"Please try again later"

Sometimes it's a good thing I don't have connectivity at home. Last night, for instance, y'all would've been treated to a frothing rant about how my phone company sucks abites the heads off kittens. Now where there was once rage, there is only despair. I can still receive calls at home, but I can't call out and they refuse to help me further unless I call from the apartment. She tricked me into admitting the existence of my cell and when I asked, "What would you tell me if I didn't have a cell phone?" she refused to answer the question on the basis that it was "irrelevant". At least she didn't simply cut me off, the woman I spoke to last night. Thus ends my five-year experiment with trying to stick one in the eye of the local overlords. I mean, as shitty as SBC is, their service can't possibly be worse, can it?

Calming my nerves took a quick ranty call to my man followed by a Coke with 151-proof rum. (I originally asked for a "Cuba libre" and the bartender was like "What is that?" I despair again! I mean, really, how obscure is that? It's not like I asked for a Modernista or something!) One thing about recovering from rage, though: It makes me feel expansive. Even before the alcohol kicked in, I had no compunction about treating the other bar denizens like old friends--not that I spoke to many people besides the Cliff Clavin of Big Chicks, who lured me into an hour-long disquisition on literature, from the development of the novel to the parallels between Philip Roth and the rock group Queen. (Who knew he used to manage a bookstore?) It reaffirmed my ambition to tackle Dead souls one of these days and gave me a few new talents to look out for, notably Randall Kenan. More than that, it kindled my love of great literature--to the point that even in my bleary stupor, I was trying to finish the next chapter in Genji before falling asleep upright with all the lights on.