Oliver and I watched To Catch a Thief  last night. We're visiting my aunt in Los Altos. She has a closet full of videocassetes -- hundreds of them -- and we all had a difficult time figuring out how to work the VCR.  I was worried that Oliver would be bored by the movie, but he was mesmerized. And later, when we were out in the garage getting the blow-up bed, I mused on how good-looking that Cary Grant was. I might have called him dreamy, and Oliver just nodded his head and said, yeah, those old-time people were almost too perfect the way they looked. It almost hurt my eyes.

Cary Grant's Filing System, Chinese Doctors, and Chinese Waiters

via The B-Man Collective

Don't you just love that? If nothing is moving, run your mouse over the photo. I have so many papers that need filing and so many forms to fill out and a few grievances to take up with Anthem Blue Cross that some days I feel like whimpering. I also have a hacking cough, bestowed upon me, I guess, by Oliver, and it seems like I've been sick off and on for over a month. I made an appointment to see my Chinese doctor this afternoon. For some inane reason, I haven't been to see her in over six months which is probably the reason why I feel so utterly unbalanced and unhealthy. I'll lie on her little table and listen to her Chinese-inflected chatter while she sticks needles into me and tells me that I have too much spleen or too much heat and then I'll close my eyes when she walks out the door and start thinking about Jackson the Chinese waiter I worked with so long ago in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I'll remember how he permed his hair for me and how he thought I looked like a Bond girl and how much mileage I've gotten out of those two things for nearly thirty years.