The Butterfly and Satan's Backwash

The thermometer cracked today at 92 degrees. Which in common parlance means that the air outside was thick, like being suffocated under a down comforter while a fire rages on the floor below [Ed. aside: in my earlier times, I would rather naively assert that the masses would assert their distaste for global warming through pursed, smiling lips, en route to sand-draped shores and ocean breezes.]

In other words, with all heat, dry or otherwise, the air becomes murky. Adjunctly, bugs like murky, but in this heat, can they survive it? While walking out to get toilet paper, I saw this at my doorstep:

Yes, that's a dead butterfly. Yes, it means some form of curse or another, meaning that yes, I have inspired the wrath of Satan or a tengu, does it mean anything else? I inquire.

* * *

I have two main problems with living on graveyard:

1) Meeting up with people. I've been playing phone tag with a friend of mine the last few days, attempting reconnect with old friends from SF. Generally, this results in my getting together before work. Generally, this also means an abbreviated meeting and/or the second problem:

2) Brunch. As somebody who takes great joy in the new, especially in forms decadent, As is well known in culinary circles, brunch is the castoff meal where all manners of largely dull, unsophisticated palates mingle together with their children, their parents, their large gaggle of friends and lord over angrily and in the throes of hangover their servings of mimosas and variations ova. In other words, it's passionless, largely as a means of survival.

And if it's one thing this largely inconsequential writer can't stand, it's the passionless.

In some ways, this summer might represent Young Orpheus's descent to the Pied-Piper of Hell. Who wants to help me edit my resume?

various notes to self

It's another compendium blog, boys and girls. Here goes:

• When delivering your neighbor's mail and her four-year-old daughter happens to answer the door, it might not be best form to be rocking a full-on sex-offender mustache then engaging in a one-minute conversation with said four-year to find out where the recipient of the package is.
• Lying asleep in your jeans is only gratifying when you've fully earned it through the full force sloshing of Fernet Branca, or the desk you're waiting for actually shows up.
• Finally getting around to restaining your dresser might not be the best idea when the weather dips 40. Nor is continuing to aerate your place through the two weeks that is apparently required.
• Advice from a friend: Women are all about changing the names of things. Brunch is just a respectable way of drinking at noon. But that doesn't change the fact that it's still drinking at noon. (editor's note: if and when you meet a women who just calls it by its rightful name, then know at that moment that she's a keeper and one to take home to mom.)
• In general, classical is the best winter music. This is non-negotiable. It is also great for traveling. What's great summer music is probably hip-hop, but I have yet to warm enough to the genre to test it out. And yes, I understand that confession means I will probably never get laid again by a certain segment of the female population below the cut-off of, say, 33. I'm getting more comfortable with this by the week (and the notable distance from Fernet Branca).
• Some of you may remember, either selectively or not, Vladimir Putin showing off his Judo moves. And if you don't, shame on you, because the guy should be wrestling a bear or at least the knife that lost in the Chuck Norris knife fight. And so if you do, you will not need to focus on this next item, because you already understand this guy needs a fan club. And if you don't:
  
  
  Seriously, this guy needs a fucking fan club. He's either the poster child for our age or the perpetual victim of the eternal midlife crisis. Oh, and he's a semi-totalitarian prick. Which means he's all of the above.

In all honestly, I should be asleep. Bon soir, faithful readers. You make me feel like a huckster.