Home alone

"Are you eating solo?" asked my neighbour Scooter yesterday evening as we sat across from each other on the porch. Yeah, rub it in, why don't you. It was more eerie than I anticipated, coming home to a monshu-free home. When we lived apart, three to four nights dining on my own (not necessarily "solo", but often so) was par for the week; now meals together are the new normal. Moreover, exceptions are almost invariably due to me going out to meet someone. So having only the cat around to watch me reheat my stuffed pizza? Odd.

Deepening the oddity of it all was the lack of neighbours. I saw the gayboys briefly on their way out, but that was it until Scooter finally decided to take the dogs out. It gave me a chance to take the cat on a sniffing tour of the garden, during which I noticed that the autumn-blooming clematis is in bud. So soon? It's gone gangbusters over this summer of sun and rain so I'm hoping the blossoms last a bit longer than a week this time around.

It also reminded me that if we're going to plant anything in Crazy Neighbour Lady's plot--which I paintstakingly weeded--and expect a crop before the cold hits, I'd better sow something this weekend. monshu wants basil or some other leafy herb that can be frozen. Scooter suggested salad greens. They both would like to see some autumn flowers mixed in there, too, like a couple of big ol' chrysanthemums.

WotD: [name] badge

1. das Namensschild
2. de badge, het namenplaatje
3. la tarjeta de identificación, el gafete
4. la targeta d'identificació
5. le badge
6. y bathodyn
7. an suaitheantas
8. identyfikator
9. 배지, 명찰 (名札)
10. 身份證 shēnfènzhèng

Notes: We got out new employee badges yesterday. They only had lanyards, so I've been wearing mine wrapped around my belt loop so I can stuff the excess into my pocket. And that way it draws attention away from my sad little chest to a much stronger feature.

Compensation

When I received the invitation through Facebook, I knew something was amiss. First of all, the only recipients were me and my artist friend. Second, the date was both sooner than I remembered and--most suspiciously at all--tonight. Who has an art opening on a Tuesday night? But I dragged myself down to Wicker Park anyway.

For one thing, I was only 99% sure it had been a mistake. For another, I knew that if it was a mistake and I went anyway, my artist friend would owe me. Big time. But even that would not have sufficed if not for the strategic proximity of Myopic Books. After all, what was my big plan for the second GWO-free evening in a row? It was to head down to Bookworks and look for Portuguese textbooks.

Even in the sprawling oubliette that is Myopic's foreign language section, these were surprisingly thin on the ground. In fact, there was a single book and it was far too elementary to interest me. Still, I was amply rewarded for the time spent combing their selection. But judge for yourself:

1. Bowen. Elizabeth. The last September
2. Corbett, Greville. Gender
3. Fontane, Theodor
   • L'Adultera·Graf Petöfy
   • Der Stechlin
4. Le Fanu, Sheridan. In a glass darkly.
5. O'Brien, Edna. The light of evening.
6. Özdamar, Emine Sevgi. Die Brücke vom Goldenen Horn
7. Pamuk, Orhan. The black book

Not to mention that the two hours getting there put me within striking distance of finishing my current read, and now I've got more motivation than ever to dispense with it.