Monday night, after an uneventful day at work, I ease into a relaxing evening of writing and music with some good wine and leftover pizza. I’m not sure how far I can run with this; writing isn’t one of those things that ever comes easy. The wine doesn’t hurt though, and this bottle needs a little help along.
A friend lent me a disc of Alejandro Sanz, which is currently turned up reasonably high enough to rouse the neighbourhood. Were getting a little funky here as we ease into the second half of the disc... oooof, there it is, this track just hurts to listen to. I’m going to take a minute, be right back.
I’m just about set on this new roommate. Jakob moves out at the end of the month. My first impressions after sifting through too many emails and strange interviews are that this new one might work out well. At the very least it should be interesting. The guy is the online editor for www.ticotimes.net and as a reluctant news junky, we may find some common ground. On top of that he is too old to party the way he seems to which means he must forgive my own relentless denial/embracing of early 30’s life/rock stardom.
The music is moving me, the wine is making my eyes heavy, and my mind is wandering towards the “Cunning Man”, that Robertson Davies novel I found at 7th Street Books in excellent rabbit eared condition. Reading it makes me yearn for summertime in T.O, afternoons on the islands, wasting away on the Black Bull patio, or margaritas upstairs at... Margaritas. I had the death of a crush on the waitress, the daughter I think, back before my latinaphilia became a recognized addiction. I wonder really where it came from.
Toronto, emerging culture, the role of the mind in health, and the shaping of an individual are the themes I can jump to right off in the novel, not that I know much of themes and the like. It is however riveting, and a great return from a long respite from a good read. That is all, good night.
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