We saw Trout Fishing in the Yeman this morning. It was a pleasant way to spend two hours, a nice, predictable love story against most unusual plot circumstances. But it won’t be one I’ll remember a month from now.
On Ellen today, Cee Lo Green, in an eye-popping electric pink suit, entered with an entourage of Vegas dollies clothed mainly in feathers and little else. Who the hell is Cee Lo Green and what’s he ever done to warrant national attention on The Voice? I'm guessing he started out as a rapper and then went on to producing. But since I don't have time for rap and hip hop, I don't need to hear what he might have done.
Our weather is in one of our early spring ups and downs, up today and tomorrow and down again toward the weekend. This is by far the best place we’ve ever lived. Who needs seasonal change? We go from cool winter to lovely spring to hot summer to lovely autumn—no falling leaves, no shoveling snow, no mowing lawns. I used to spend hours and hours raking leaves, shoveling snow, mowing lawns back in Lakewood, N.Y. These are hours and hours and hours I’ll never get back, and other than the sounds and smells and sights of those physical tasks, I don’t miss them. The clean, crisp air of winter, the crunch of shovel after shovel of icy snow as I free my car enough to drive to school, only to find when I return the freshly enclosed driveway from a snow plow that cleared the street but engulfed my driveway. The sound of steel-pronged leaf rake scratching across fall lawn as I rake maple leaves onto a tarp, then haul it to the front street to add to the pile waiting for the village pickup. The smell of freshly mown grass from my weekly race around the yard, an hour and a half every week. Nah, I’ll take cactus and palms and colored stones instead of grass. After all, I have seven gorgeous golf courses to give me all the grass and flowers I need.