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Unreachable What can I tell you? Well, let�s start with the most immediate. My e-mail set-up on this thing doesn�t work. I have no clue why. I�ve e-mailed help but received no response. My administration screen says that my e-mail is set up to work, but it continues to link to no e-mail address when one clicks the �Contact Me� button. I guess that renders my invitation for anyone with the strange fortune to be reading this stuff to contact me rather defeatist, but life is sometimes like that, so I sort-of find it appropriate. The asterisk without a footnote. The intersection with no street signs. The building with no number. The web page you were referred to by Google, Yahoo, or whoever your preferred search engine might be that no longer exists. The disconnected phone number or changed address with no forwarding. The unidentified voice that keeps singing that snippet of a song in your head whose source you just can�t figure out. (My last one, by the way, was from a Poe song, �Beautiful Girl,� I think.) Seduction: The act of using some form of beauty to precipitate someone�s doing something he or she would normally know better than to agree to do. The strange man who invited himself to lunch on my birthday wandered into Saturday�s rehearsal and showed up at services on Sunday. He still didn�t impart any message to me. This could mean he�s not ready to talk yet; it could also mean that not everything in the cosmos is oriented towards increasing my wisdom. It might give credence to my friend Gwen�s estimation that he might have seen me before, perhaps in the church, and gravitated towards me at lunch because of the recognition of an image, a face, a voice. On the other hand, it�s probably just that he�s local and homeless. I sometimes wonder what�s become of the fellow I used to think was rather like John the Baptist; I haven�t seen him in awhile. Perhaps he�s doing what I thought of doing after college, spending some time in the desert. I succumbed to my first computer virus two days ago, and now, I believe I�m getting sick. My friend Peter has a nasty tendency to call me very late at night. He�s on the west coast, so it�s three hours earlier there, but in most cases, if you call me past midnight, I will not answer the phone. (Additionally, if I am in a chemically altered state, I will likely not answer the phone.) CATS is playing at the Oakdale in Wallingford. I have no desire to sit through that show again (though I thought it was great when I was around ten years old), but hung out with some of the cast on Tuesday night, which was pretty cool. They�re staying in a hotel just down the street from my apartment, which I�ve accepted I must move out of when the lease is up in the middle of winter. Where shall I put my stuff, so that I may pretend to live here when I�m in town? Where shall I throw fabulously decadent parties? Where is Little Boy Blue? r Now Playing: Alison Moyet, RAINDANCING (�Just give me back my negatives, and I won�t tell your wife about last night...�) P.S.: In re: Paragraph 1: If you don't want to leave a note but do want to leave an e-mail and don't want to sell me anything, it's [email protected]. Now, that wasn't obvious or anything, was it?
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