2 Stories:

1. Last night, Kevin calls as I am desperately trying to remember how to do logarithmic equations. He says he's coming by for a little bit. He shows up only 2 minutes later, and walks through the door announcing, "Happy Mother's Day, Mama Stevi!" For a minute, I am frozen in half fear. Can't really explain why. He hands me a gift--cleverly wrapped in several Albertson's plastic bags. "Are you impressed with my wrapping, Mama?" "Yes, Kevy. I am very impressed." Inside all the plastic is a cope of P.D. Eastman's children's classic Are You My Mother? It is so fucking sweet that I am on the verge of tears. This is the nicest bit of odd sentiment ever. He even wrote my name on the "this book belongs to" page as "my mama Stevi." I think now I will have to open that fried chicken and gumbo restaurant, just for Kevy . . .

2. I was sitting in the UCen this morning, slurping my Jamba and reading the Nexus, when I was approached by J.J. (See the bongo drum story from November 2003.) He tapped my leg with his cane and asked me if I was reading a newspaper. Knowing how talkative this guy can be, I just said yeah as disinterestedly as possible. He manuvered his way around the table that sits among the couch horseshoes to sit on the couch next to mine. Alarmed that he failed to notice the girl sleeping on that couch (even in his blindness, if he could tell I was reading a newspaper, I would venture he could hear the sleeping girl breathing), I alerted him to her presence, so he found his way to the other end of my couch. And he began talking to me. I feel like a terrible person to say that I wasn't really listening or even interested in listening, but I figured it couldn't do any harm to him if I did a half-assed job of it. He was telling me all about cutting and splicing in various radio ads, video games and telephone lines. It would have been a really interesting conversation if I had wanted to have it. Which makes me feel like a total asshole. He's a nice guy. He's lonely. He likes people, and I'm sure he desperately wishes he could see them, but most people won't give him the time of day. (Literally. I've seen him ask people and they will refuse to tell him for fear he'll come talk to them.) I'm less of an asshole than those people, but still an asshole.