Thursday, October 20, 2005
In San Antonio when I was a teeny-tiny (back in the day when The Father loved me, or made a more whole-hearted show of pretending he did), The Father used to take me to Mr. Gatti's, where we would sit eating cinnamon sticks for about fifteen minutes as our pizza order baked. Years later, The Father told me he would talk to the [female] manager, but I do not recall him talking to anyone, probably because I was busy focusing on the cinnamon sticks or the strange environment full of people foreign to my usual form of nuclear-family social exposure. Mayhaps he was having an affair with The Mr. Gatti's Lady, and I was his cute bait.
Last night I went to a Mr. Gatti's in Lubbock for a Gamma Beta Phi mass meeting, which differed from the childhood Mr. Gatti's in that the food was terrible (with the exception of the cheese sticks, which were muy bueno), the colours were over-bright, there was no sports bar, the game room was gigantic, and there were definitely no affairs to be had. Jared and I wandered in search of a decent crane game, but these as well were in meager supply, "meager" indicating "a poorly-stocked box next to the party room". It contained a few depressed teddy bears, but I made no attempt to rescue them.
Before classes I need to
outline a paper for the ancient sexuality classAt seven tonight I reserved a racquetball court wherein Kelley, Jeremy and I shall play. They both are much more advanced than I am, but hopefully they will still enjoy themselves. Watching me attempt any sort of sport, I imagine, probably is quite entertaining.
finish some Latin composition sentences
memorize the endings of Greek contract verbs
download the next ancient sexuality reading
read the next German reading section
outline a philosophy response essay
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:12 AM]