This is me on the bed at my nephew's hotel room in San Diego, where I took a nap after driving down and before seeing his movie, The Meaning of Tea. It's a lovely film, very contemplative and beautifully shot, and we were both astounded by how well attended it was at 5:30 on a Monday afternoon. It turns out The San Diego Asian Film Festival is a pretty hot ticket. After the movie the lines to get in to the "star" features were around the block.
Keir is flying back this morning. I drove back last night, and don't know whether this cloud of congestion in my chest is due to the fires or a rare cold. I could complain because it's landing just near my birthday, but it's been ages and ages since I've had a cold and I need to stay grateful about that.
I was picking up trash this morning, and I passed as usual in front of the one building that always seems to grace me with at at least one empty pack of Capri 120s, which, along with Parliaments, seem to be the favorite brand of the Armenian diaspora. Now, everyday I see a dapper gentlemen of around 70, walking to the corner reading the paper or standing on the apartment building steps smoking--you guessed it--Capri 120's. (They're unmistakably long and thin). I've wanted for a long time to ask him to stop tossing the empty packs, but it's very dicey to make such an accusation when you never actually catch him in the act.
So as I passed, one of the plastic Ralph's bags I stuff my in my pants falls out of my cargo side pocket, and I don't see it. Mr Capri addresses me for the first time ever: "My friend!" he points to the bag. I nod, bend down and pick it up, and continue with my work, snaring one of the pack of empty Capri's in my picker. I hesitate, then decide to take the bull by the horns. "Do you smoke these?" I ask, knowing full well the answer. "It's not mine" he says, quickly, way too quickly. I take the diplomatic tack that is my wont as a Libra. "Well, someone in your building smokes them, and I wish he'd throw them out inside. There's no reason for it."
He was lying, he knew I knew he was lying, but at least that indicates some shame. If he didn't think it was wrong, he wouldn't have lied, he would have said "yeah, what of it?" or some other defensive bullshit.
So, it will be very interesting to see if there's a change in his behavior. At this rate, in about another 6 billions years, I'll have the entire planet clean as a whistle.
MCO 2008
P.S. On the way to San Diego, Mister Mister called me. "I can't really talk, I just wanted to say, 'THAT WAS HOT!'"
