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The Night I Was Lusting after Green Stone Algorithm April 7, 2009

Posted by indigobunting in Uncategorized.
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“Billy was there?” George says. “Did he show up after we left? I would’ve punched him in the face!”

Billy had been a photography assistant, a really good one, who left the studio upon falling in love with a woman who could apparently keep him (her mother having sold a small company you may have heard of), so now he was off traveling and photographing, although maybe not so much now, what with his arm in a cast and a pin (or was it four?) in his wrist, which happened—he told us at Diane’s opening in the modern-furniture store where George had just missed seeing him—in Florida (I think) when he flipped over the handlebars of the safest bike imaginable and his t-shirt got caught in the spokes, but there he was at the opening in his delightful Billyness and it was lovely to see him and say hello as I admired all the Diane paintings I would like to own myself, particularly that one in the corner, behind the counter/register (which was also serving as the get-your-free-mini-Cosmo-here station), where those two greyhounds (one brindle, one brown and white, whose beds were also behind said counter/register) put up with me each time I took a closer look at that painting, which was many times more than once.

We visited with Billy and Wendy and Jeff and Peter and Tim and Alfred and Diane but I missed meeting Tallulah because, now being a good half-hour behind George and Michele and Emma, who had been there earlier, we hurried along to have dinner at their house (Tim and Emma having set up that recorder-and-flute-duet date), but when we got in the car I realized my left earring was gone, and I loved that earring, and I was sad, but it could be anywhere, it could be on the floor at the opening or at another gallery or on the street, but I’d only removed my coat and scarf at the bar where I sipped a prosecco before the opening, and coat/scarf removal was the Movement Most Likely to Dislodge an Earring, so Tim dropped me off at the White Heart and a nice woman let me look around the floor at her feet—alas, no earring—but I did find Tim and the car just around the corner, Tim having managed to not have to circle the block, and poor-little-moi figured that if my earring was on the floor in that furniture store/gallery, I would never get it back, as at the very least it would be vacuumed up, and the whole crowded setup of the situation (an art opening in a crowded furniture store!) made it impossible to even consider going back and looking for it, so we headed off to George et al.’s, and Tim turned the CD player on, and Flight of the Conchords started up, and I have to admit that hearing “Boom” and “Business Time” cheered me up a bit in spite of myself and in spite of the hard rain that started to fall as we crossed the bridge to South Portland.

We made it there just as Michele was leaving to pick up Thai food, and Emma was taking coats, and when I took my scarf off, the missing earring—which had been caught deep in the folds—fell to the floor, and there was much rejoicing on my part, and Tim and Emma had a great play date and I got to play with Murphy the Staffordshire bull terrier and Buddha the little manx cat and I got to visit with George and Michele who are rather delightful and I got to eat Thai food and drink white wine and look at the Diane paintings that George and Michele have, and eventually Billy’s name came up, and George said, “Billy was there?” and mentioned that he would have punched him in the face, I think because Billy was so good at his job and had simply abandoned them all to be kept and to his follow his dreams, but I don’t really know for sure, and we mentioned that Billy was at a disadvantage at the moment, what with the wrist pin and all.

“Still,” George said, smiling. “I would’ve have punched him.”

Comments»

1. waxwing - April 7, 2009

This post made me breathless and glad that my ear holes have closed up so I don’t lose earrings anymore and a little confused as to why George wanted to punch someone and of course envious of IB and her Portland People.

2. Bridgett - April 7, 2009

This is like one long sentence told by a seventeen year old on the telephone. Except without all the yaknows…

3. bettyslocombe - April 8, 2009

seenowthatwasstreamofconsciousness

4. Helen - April 8, 2009

Yes, I’m wondering how one would read this at a reading. I guess you would have to take a really really deep breath first, or get an opera singer to read it for you.

Great story, and I love love love the title…

5. Eulalia (Lali) Benejam Cobb - April 8, 2009

Sounds like Beckett to me. Whew, Indigo, when you blog, you really blog! As loser of many an earring, I rejoice with you.

6. Joya - April 8, 2009

I still haven’t figured out what a Green Stone Algorithm is. And poor kept Billy! He would be a pitiful sight, indeed, with his arm in a sling and a black eye, too.

7. indigobunting - April 9, 2009

Joya: It was the name of the painting.

Bridgett: Or all the question-mark turns in the voice.

Lali: Odd. I just read Waiting for Godot in preparation to see it on Broadway starring that sweet Bill Irwin.

Next post won’t be streamofconsciousness, with any luck for you all.

8. Bridgett - April 9, 2009

Ok? Like, I know?

This is not to say I don’t like to read it.


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