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Monday, April 28th, 2003
| Time | Event |
| 2:04a | Woody Allen, "The Whore of Mensa" One thing about being a private investigator, you've got to learn to go with your hunches. That's why when a quivering pat of butter named Word Babcock walked into my office and laid his cards on the table, I should have trusted the cold chill that shot up my spine. "Kaiser?" he said, "Kaiser Lupowitz?" "That's what it says on my license," I owned up. "You've got to help me. I'm being blackmailed. Please!" He was shaking like a lead singer in a rumba band. I pushed the glass across the desk top and a bottle of rye I keep for nonmedicinal purposes. "Suppose you relax and tell me all about it." "You... you won't tell my wife?" "Level with me, Word. I can't make any promises." He tired pouring a drink, but you could hear the clicking sound across the street, and most of the stuff wound up on his shoes. "I'm a working guy," he said. "Mechanical maintenance. I build and service joy buzzers. You know -- those little fun gimmicks that give people a shock when they shake hands?" "So?" "A lot of your executives like 'em. Particularly down on Wall Street." "Get to the point." "I'm on the road a lot. You know how it is -- lonely. On, not what you're thinking. See, Kaiser, I'm basically an aintellectual. Sure, a guy can meet all the bimbos he wants. But the really brainy women -- they're not so easy to find on short notice." "Keep talking." "Well, I heard of this young girl. Eighteen years old. A Yassar student. For a price, she'll come over and discuss any subject - Proust, Yeats, anthropology. Excnahge of ideas. You see what I'm driving at?" "Not exactly." "I mean, my wife is great, don't get me wrong. But she won't discuss Pound with me. Or Eliot. I didn' know that when I married her. See, I need a woman who's mentally stimulating, Kaiser. And I'm willing to pay for it. I don't want an involvement -- I want a quick intellectual experience, then I want the girl to leave. Christ, Kaiser, I'm a happily married man." "How long has this been going on?" "Six months. Whenever I have that craving, I call Flossie. She's a madam, with a master's in comparative lit. She sends me over an intellectual, see?"( Read some more... ) Later that night, I looked up an old account of mine named Gloria. She was blond. She had graduated cum laude. The difference was she majored in physical education. It felt good. |
| 9:31a | Стих для Беседера Одному бармену Ты мой Southern Comfort, Ты мой Johnny Walker, Бесконечный штопор И бездонный боттл. Если станет худо, Я у стойки сяду В ожиданьи чуда: Яду мне, мол, яду! И тебе отдам я Всё рукой дрожащей: Гонорар недавний, Гонорар ближайший... Оттого, что вежлив, Разливая пиво, Парень с побережья Финского Залива. В случае отстоя Требуйте долива. |
| 10:31a | Если журналы бывают Monthly и Quarterly, то непременно должны быть Atlantic Utterly и Pacific Totally... |
| 6:14p | Дайте жалобную книгу Весной в Иерусалиме все работает через пень-колоду. Мало того, что большая часть всего вымирает на сутки в пятницу вечером, еще и праздники: в начале и в конце Песаха все не работало, а теперь пошли Дни Памяти. Назовите меня циником, но я сегодня собиралась на The Hours, а некуда. И даже любимый бар закрыт. Прошу прощения за вербализацию низменных соображений (как сказал один герой Довлатова, "Поцелуйтесь с Рибентроппом!") вместо того, чтобы зажечь тут свечку.gif. Впрочем, все еще впереди. Current Mood:  annoyed |
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