Cada dia. Believe it or not.
It is raining in Bogota, and I can-t find the apostrophe key. It-s Sunday and the streets are empty or full of bicyclists, there is a market nearby we cannot be bothered to peruse so we are sipping aguardiente in the Platypus dining room, watching the Twins on Gamecast and keeping track of Tiger's (not-so)-triumphant Masters re-emergence.
I've found the apostrophe, but I really wanted to use a semi-colon in that last sentence, after bicyclists, but Keir's little keyboard is struggling through some identity issues. The question mark is represented by the dash and underscore, whereas the dash and underscore are hidden under a question mark and backslash. This is also the key that claims to represent the apostrophe but no, don't be fooled.
Last night the power went out and we ate Mongolian barbecue in the dark. Then there were candles and it got romantic. The power stayed out in our humble neighborhood of La Candelaria, but strangely enough the ritzy Zona Rosa experienced no outage at all. Funny how that works.
It's 4-4, top 7. Nick Blackburn has apparently pitched a gem, except for three pitches which the White Sox have punished over the outfield wall. Still, somehow I get the sense we've got the Sox in our pocket. ESPN disagrees, says the home team has a 59% chance of winning from this juncture. Mas aguardiente, por favor.
So far Bogota only makes me miss Buenos Aires. It occurs to me that when this Colombian venture ends I might need to max out the AmEx and finagle my way back to BA. I know my dear mother would prefer to visit me there, as opposed to here or Medellin. We'll see.
Speaking of my mother, I imagine she'll be curious to hear what I'm reading. I just finished Michael Chabon's "The Yiddish Policemen's Union". For me, it was an incredibly synchronistic book to have read, mostly based on the fact that the plot centered around a chess problem. There were a number of other "coincidences" that came up, but it is going to take too long to explain the context of their apparent or imagined significance so instead I'll spend just one rambling sentence explaining why I am choosing not to explain.
So today, I traded in a Bill Bryson book about England that none of us read, and in return chose "The Lyre of Orpheus", by Robertson Davies. All I know so far is that it is the third book in a trilogy, and that Davies has a truly transcendent beard. Supposedly he's very funny. I'll let you know.
Okay for now.