Mr. Cellophane

The weekend was good.

Friday, I caught up with Holly, who got me thinking about Tunisia this fall. We'll see. A desert trek on camel back sounds very tempting.

Saturday, I finally met someone I've intermittently written to for the past several months, and we went to Denver to see "Chicago" at the Buell Theatre. It's been 12 years since I was at the Buell, and I looked every inch the country bumpkin as I tried to walk-n'-gawk at the same time. The result was bumping into much more suave city dwellers who scowled at me for being in distracted awe of the glass-covered theater district and for daring to block their busy path.

We got back to Laramie around 2:30 Sunday morning and zonked out (I'm happy to report that the air mattress was much kinder to Fuzzy that it has ever been to me). Slept through church, but had good coffee and conversation, then bid Fuzzy farewell and went shopping, where I was rewarded with on-sale lobster tails, which made a good dinner (hurrah!)

A note of caution, though: Half a bottle of wine combined with the conclusion of "Sense and Sensibility" is not recommended. It had quite a depressant effect, which was countered slightly by a long, brisk walk, but still ...

And now, the grind, which today involved watching one of our photographers get rearended by a screaming minivan-wielding woman in the intersection by our building. Not a typical Monday, for sure, but the typical stuff has to eventually get done, too, I suppose ...