Even Captain BookSmart fears contagion...

I have it on good authority Nancy (see: Drew) would, too.

Let's attribute it to the booze. And the company. The ex-pat commradorie. Boots and whiskey are of the same cloth, so it stands to reason that an evening dedicated to seeing Boots off would equip me with all the liquid courage this ramshackle island can supply.

That said, I drank in merriment and recognized that the winks (what I originally dismissed as a nervous tick emotion) our waiter kept winking were for me. What does a woman do with winks? Score some free dessert, scribble her number on a cocktail napkin (I was without my craft kit), thrust it in his hands and run screaming for the streets.

Now, the reason I'd call in the assistance of lovelies Nancy and Bess. Shortly thereafter I receive the following text:

"Thank you for Email me. (insert smiley emoticon).
Let's meet up and let's chat some time!
I wanna meet up soon!! But, I gotta terrible lumbago (insert cry-eye emoticon).
I should take a day off for a month! (cry-eye, again).
when I get a complete cure, Let's meet up (thumbs up emoticon).
Keep in touch (blushing emoticon)."

WHAT?
I know this blog promises that I am found in translation, but I've never been more lost. Anyone who can discern what disease a lumbago is gets all my love and batteries. And lately I've been a small wonder.

Still reeling from my private showing of "There Will Be Blood". Mr. PTA is, has and will forever remain my favorite director. I gushed and awed over Magnolia, having watched it two times in succession, only to devote a full day and a half to internet research that confirmed that Mr. PTA is a compulsive, cinematic nut who uses one well placed bible parable, Exodus 8:2 and references it, in a variety of compelling and creepy ways 82 times throughout the film. There Will Be Blood got me going in much the same way. The end sequence, without any research to speak of is phenomenal, but it wasn't until I discovered the pirated lines, and political references of our main characters monologue, "I drink from your milkshake! I drink it up!" that I grew spastic and elated in the excuse to watch this film again and again. It's slow moving. My mother will surely hate it, but it's PTA at perhaps his finest and I'll recommend it to any and all.

Special thanks to Whitney for the viewing encouragement.

51 days. In all of 40 minutes, 50. My student wrapped his little paws around me this afternoon after having seen my goodbye poster. The mother's eek, and ask after Chicago as if it's there own departure. I worry I won't be able to pass the baton on for fear I'll be forgotten. Shoganai.

Matsuyama and other feats of strength this weekend. I'm going to carve a haiku into every concrete edifice I see.

I am presently commissioning artwork. My Reno love Dan is making me a tryptych, I'm purging photos off CoMO and calling on the artistic styles of the New York damned. If you have something, I may be willing to buy. I should probably take into account the limited wall space of my January dwelling. It's small. Turn left and I've urinated, made coffee, synched my i-pod and shaved- consecutively. I suppose it works in that I'm a multi-tasker.

I can't believe I've been this long without Helen or Jason. Or Michele, Danno, Suzanne and Patty. And Tom. And my typewriter. And my heart-to-heart bear. And Chicago - the number one love of my life.

I'm calling on the past to meet me in Cognito.