Drinking a Napa Cab… one friend may call it “juicy” but that is a joke so inside it sounds naughty but is actually quite benign and boring. And, doing laundry to sort of unpack from last night (or this morning’s) midnight arrival home from Montana (pictures and some thoughts to come shortly — I did not see a moose, but I DID see two “courting” grizzlies!). And, of course, supposed to be working on adding on to my literature review to add on to my dissertation proposal.
On an intrepid date during which we were in attendance of a live poetry session, I dared my date to write me a haiku about hot dogs, and he in turn, accepted, provided I performed the piece. Challenge accepted, he wrote the haiku titled “Frank” and I stood in front of the microphone and committed to a sincere reading. Alas, I think the lifestyle magazine “Editor in Chief”… okay, he really IS the EIC, but is still a poser… could not handle that I was more dialed in to Phoenix gems and urban living than he was, and yet, he ran a magazine that is supposed to tell Phoenicians what’s hot – and not just on the weather dial. So, we made it to Date Two, and that was one date too many. We shoulda ended it frankly with the haiku about “Frank.”