1. Brails was hopping this morning. I spotted the last stool at the end of the counter and had a great time taking pictures while I waited for my food. I took a few with the nostalgia setting, but most in black and white. Here is an example:
3. Sparky Roberts and Joe Cronin hosted a dinner party this evening and invited me. The dinner featured Joe's spicy Indian chicken masala. It was superb. The only person I really knew at the dinner table was Sparky, although I'm becoming acquainted with Joe Cronin as I do occasional theater projects. Other guests: Art Maddox, Denise Fearn and her husband, Riley Grannan, Marc Siegel, and Katrina Bolster.
The dinner put me to the test in one important way: I've been trying over the last few years to keep my mouth shut if I don't know what I'm talking about. I may have mentioned this in my blog before. Well, I'm finding more and more that I think I know less and less -- and (what I'm about to say doesn't apply to last night) I'm more and more aware of how often I hear and read things where I just can't figure out how the radio guy or the New Yorker writer or the person at Starbucks or whoever thinks h/she knows what s/he is talking about.
At this dinner party, the I was in the company of people who knew what they were talking about as they talked about subjects as far-ranging as Pee Wee Herman, strokes in adults, autism, Beyond the Fringe, Terry Gross, psychopaths, creativity, the evolution of the world's religions, the folly of proselytizing, restoring the Eugene Masonic Cemetery, Eugene restaurants, and other things.
I didn't have much to say because I don't know anything about most of what the conversations focused on. My experience with being an Episcopalian and why I worship seemed too personal for the more abstract nature of the discussion of religion. So I listened, took in everyone's thoughts and observations, and was fairly quiet.
My head and my tummy were full as I drove home and when I retired for the night.