dangerous compassions

I call you / from the comet's cradle

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Berkeley day

We're getting ready for the conference we're tabling at.  We're binding zines like mad.

Yesterday we went to Berkeley to see Ming's mom.  We had a nice lunch with her, Indian-Pakistani food.

Then we made mass photocopies.  I had never spent more than $100 on copies, I don't think.  But that was Ming's new zine and more of his old zine too.  And tons of my old zines, for the conference.

Then we walked the pier and around the shore.  It was windy.  Squirrels, picnickers, ugly sailboats, funny kids.

Then we got me a boba drink at the place we went to last time, Purple Kow, that specializes in boba and is full of Asian-Americans.

Then we went to a cafe near Fondue Fred's.  Ming's son who graduated was having a dinner at Fondue Fred's.  Ming and I went to Cafe Med, where the Latte was invented.  I always thought the Latte was invented in France--silly me. 

Some old drunk guy with a long beard hit on me at the cafe counter.  Ming was saving our table.  The bearded guy said he liked my smile.  I get hit on so rarely I didn't know what to do to get him to leave me alone.  He asked me if I was there with someone, and I said yes and pointed to Ming.  "You're very lucky," he said and left. 

I finished a letter and started another while Ming was at the graduation dinner.  He didn't eat meat but came out of the restaurant smelling of meat.  He said some was cooking right in front of him.  All he had to eat was bread and cheese sauce.

We drove home late.  It was fine. I was chatty from the two cups of chai I'd had at lunch.  I told Ming stories of my life from a long time ago.


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