» I was in stall #3 of the 19th floor washroom (the one with the plush TP you might remember) when I heard a guy stride into the room whistling loudly. He continued to whistle enthusiastically, at full volume, while he got down to business at the urinals. It was some famous showtune I couldn’t play. Like "Singing In the Rain" but it wasn’t. He was jazzing up the melody enough that it was just this side of a recognizable melody. I think he might have been mashing-up the Gershwin songbook, whistling a few bars of a dozen songs at a time. I expected him to stop whistling but he kept going. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone whistle in public, much less in a washroom, with such fervor. He only stopped for a spell of grunting and wheezing. So much grunting and wheezing I thought he was defecating in the urinal. The grunting stopped and the whistling restarted as he washed his hands. When he was at the sink I could see through the crack in the door of stall #3 that it was the morbidly obese Roger Ebert clone from the other set of offices on our floor. I later saw him standing by the elevators, still whistling.
» Last wednesday I slept on my arm weird in an attempt to not disturb Mandi in her own slumber. I knew it was a bad idea but it wouldn’t be the first time a guy did something foolish for love. Besides, she made me an origami X-Wing fighter last week. I owed her that much.
As I suspected, I woke up with a stiff arm but I assumed it would sort itself out by mid-afternoon. It didn’t. Nor did it sort itself out in the following days. I’m still not able to raise my left arm higher than between 0 and 10 degrees. Luckily, I don’t really ever need to raise it higher than maybe -25 degrees. So I was ignoring it and wondering if it was semi-dislocated or perhaps there was something wrong with my bursa. I wasn’t all that concerned until yesterday when (not only did I realize it had been over a week but that) it was getting worse. If I turned my arm in certain directions it felt like someone was stabbing me with an invisible dagger. Mandi was poking at it last night and seems to think I have a severe knot. Her poking seemed to help. So she’s probably right.
» Yesterday’s Honey tangerine was a disappointment. Dried out and seedy. It’s skin was somewhat leathery and it simply gave me a sordid feeling having it in my mouth. I thought this might have been the end of my obsession with tangerines but I’ve given the tangy ones another chance.
I’ve gone back back to the Minneola. But this time I chosen an organic variety. This delightful specimen peeled easily, the juice was both sweet and sour and it was entirely seedless. It was like slipping into a cool bed with freshly made sheets on a hot evening with nightingales singing softly outside the window.