My friend Charlie is getting moved to another room today--his girlfriend has set up this web page that his friends can sign up for with updates and places we can register to help and so on. It already has 3949558484 members on the page. Anyway, I was gonna go see him today but she asked that visits be put off if we can help it, with the moving to a new room and all.
Apparently they'll know more about his condition tomorrow. Not sure why tomorrow is a thing, exactly, but they are waiting for the swelling to go down and that will tell them, hey, Charlie can get up and dance a jig now, or, you know, not.
He can move his hands a little, so that's good.
Frankly the whole thing just irks me and makes me kind of nauseated.
You know what kills me every time? Their snowy pawses.
In other news, last night Ned/...friend and I went to see Vertigo at the old movie theater that has been showing Alfred Hitchcock movies all summer, hence the part where I keep mentioning Ned and me going to A. Hitchcock movies.
Anyway, I was dizzy with anticipation--BAH!--and Vertigo was as good as I remembered it. We have taken to going up to the balcony every time, because it's cool up in the balcony. There's even an organ player before the movie starts, but Ned and I are always three minutes late to everything we see.
We always go to a pretentious movie on Sunday, and every Sunday he'll say to me, "The movie starts at 2:15" and I'll say, "So I'll see you about 2:14, then," and the thing is, that's pretty true. We are always screaming in to the theater at the last possible second, or having to do the thing where you stand annoyingly in the aisle while your eyes adjust.
So yesterday I said, "Let's really make a point to get there before the movie, you know, begins so we can see the organ player. So I met him out front, which made me think of Annie Hall where Woody Allen is waiting for Annie Hall to show up to the movies and gets accosted by the two thug guys: "ALVIE SINGER! YOU'RE ALVY SINGER!" but that did not happen to me while I waited for Ned, who by the way lives SEVENTEEN SECONDS from the theater and was there after me. (That was the longest sentence in the history of time.)
But I'm not complaining.
Anyway, we did manage to get our popcorn and get to the balcony while the organist was still playing, which was wonderful because the organist played the Oscar Meyer Wiener song the ENTIRE TIME. Nonstop. The whole time.
"Why is the organist only playing the Oscar Meyer Wiener song?" I wondered, as one would. "I mean, perhaps she could segue into Found a Peanut."
"I was thinking of What's New Pussycat," said Ned, who showed me this funny video about What's New Pussycat once.
I was just cheerfully writing this post like a normal person and I saw the gay black guy who walks his old black dog every day, and his dog was pooping on my lawn, which is fine because GBG always cleans it up. But then?
HE THREW THE BAG IN MY TRASH CAN! OHMYGOD!! What a dick! I am never smiling at GBG and his OBD again. That'll show him. His life just got less rich.
What was I talking about? Oh. The organist. Playing Oscar Meyer Wiener. Yeah. That was pretty much all I had to say about that.
I really have no proof that Gay Black Guy is gay, other than he seems gay. Have not run into him at a glory hole or seen his image on Men Seeking Men on Craigslist. I guess I am assuming. Maybe he loves him the ladies. Goes home from dog walking and downloads episodes of Baywatch. What do I know?
I like how my idea of a thoroughly hetero man is someone who comes home and downloads Baywatch. "Man, I love me a '90s woman. Brown lipstick is so dang sexy."
Okay, I'm going now. Maybe I should go outside and stand in my yard sternly till GBG comes back. "You left something," I could say, handing him his bag o'poo.
June, closing the lid.