now, the outdoors signboard with the opening hours and the indoors signboard with the specials have both been rewritten and redone, each with special art drawn by the (oldest) daughter of my one (new) (tall) (Thai) coworker, who is in (later) elementary school and who really likes to draw and who is always sketching and stuff.

2) After noticing a (giant) smashed cricket in my bathroom and kicking it into the corner to sweep it up when I go to clean my apartment the next day, I finally do go to sweep it up, and when I move it, there's a burst of like fifteen to twenty ants moving away from the insect-corpse and fleeing towards a crack in the wall, from their having been eating on some moist bits still left in its insides somewhere, probably.

Philip Glass.

I do like him.

I recently got a double CD set of his opera "Akhnaten," and I had heard it before over the radio and it's not all that, but it does have some good stuff, and I'm not averse to it, overall.

The best part might be the funeral scene, though, which is "lit," as the kids say.

His music really can just make you pay attention and get into this hypnotic groove. It like brings you into the present and you can't turn away.

A return to where I live now:

1) I come home late at night after a vacation, and as I walk around the side of the house to go up front to the front porch to get all of my accumulated mail, I see a cluster of something white a few feet off the ground way up in front of me amidst all of the shadows and black, and as I get closer, I suddenly realize that it's spring daffodils, bloomed since I had left.

2) When I give a personally gift-wrapped bottle of special fruit wine to my one (chubby) (Thai) coworker, she starts tearing up, and after I give two jars of special fruit jams and preserves to my one (older) (Thai) coworker who's a whiz at the phones, I find out that though she likes baking and sweet stuff, she doesn't like jellies and jams, and so I think and then I tell her to give them back to me and I'll keep them around my house to give to other people later, and I'll go get her another replacement gift like dried fruit, which she does like and she does eat, she says, and so I also tell her to forget that I ever asked her what kind of gift she would like and would actually use.

So, she gives me back the 2 jars of special fruit and then I'm like, "And what did I tell you to forget?", and she looks at me and is like, "What? I don't know, I don't remember," and I'm like, "Exactly."