Lockdown: It’s chess a slice o’ lemon pie

Saturday I just didn’t have it in me to head for the beach. I don’t know why. Not quite enough sleep for one thing, but I also got up a little late, like around 4:00, which I thought was too late to snag parking.

I gave myself a little more time in bed, which my body and brain were most grateful for. Took my time waking up, then got on the road at about 8:00. I was supposed to pick up my mom’s birthday gift at the Rice Factory (Japanese rice), but when I got there the store was locked. Checked my email verification, and it said pickup would be at the Kakaako Farmers Market.

I had actually considered going to the Kakaako Farmers Market after my errand, but I messaged Melissa Friday to ask her how crowded it was. I think I wrote about this yesterday. She talked me out of it, and I had my sights set on the Pearlridge Farmers Market instead.

But there I was at Kakaako, and Melissa was right: it’s a lot of people. I was really stressed. The sad thing is that everything I saw as I searched for the Rice Factory booth looked great. Fresh produce, locally made food and condiments, some crafts, even. I could also see this cloud of viruses hovering overhead, ready to swoop down on me like angry bees and carry me to heaven. No thank you.

I picked up my order and lugged the 35 pounds of very expensive rice to my car. Put a nice dent in my car pulling out of the stall, scraping the wall in the parking structure. Yay.

The car doesn’t bother me too much. As I’ve said, I’m planning on having some body work done anyway. But the stress of all those people took my Pearlridge resolve right of me. Instead I stopped at 7-Eleven to get a money order for the rent. I had time to kill before my pickup at Hawaiian Pie Company, so I had a convenience store sandwich. I’m such a sucker for those things for some reason. And a Diet Pepsi. That was breakfast.

I guess a slice of lemon chess pie was my lunch. For dinner I had some English muffin pizzas, with a new batch of sauce. It isn’t just that I really like these things; it’s that when a single guy buys half a dozen English muffins, it’s a race to get them consumed before they go bad. And I bought two half dozen. If I can get two more muffins eaten and leave just two for the mold, I’ll consider it a good deal — ten out of twelve is okay by me.

Along the way I watched the first four episodes of season two of Halt and Catch Fire. It’s not nearly as compelling, but it’s still pretty engaging. I was sixteen when the events depicted (and fictionalized) here took place. Sixteen, and two years into teaching myself BASIC. I’d already stumbled through sprite creation and motion, but the motion was programmed, not directed by a keyboard commands or a joystick. I’d learned one-dimensional arrays for single-voiced music, but three-dimensional arrays were too tricky to teach myself. I still don’t know how to do them.

It makes me wonder what might have happened if I’d gone a different way.

I did the Saturday NYT crossword in 14 minutes even. I was pleased.

Not many texts. I sent Crush Girl and Ali (separately) a photo of a funny t-shirt I think both could wear to work and get some laughs. Messaged Melissa to tell her I wasn’t going to make it to the Pearlridge Farmers Market (and why). F5 Girl and I traded some texts about Bob Uecker again. So odd.

The Chagall Guevara Kickstarter campaign hit its second stretch goal ($125K) with just over a day to go, so I’m in the hole for a ridiculous amount of money for three CDs and the same albums on LP. I’m also on the priority list for concert tickets in Nashville. Fly to Nashville just to see a concert? I’m not ruling it out.

I get to reserve two tickets (for purchase) and the only other person I know who’d appreciate it is R, who loves Steve Taylor almost as much as I do. I don’t think she was as fond of Chagall Guevara as I was, but she definitely appreciated it. Dammit.

This means I need to find a GF before then. Applications taken in the comments below.

Just kidding. But hit me up down there if you want someone to trade messages with. I promise not to bore you with much Chagall Guevara talk. Because I could talk about them all day and it would never be boring!

This is “Murder in the Big House,” live in 1991. Christians just didn’t sing about global warming in 1991. Except Bruce Cockburn. And here they are. Brilliant and wonderful and ignored.

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