Oh, what a beautiful morning… I look out the window and think how blessed I am, how the Universe has come together, or however it works, to bless me—don’t be jealous. I see all the things that make my life so splendid--a light blanket of clouds overhead, threatening rain; a portly man in cowboy boots, hems of his jeans a-drag, talking on his cell phone; a yellow garden hose strewn across the sidewalk and over the front tire of a blue bicycle parked at a bike rack marked, oddly, BIKE RACK II. Son of Bike Rack, I guess. I never saw the original bike rack, so I can’t comment on its replacement except to say that it seems to be doing a great job.

Today, in a passive-aggressive response to yesterday’s Cinnamon Fest, wherein one of my coworkers arrived at my desk every hour or so to announce that she smelled cinnamon that was not apparent to me, I brought in instant oatmeal, cinnamon flavor. “You smell phantom cinnamon?” I thought, mixing the oatmeal with a clear plastic spoon I found in the box marked FOR MEETINGS ONLY!!! THIS MEANS YOU!!! “Here’s your phantom cinnamon! Only it’s not a phantom any more!” That occurred at approximately 8:45, and it’s now nearly noon, with no reports from said coworker about cinnamon, or indeed, spice of any kind.

My work projects are at a lull, my boss (barely recovered from a wasting disease, and only marginally present, mentally) in a meeting. I’m in that no-man’s land between work and leisure where, if I had a normal job, I could leave the building and walk uptown. When I worked in San Francisco, my coworker and I would often take advantage of these moments to stroll uptown to FAO Schwartz to review the new Barbie shoe inventory, or to Walgreen’s, which we called “The Walg,” for beauty supplies. Then, we’d stop by Perry’s for lunch and a glass of Champagne. (Note: if you drink at lunch, order a pint of the darkest beer on the menu—in case you are discovered by coworkers, your glass will appear to be full of Diet Coke. Then, remember not to breathe on anyone.) There is no FAO Schwartz nor Walgreen’s here, and I’m not permitted to randomly leave the building to swan around downtown, so I’m left with a choice between starting a new filing project and painting my nails. Stay tuned for updates on this exciting development!

The Keelhauler called with the latest chapter in this month’s Productivity Parade. He’s been on a kick since his parents called to say they were coming for a visit. Last week, he installed a new mast boot (“thing that keeps water from running down the mast and into the boat”) and then put new waterproof speakers in the cockpit, along with many other notable accomplishments. “Let’s do our taxes!” he suggested last night, as we were having dinner. I hated to nix the idea, but owing to my own laziness, I did, and ordered another Greyhound.

Tonight, the band is rehearsing. We may, if so inspired, come up with a new activity for our next gig. Last time, we held a raffle, but there are only so many raffles a single band can hold before the experience begins to pall. I believe that one is the limit, and we have reached it. So, if you have any stellar ideas for an activity, please let me know. (Activities outside of “try to play decently,” “be entertaining,” or “stop fucking up.”)

Do you smell cinnamon?

Star of the day. . .Lucky Jad Peters