What happened to the Cream and the Clear?
It's been a busy period here in the life of your unemployed, pseudo-architect correspondent. On any given year, I like to behave like the nation of France and stop working for the month of July--with a keen eye to not getting much done in August once I flip the switch back to Forward, March! This year I've really outdone myself--quite exceptionally--by using the World Cup as an excuse to get right down to doing nothing much, much earlier than usual this year. June, despite the necessity of packing up my incredibly overstuffed New Haven apartment into a small army of white banker's boxes, passed as if through the haze of the lotus eater as I watched little men run back and forth across my TV screen for days on end. Then came the Tour de France--my usual summer narcotic. It's not exactly hanging with the cool kids to get up at six-thirty every day for a month (while unemployed) to watch a bike race, but it does me a good turn. While the whole thing was much more exciting than it has been for years, what with the subtraction of Mr. Armstrong's tediously efficient winning, I do wonder why the winners have to be so astoundingly ineloquent. In terms of lifetime achievement, Lancie-pooh did take top honors with his style of grunting his interviews in the direction of his left armpit, but just because Floyd manages to speaking clearly at a normal volume doesn't mean we should count him out when it comes to make no sense what-so-ever.
Now the trip is over all over, and my pupils are returning to their normal size. Which is handy, because it's time for me to sit down for some interviews and get a job.
