Gamma and I celebrated Mary getting pregnant yesterday by unexpectedly taking getting the day off and buying some paints and painting a desk I made for her out of scraps around my shop so she has a place to paint and stuff in her playroom. Everyone knew the holiday was coming, even I knew, but it still took me by surprise. Somehow I thought it was not until next week.

I’ll bet Mary was a real fun person to be around. Not only does she get pregnant out of wedlock, she manages to tell such an interesting story about it that Joseph still you know and not only that a whole religion and so on.

I caught Gamma composing yesterday. Sitting at her piano, tinkling away and jotting down notes on a light blue postit pad. It’s called M

The joke is on the pacifists.
The joke is on you.
Yesterday’s joke is today’s news.
A joke is a crime.
A joke is not a thing but a process.
A joke is a very serious thing.
A joke is no joke.
A joke is like a story.

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The sign outside said Happy Hour but the drinks cost the same as always and the waiters were delightfully cranky. I sat across from Anne, feeling suave as my penultimate cigarette dangled from my lip and I felt my pockets looking for my lighter.
Anne made the international gesture for “turn your cigarette around, you’re trying to light the filter”.
She had come all the way from Brno to watch me smoke my final pack of cigarettes as we wandered around Vienna.

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My dad’s in poor health. I called him at the hospital last night and tried to cheer him up:

Mig: But other than the vomiting blood and the heart attack, you’re feeling okay?

Dad: Heh.