I ate dinner at the local IHOP. It’s been on 17th street forever and is very dingy. The food isn’t good, but it’s very evocative of childhood for me so I go about every two months.
Today I stopped and noticed the little Shrine to This IHOP near the entrance. As with most restaurants of this type were were articles from local papers about the place or letters from long-time customers, etc. Unlike most, there was a long article from a newspaper about the owner. His name is something like Abdullah Akbar and he is an Afghani and a former CIA agent who fought against the Soviets in the 1980s war.
I wonder if I bought pork chops, eggs, hash browns and pancakes from Al-Qaeda today?
At D’s a horrible hippie band arrived in the late afternoon with lots of electrical equipment and booted me out of my table so they could plug in. When I stopped by later the entire patio was full of their greasy friends, and they had a keyboard and PA and a few amps out. This just sort of spontaneously happened. I think I should show up there next week with a kazoo hooked up to a Fender Twin and just cut loose.
Oh, and Eric got into such a bad fight with one of his customers at the Napa that the police were called.
What does anyone think of the poetry of Robert Penn Warren? Redhead Sara(h) was reading it today and said it was good. I’ve never read any. I talked to her and two musicians named Matt for about an hour. Matt #1 once had to bring home a garden gnome from Ireland.
I am Lonesome Cowboy Substitute lately. I don’t seem to connect with people much in person. Also, I don’t think anyone has got a sentence completely out in about six weeks.