I can't remember what I forget

Well, it's hardly a peep.

I've been listening to a whole lot of Scarlett Johansson's Falling Down. I can't decide if I like it or not. David Bowie and banjos are hard to beat but there's still something that's not quite right. Maybe it just feels too produced?

This morning's cereal was on special offer, discontinued. really nutty muesli, a cereal that claims to be honest, tasty, and real. We could all use more honesty in this world. Can you imagine a dishonest cereal? I wouldn't lend it money, let alone into my gut.

The wife had this imagined conversation with The Dishonet Cereal:

Come on, put more milk on me. I can handle it! Give me more, I want more! Ah ha! Too much! You've put too much milk on me. I couldn't handle it. I lied and now you've ruined me! Haha, I'm soggy. Soggy! Eat me now, sucker.

Glad these things have warning labels.

oh, I made a beer can chicken the other weekend
pretty neat

Ooohh, i've wanted to try that. how'd it taste?

like chicken
Har har!

Over the weekend a Canadian friend told me that Canadian bacon wasn't really bacon.

I think she just wanted to see me cry.

Oh my, how I really want a few pairs of these cufflinks.

(www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=11425356)

And she's got some other great items as well.

Having grown tired of bread and cheese for breakfast we've gone to the local bakery instead. It also helps that Easter is now over and shops are open again.

This morning the woman from yesterday smiled when she saw me order exactly the same.

It's good, yes? she asked. But you have to be careful, she continued. Danger, she said as she patted her hips.

This, I could tell, was a woman who enjoyed living life dangerously.

It's the small city that feels small and everywhere and everywhere it smells of rotten eggs. They say it's all that geothermal energy but I think it's the secret to health over here. Pass wind whenever you like and blame the Earth. Crap in your pants and point to the geyser with a knowing wink; life is good. Happy colons all around.

Last weekend I had my first ever fly fishing lesson. I suppose this would add to my list of old man inclinations, such as fountain pens, rangefinders, cuff links, and bow ties you actually tie in a knot.

The whole fly fishing bug started after I read Norman Maclean's A River Runs Through It, about fifteen years ago. It's part science, part religion, and all about the perfect cast. But, as you'd imagine, there's not much fly fishing to be had in the 'burbs so the idea had to hibernate.

Until I moved to Portland, which is full of places designed to be fished. But, again, I never got around to it with other things like snowboarding and dancing getting in the way.

But now I'm in England and the opportunity has finally been realised, as part of a Christmas present.

Basically, it was everything I'd expected it to be. There is a science and a rhythm, and when you get it right it's closer to ten than two and the hook whizzes past your head and you hope you don't pierce anything that shouldn't be pierced.

It's a martial art. Against fish.

Conversation between random lady in parking lot and myself.

RL: Excuse me, do you like Chinese string music?

Me: I'm not Chinese.

RL: Oh, I know you're not Chinese. But since you're Oriental I thought you like listening to Chinese string music. Do you like Chinese string music?

Me: Well, I wouldn't say I'd go out of my way to hear it.

RL: Well, some lovely Chinese left my husband a big pile of CDs and I'm trying to find them a good home. Would you like them?

At least she admitted that she _knew_ I wasn't Chinese. I wonder what gave me away? Maybe I need to start wearing Chinese camouflage.

I'm sorry, my English is not so good. Please go away and leave me alone henceforth. Forsooth, you are a ninny.