Mojo Risin'

After six months plus of gloomy Gus-iness, I feel suddenly energized. I've started playing my long-neglected guitar. I've begun journaling for the first time in two years. I'm having powerful and interesting dreams. Not sure what planetary alignment is responsible, but it feels good. I feel more sociable than I have in ages, and can get excited about ideas like Flea's book discussion group, instead of shrinking in fear from possible conversation.

Yo! Adrienne and I are imagining a French language conversation group because our skills grow rusty indeed. We hope to rope the neighborhood Parisian into participation--but, seeing as he's a Parisian, one doubts his potential enthusiasm for such an enterprise. Perhaps Mathieu would enjoy sneering contemptuously at us over red wine, correcting our faulty grammar? And yes, I'm stereotyping--but Matthieu fits the bill perfectly, dressed as he is all in black at all times, even in this wretched weather--black longsleeved shirts and thick black denim pants. The only things missing are a beret angled to the side of his head and a bright scarf tied jauntily round his neck. When you speak to Mathieu he demands to know whether you're being sarcastic or cynical, and if you say "non" he asks "mais pourquoi pas?"

Cha is at College Park for two weeks and Julio remains in Italy. Yo! Adrienne and I have been mourning our absent spouses by going to get ice cream or sushi or shopping at Mill Valley. I love Mill Valley but approach it with caution. One of my old Liberry nemeses haunts it from time to time. Will I ever escape the dreaded Assburger?

Today is our departmental cook-out, ostensibly designed to boost departmental morale. A cook-out in 100 degree weather. At noon.