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Tourists Took My Taxi
Tuesday, April 20, 2004 @ 3:24 pm

One of my favorite travel writers is Tim Cahill. I used to have a subscription to Outside Magazine, and his was the first article I would read. Some issues, it was the only article I would read. He's funny. He writes well. He's from Wisconsin. It's more than that, though. He doesn't just travel: he has adventures. He writes books with titles like Jaguars Ripped My Flesh and A Wolverine Is Eating My Leg. He's even got one called Pecked To Death By Ducks. Whereas I, intrepid traveller that I am, am currently limited to titles such as Tourists Took My Taxi.

Which they did, just last night. What happened was this: Whilst I was waiting on my taxi, I stepped out of the pub to talk on my cellphone because it was loud inside-- a special loudness that only an Irish pub packed full of drunken middle-aged male golfers can have. Elvis had called, ironically enough, to find out where I was and why I wasn't home yet. Just as I finished talking to him, my taxi pulled into the square. I gave the driver a little wave to indicate that I had seen him and would be right back, then popped inside to get my bag and my jacket. I said a brisk goodbye to my friends and left the pub just in time to see several drunken golfers piling into my cab.

So I went back in and had them call me another taxi. It arrived in due course, I arrived home safe and sound, and Elvis was slightly more peeved than he already was at my late arrival.

And that was it, really. Nothing exciting, nothing dangerous, no real harm done. It's a pretty dull tale all around, in fact. Sorry about that.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To say that I haven't updated in a while would be a bit of an understatement, not to mention pretty damn obvious, so I won't mention it. To those of you who took the time to inquire as to my whereabouts, state of physical and mental health and so forth: I am just fine, and I thank you for your kindness. It means a lot to me, truly it does.

Actually, the entirety of 2004 has not been a good one for me, writing wise-- and not just for this journal, but for everything that I've been working on. Or not working on, as the case may be. For the most part, I don't know why that is. For the lesser part, I think I do, but it's not something that I'm going to go into here. What I do know is that I need to get my writing life back on track, and the place I am going to start that is here.

That said, you haven't missed much. Things are pretty much the way they've always been around here. Some more of our friends-- and a very good one in particular-- have moved away, which is pretty standard for the expat community. It's sad, but it's the price we pay for the life we lead. Next time, it might be us doing the leaving. Who knows, really?

On the other hand, Miss Kitty came for a visit. She's enjoying her new life, and it was obviously a good move for her, although she's sick to death of snow at the moment. She's even got herself a man. He is not now, nor has he ever been, one of her infamous Cute Guys™. In fact, he's not her usual type at all: he's employed, has an actual career, is not from a Mediterranean or other Latin country, and does not live with, or in close proximity to, his mother. He's also not coming on too strong, which is a wise move on his part. (Unlike, for example, the last one, who was keen to impregnate her as soon as possible, despite the fact that they didn't even life in the same country and had only been seeing each other for six weeks.)

It was great to have her back, even if it was only for a week. On the other hand, I was sort of glad to see her go because she wore me out. Seriously. We were out running around everyday, out bar hopping every night, and it left me completely exhausted. At the end of the week, I got her safely ensconced in the airport bus, waved bye-bye, and immediately wanted to take a nap right there and then on the bench in the bus shelter.

I'm getting old, folks, and I must admit that I don't like it much.

The Late Night Bar of Evil is still there, of course, as evil as ever. We don't go there as often as we used to; another casualty of our forward march toward decrepitude. The last time I went, out of a total of six glasses, I managed to ingest exactly seven swallows of beer. One glass I dropped, two were knocked out of my hands, two were knocked off the table, and one was kicked over. (Don't ask.) Thank God I didn't pay for any of them. In the end, I ended up with a full glass of beer that had gone completely warm and flat, as someone had obviously switched theirs for my nice, new cold one. Soapy-- who had somehow ended up with two giant mugs, each half full of nice cold beer-- took pity on me and gave me one of his, figuring that it wouldn't be cursed.

At which point Elvis whirled around to say something to me, slipped slightly on the beer-soaked floor, grabbed my arm to keep from falling, and sent it flying.

We left soon after. I know when the universe is trying to tell me something.

In herbal news, my sage is growing wonderfully. The basil is growing too, albeit at a slower pace, and I'm beginning to wonder if it really is basil after all. Maybe it's dwarf-basil or something, which would be pretty darn useless. The chives are hanging in there, although the thyme and cilantro have both given up the ghost. Those last three are currently living on the balcony and I, ahem, forgot to water them. Gotta love the chives, though: that's one sturdy herb. And the infested rosemary? Blew away. I feel a bit guilty about that: it's hard enough to battle the wind around here as you walk down the street without getting hit upside the head by a pot of rosemary. Or any potted plant, come to think about it.

My sinuses are still causing me much grief and misery. I'm getting better at not whining about it in public, however. I tend to save that sort of self pity for when I'm at home alone, where I can cower pathetically in the corner, whimpering softly. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I've started doing yoga again on a regular basis. I finally found a teacher nearby, and have been going to classes twice a week. It's different than the sweaty vinyasa "power" yoga that I've been doing for the past four years. Less strenuous. More introspective. We've been working on meditation, too. Perhaps it will make me a better person. Time will tell.

I've been fairly good about going to the gym, except for the last couple of weeks. I could blame Miss Kitty for that, at least in part, but in all honesty it's down to my own laziness. Once I get off track, I find it difficult to get back into the habit. (Hey! Maybe all that introspection is paying off after all.) Whatever the reason, I plan to go and work out tomorrow. I would have done so today, but I decided to write this update instead.

Maybe it was a good trade-off. Maybe not. Either way, it works for me.

And on that note, I'm off to to the post office to pay some bills-- which is, unfortunately, one thing that never changes.

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