I was frustrated at the end of last year when I couldn't find an Art Page-a-day calendar anywhere. Not in stores, not online, not from the publisher, no place. I ended up making do with the Islands calendar, but it's getting monotonous (which is a fairly monotonous word if you look at it) to write about for an entire year, not much variety. So I resolved to make certain I get one for 2011. I went on Amazon.com and pre-ordered one. They emailed me a few weeks ago to say that "the item I had ordered was still not available and did I want to keep it on order." Yes. I got another email from Amazon last week that my order had shipped; I thought I had preordered a Carl Haaisen book or something, but turns out it was my 2011 Art calendar. In August. No wonder I couldn't find it in December or January. The freaks print it 5 months early, the vultures and hoarders buy up all the copies, and normal people (like me) can't find it when normal people (like me) shop for calendars when the year's about to turn. Tsk.
August 4--Jamaica. Peering through the lattice that screened the side of the walk down to our room at the Richmond Hill Inn in Montego Bay was like peeking into another world. In the world of the Richmond Hill life was ordered and clean, meals were served with colonial pomp, and voices were only raised in genteel laughter. On the other side of that flimsy screen the land plunged downhill and in the valley hovels leaned against each other like drunks and life was lived at a raucous fever pitch. We clung to our gentility on that hilltop all too aware of how easy it would be to slide into the valley.
Ah, warm honeymoon memories. Happy birthday, Durwood!