Et in Arcadia Ego

I'm sitting in my new kitchen, a sunlit room with windows everywhere, like an observatory. There is a birdfeeder that may only be supplied by precariously climbing behind the fridge and onto the roof outside. There are chipmunks and cats climbing fences and wizened trees and eclectic yards and a dormant volcano in view. There are lots of plants, inherited from my predecessor here or under the care of my new roommate. Of my new neighbors, I know little, save that a string quartet practices regularly next door on the one hand, and a family with adorable small children may be glimpsed through the windows next door on the other. Bucolic, indeed. Et in Arcadia ego.

The evacuation of the bunker-apartment has been achieved without any undue difficulty. To my knowledge, the only Paul-article left behind is my 12" wok, which I intend to retrieve immediately.

I have received the flight tickets for the upcoming Philippines Odyssey, to begin in less than six days. I mentioned to one of my aunts that I will be intending to visit my mother's family in San Fernando, and they looked at me like I was intending to visit the far side of Mars. Oh, this will be fun.




JJ-Wan Kenobi said...

Of course the most obvous question that comes to mind about your new lair is: Is it big enough for when Amy and I come visit?

With your mom's all too comfy 'warehouse with boxes and furniture stacked to the ceiling' motif and your dad's 'Living like P.Diddy' sans the hoes palace your place sounds like a nice place to crash.

Tell me, is there a large turntable in your drive way that rotates your car into launch position?

If you have a sec gimme a call this weekend & leave me your new number. It'd be nice to hear from you before you shove off to The Homeland. I think Amy wants you to look for some illegal Fendi bag knock-offs or something (you know the kind that look real but fall apart when you expose them to light, heat, cold, dust or oxygen).

Just a tip for you when travelling internationally: That money clip with the nail file in it WILL be taken away from you. And when the surly Puerto Rican Customs officer says "Are you willingly surrendering this weapon?" You must lay your deadly dagger on the ground and concede.


The Lioness said...

Oh Kenobi, I get to read paul and you, fun! Thanks for the chuckle, much appreciated.

P., I'm still around, just not v articulate right now. And sometimes you make me think and I can't do that a lot just yet so I avoid your blog sometimes. Sorry. But thanks for your comment, it was hilarious! I'm keeping my fingers crossed for your trip and pray you'll take some pics to show us (don't need to be personal - sadly). And now I'll google your favourite poet, and educate myself further.

paulmonster said...


I will call Sunday evening. The turntable launchpad keeps jamming, I throw the lever and it thinks I want to activate the moon-pulverizing death-ray, which I don't.

There's plenty of room, my roommate even has hammocks. As I unpack, we've got our eyes out for--you guessed it--bookshelves.

Do you think lightsabers can make it through Customs? I'm really not supposed to travel without mine. I can't tell you how often my lightsaber has gotten me out of a jam--you know, like when I need to find my glasses in the dark, or when I need to impress some people at parties by opening beer kegs with the keychain attachment, or when the Sand People get all uppity.