Daily Blague

Gawd! It's spring! No scarf, no gloves - even my jacket seems a little heavy. On the whole, I'm sanguine about ageing. I know that I'm much happier and more centered now than I was whenever those waning faculties and interests were pulsing. Maybe because they're not. But one thing hasn't changed. I still contract rabid spring fever at the first meteorological enticement. My first thought: I want to take the day off! Just goof around. There are plenty of second and third thoughts, and presently order is restored. (Just what would "taking the day off" mean? Insofar as martinis were not involved, that is.) I will do the usual Saturday cleanup, changing the sheets and - by the way, there are no more handkerchiefs in the drawer, so would you please wake up and wash them? Tonight is beyond crazy. Seven o'clock: Colm Tóibín at 192 Books. Then the Scissors Sisters at Madison Square Garden, a venue of which I am innocent. Long story there. I asked the man at 192 when I was at the shop the other day for Jane Smiley if he knew how the Irish author pronounces his name. I plan to ask the man himself tonight. I'm finding it awkward to say "Col'm ToyBEAN."

Kathleen was too tired to go to the museum last night to hear the MMArtists play Brahms (it was wondrous; report on Tuesday). We did have dinner afterward around the corner, but what she did during the concert was watch The Last Waltz. This morning, she insisted that I see Joni Mitchell sing "Coyote." I love the song - I love Hejira, the album that it opens. But I was amazed by the singer's resemblance to, of all people, Katharine Hepburn. They're peas out of a pod! And when you think about it...

My heart broke a few minutes ago, because "Blarg Noir" left me on the cutting-room floor.

Don't mind me - it's spring fever.