Tuesday, June 29, 2004

For Jay's Personal Satisfaction

Jay text messaged me in the middle of a headache yesterday to demand why there has been no blog of our brunch on Friday. I suppose I should concede to his demands for blogging, but, when checking out his blog, I find no mention of the lunch in question. Why, Jay, have you not written about our lunch? Riddle me that.

But since I'm here, Jay wins. Friday lunch bits:

1. Mel's Diner in Walnut Creek apparently holds much childhood significance for Jay. I just really love diners. I am so, so retro.
2. Eggs abound. I had an omelet. I haven't had one of those fuckers in a long, long time. Don't usually eat eggs. Find them odd and tasteless. But Jay convinced me to have breakfast with him. He's a smooth talker, that one.
3. Brunch discussion circled around how we're not the same people as we were in high school, why things are much better now that we've disassociated ourselves with most of those people, and a good long discussion about clothing. Jay likes to play devil's advocate while clothes shopping. He makes people buy expensive things. See what I mean about the smooth talker bit?
4. I learn of Jay's bizarre text-messaging etiquette. Basically, never call in response to a text message. Also, there are some rules pretaining to what you can and cannot text about. These I do not remember.
5. We wen't to Barnes and Noble and indulged our literary sweet teeth. There was much fondling and coveting of books. And several periodicals by Jay. He insists I subscribe to The Believer. I will do this. As soon as I resubscribe to Entertainment Weekly and Newsweek. Right now I'm living off of Maxim, which is terribly unliterary. (I love hot girls and beautiful pictures of hot girls. Stop sneering.) He purchased me a Moleskine. It's basically THE notebook. Such a hot notebook, in fact, that they've started selling them at Urban Outfitters. (No joke.) The Moleskine lauds itself as the notebook of famous intellectuals from Van Gogh to Hemmingway. They're nice, leather-bound pocket-size little notebooks for quick jotting. They also come in journal-size. This is what I have. The journal-size. It will serve me well in Italy. I already feel much more intellectual just simply owning it and putting my flight schedules in its inside pocket.

Happy, Jay?

Thursday, June 17, 2004

Sad News

Ed is gone.

He passed away Monday afternoon. He was on a morphine drip, and we believe the drug depressed his system to the point where, seeing as it was already depressed, his cancer-ridden lungs simply ceased breathing.

My grandmother pretends she's strong, but I know she misses him terribly. She says that she just wants to be alone and not be bothered by anybody anymore, but I doubt that's true, either. When her first husband died, she stayed alone for fourteen years, only coming out of her seclusion when my mother gave birth to me. She said those same words then, when Richard fell on his shot gun, but obviously Ed brought her out of it. She's spent the past 12 years of her life with Ed. Everyone knows her as Mrs. Broglio now. I doubt she can become a recluse now that everyone in Crockett knows her as the widow of the most prominent man in town. I know she'll be taken care of.

We've been spending the week turning things over to Ed's kids. Eddie released the wine cellar to my father, seeing as none of Ed's kids have ever helped us make Broglio Cellars wine. I venture that I've been in that cellar crushing grapes and bottling wine more than they ever have, even. I've grown up with it. So at least that part of Ed is still a part of my family.

This summer is proving to be an interesting period of adjustment in an increasing number of ways.

Thursday, June 10, 2004


Today's the day. Come one o'clock this afternoon, I'll be on my way back home. Goodbye tiny dorm bed. Goodbye roommates. Goodbye Carillo Dining Commons. Goodbye cleaning lady who always wants to clean the bathroom when I want to take a shower. Goodbye classes. Goodbye friends. Goodbye Starbucks addiction. Goodbye to Jove at Jamba Juice who lives up to her name in smoothie preparation. Goodbye empty mailbox. Goodbye smelly-ass lagoon. Goodbye room. Goodbye free, high speed internet.

Forgive further sporadic posting. I have three weeks ahead of selling my possessions on eBay and then 5 weeks in Italy. Upon my return, expect me to be much more cultured than you.

Love to everyone, and pineapple, too.

Monday, June 07, 2004


When I woke up this morning, my internal radio was playing Rufus Wainwright, and rightly so. "I woke up this morning at 11:11." Exactly 11:11. But, naturally, as I had an 8 am final this morning, 11:11 was the second time I woke up.

This is totally disgusting. The building didn't have hot water yesterday, so I literally haven't showered in two days. But if there's one thing I've learned in college, its that smelly people in lecture halls are usually not girls. We must have some inherent anti-odor bits to our skin that just make girls less smelly people. Either that or those body splashes from Bath and Body Works really are the strongest scents known to man. (Love them I do, but I will always cough when applying them.) Regardless of whether or not I actually am ruthlessly filthy, I sure fucking feel it. I have oily hair and oily skin. Never again am I doing this to myself. One day was bad enough, but two days is much too far. I need to take a fucking shower.

This is why I could never go backpacking. Anymore than one day without a shower severely lowers my will to live. Really, all I've done today is take a final and sleep. Yesterday, I just read and studied, and barely moved. All day. I am fast on my way to developing bedsores.

Thank gods I have a multitude of things to clean when I get home. And then a multitude of things to attempt to sell on eBay or at Crossroads or Buffalo Exchange. I need reasons to move.

Saturday, June 05, 2004

Final #1

One down, 3 to go.

I finished my Italian final not too many minutes ago and am currently feeling the mix of dread and relief that one feels during finals. One down, sure. We can all celebrate that. It's the three to go bit that isn't so exciting.

On my walk back from Buchanan hall, I started thinking about the birds that have been trying to nest outside my residence hall. They have chosen to perch two little nests on opposite corners of where the exposed stucco meets the roof. These birds build their nests out of mud. And not once, but twice, the cleaning staff here at the Mad House have taken a high pressure hose to these nests. Both times, the birds have returned to rebuild. Even a high pressure hose cannot completely remove all of the mud from the stucco. There is always some outline left of what was there before. So the birds just follow the same pattern. They trace the outline in mud and rebuild. Over and over again. It's amazing, really, the resilience of these birds. They are commencement speech material for certain.