an idyll for the misbegotten

I overheard part of a conversation about the stabbing in Portland (Libertarian fascist harasses two women on the train, at least one of whom is Muslim, she said that both of them had dark skin, three guys intervene on their behalf and get their throats slit, and then you have people saying maybe if people were armed, this wouldn't happen as if they ever tried to shoot something on a moving train, someone's ending up like Brett and it won't be Knifey McRacist) and she said she was visiting for a convention and was going to avoid people and avoid public transit, that she thinks the killer was someone who was born in Portland and his family was there for multiple generations (I've noticed this too: there are a lot of Mad Geniuses from Oregon and they tend to complain about intranational migrants especially from California and Washington bringing social change with them) and he was known to authorities and has been jailed before, and that Portland has a liberal reputation but there are a lot of unenlightened attitudes, especially when it comes to race. You know, sort of like Europe. Or Democratic Underground.

I had a bowl of chipotle hummus, mesclun greens, lamb and chickpeas, olives, lemon cauliflower, spicy harissa, marinated garlic cloves, parsley, and jalapeño peppers.
I'll have to tell Ashley (your feet are finally on the ground). I'm not sure what France has to offer aside from the delusion that theirs is the best cuisine in the world, but I know Germany is quite enamored of Turkish food. England might still be reeling from the effects of Brexit. The less said about Scandinavia, the better.
There wasn't much around but what else was there looked good. I dunno, last time I was in the area for the River Festival, I had food from a truck.

The painting I saw by Nancy Ostrovsky isn't on her website but there's some cool stuff there and you should check it out. She'll paint musicians as they play.

I couldn't tell what his normal accent was, possibly something from a Lusophone country and he put on a cockney accent for Oberon. As Oberon, he was dressed in a black leather biker jacket with lace cuffs and a tulle collar and feathers of bright purple and blue hanging from it, over a purple vest, and he had dreadlocks. Cobweb was a spider hand puppet, Mustardseed was an old-fashioned box of mustard with a face, mustache, and legs controlled with strings and voiced by the woman who played Puck, and Peaseblossom was a similar marionette.
The Man in the Moon was a woman with a fake mustache and a stuffed dog toy, and the moon was a lanthorn with Christmas lights inside, stuck on a coat rack with some fake branches. As a lion, she wore a hoodie with tassels on it for the mane. She meowed during their auditions. As an ass, Nick Bottom wore a fuzzy hat and a red clown nose and oversized bowling shoes. As Pyramus, he wore fake armor and put on a long, agonizingly overacted death scene. Thisbe talked like a man until the woman with the fake mustache kneed him in the crotch and then he talked in a high-pitched squeaky voice.
When the hunters roused the dreamers from the sleep, the fanfares were performed on kazoos.
Puck was played by a woman with swirls of blue in her hair.
Above the stage was a cellist sitting against a depiction of Cancer and Gemini.
In Elizabethian era reckoning, summer was our Green Spring and Green Summer, while Yellow Summer was autumn and so midsummer meant around the Solstice. Nowadays, midsummer is August 5.

Across from the stage room is a room with photographs of people in India, Nepal, Tibet, and Niger.

I met an artist who had tattoos of what I thought were strawberry plants or perhaps ivy, hidden by her jacket and bracelet of brown stones. She didn't want people looking at her sketchbook so I caught only glimpses of psychedelic colors.
I met a woman from Italy who said my art was amazing and a woman with indigo hair and crescent moon earrings.
I spent a lot of time on her braid just to find she had to get off on the next stop. She thanked me for the portrait anyway. I'm not sure what she was dressed for but it certainly wasn't Boston Calling.
There was a sticker for the band Crushed Out, depicting sharks playing instruments.

I lost my program somewhere on my journey. Which is why I'm going to assume Ashley was just being scatterbrained in the excitement from going to Europe and frustration of car problems and that's why she forgot the book. After all, that is just classic Ashley. She also forgot to take Priya with her. I'm still going to ask her to be reassuring but honest. She'll be back before my birthday, which isn't quite two months unless she's traveling through Europe at relativistic speeds. Or maybe not. Trump just insulted Germany and threatened a trade war with them and maybe we won't let her come back.
And if she does this again, I think I'll give her some cardboard taped together. Or I don't know. But no poop, because I'd have to carry around poop for Bhunivelze knows how long and also she'd be able to smell it and also it's unsanitary and mean. And no books that summon Cthulhu when she reads them because even if she's in England, it doesn't matter, because Cthulhu can fly, swim, and teleport.

I said something about how I take back what I said about hoping the world will be a better place because that won't happen in 38 days.
Maybe al-Qaeda will blow up the 17th Summit of the Non-Aligned Movement. That would take out a lot of despots.

burning question: Where's Leah when you need her?