Halo-Halo

"He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the word and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not."

-- Cormac McCarthy, The Road

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The ladies downstairs have figured out the vacuum cleaner. I agree with Dad: The old-school bag dirtsuckers were better. No canisters with temperamental dust billowing out. Heavier, yes, but better. Now the modern monster whines and buzzes on the kitchen's hardwood floor, gathering the glitter that fell yesterday. Glad I missed that. I hate glitter, except when it is contained, which is another way of saying glitter is either useless or annoying. Glitter must stay inside a small sealed thing. Not on the floor. Or on my clothes.

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The Filipino dinner was a success. We had plump lumpia and fat pansit, with mushy, absorbent rice. And some iced green tea. I furnished dessert, halo-halo (rhymes with "ball-o-ball-o"), the layered soupy ice-cream of the southwest Pacific aisles. Big hits.

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After a stretch of consecutive touring days, we get a late start tomorrow (call is after noon, a rarity), and a full day off on Tuesday. You'd think you'd fill such vacancies with tenant activities, enjoying the freedom to enslave yourself to whatever recreation you wish, but I honestly could use a lethargic day. Reading, eating, sleeping, maybe walking to the park. If it comes to that.

I think I can quit smoking if I keep forgetting to buy another pack.

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We played the Palace Theatre today, north of Columbus in a small town called Marion. Reminds me of Hillsdale. The inside architecture blew me away: huge Sicilian arches with ivy and statuettes, a honeycombed proscenium of brass and wood, all as ancient and bewildering as a colloseum. The stage manager said the design was from an Italian who missed the Mediterranean. The Palace is by far the nicest venue we've yet played.

And on the ride back, the three-hour trek on OH-4 West, a cotton-candy squid of blue and pink clouds slithered and escaped across the sky. The sun set upon our arrival in Cinci, a pastel painting on the gridwork and skyline. A good day.