There was a big ol’ box at the post office. Inside it were the following items:
* Two wooden salt and pepper shakers shaped like cats, complete with googly eyes. When you tip the pepper cat up, it makes a noise like a cat would make if it was really sick. The salt one doesn’t make it, probably because it’s broken.
* A wooden mortar and pestle. Which is cool, but wood doesn’t seem like the right material for a mortar and pestle to be made out of. Possible solution: use the bowl for pot pourri and give the pestle to a special friend for Christmas but pretend it’s an exotic sex toy.
* A wooden box with a blue tile lid. It’s quite nice. I’m not sure what to put in it. If I had some cigars I could keep them in it. But I don’t have any cigars. Perhaps I should buy some?
* “Incidental Furniture” a book published in 1953 about how to make all those incidental pieces of furniture around the home. I think I need to make a radio cabinet.
* “The Autograph Man” by Zadie Smith. I’ve been wanting to read this. Hooray!
I had dinner at the OLC with Dylz, LL Cool R, Jakmes, and that other guy. Actually, I just made up all those nicknames five seconds ago. I don’t actually call them by nicknames. Sometimes Dylan is called Trixie McLicious.
Dylzno gave me a CD with a video selection of me talking about the goddess. It was at the Basque Park festival in early 2001 and my hair is short and blonde. It’s quite funny, and Dylzno has threatened to shrink it down to a small size so I can have it up on my web site.
Finally, I drove down Franklin Road. There were so many people driving down there to check out the Christmas lights that traffic was crawling. But it was ok. the slow traffic meant I could see everything. There were heaps of people walking along the footpath too. The locals were hanging out on their front porches, someone had a stand selling coffee (yeah, yeah, it’s becoming commercialised, totally selling out. T-shirts next year, perhaps?), but there was a really good vibe to it. A song by Nesian Mystik came on the radio and everything felt right, like this is what Christmas in Auckland in 2002 is meant to be like.