Nasty Jobs

I take most of the nasty jobs because I hate listening to people bitch and moan. Today's task, that I'd managed to put off for a couple of weeks, was to clean the basement hallway floor. The last time we took on water, a couple of weeks ago, it was just back-up from the inadequate storm drains, not sewage, thank god. But there was a fair amount of fine sand, and enough oil and anti-freeze, such that when the water was gone (sump-pump and evaporation), the remaining deposit was slightly cementitious and difficult to clean. First scrape it with a large plastic putty knife, sweep it with a very stiff broom, a first mopping with blkeach, then mop with several changes of clear water, then a last mopping with a goodly slug of lavender oil furniture polish, because I like the way it smells. I'm staff tomorrow, for the same reason that I take the nasty jobs. I'll just read and research a few things on the high-speed connection. I started keeping a list of people's names, people I heard about at the pub or on the radio, singers, writers, whatever, and now I can find out who they are. I'm not very good when quizzed about modern culture. I'm a fucking hermit, for god's sake, an ostrich, I've never seen a picture of Katy Perry, I don't know who Justin is. And if I ever started looking at movies I had missed, I'd probably never write another word. What the cultural world sells, is distraction. I don't mean that as a critic, just as a statement of fact. The trillion dollar industry of keeping people distracted, so you can rob them blind. Congress is a conference of lawyers, spinning a web of deceit. Who believes any of this? It's like a really bad high-school play. A phone call tonight, I had the opportunity to fill in for a janitor at MOMA, for a year, while she was on sabbatical, doing research toward some esoteric doctorate; but I couldn't go; right now, sorry; because D is getting his degree and Sara is away for half the year, and someone needs to be here. D thought I should just go and spend the winter with Marsea. Southern California. Really, I'd rather not, there's so much crap in the way. Not the least of which, would be that fundamental connection we might have made. Excuse me, but we seem to be stuck in an elevator, is there a book you'd like to read?