Literal Harold and I met yesterday for breakfast at the sunniest diner in the world, within a pancake's flop of where Father Baker remains.
The coffee is as bad as the vibes are good.
Harold made me jealous at one point as he regaled me with stories of his junkets and travelling gigs, one for the NYT to a suthirn state of all places for their 36 Hours Series. I asked him to help me decide about the PhD/Doctor Nance Project but I think the newer, better aim is to be more a photog v. of Literal Harold. I can always just get vanity plates that say DoctorNance... oh, no, too many letters. It'd have to be some ineffective DOCNANC which makes absolutely no sense.
We had planned after this post-industrial townie meet-up to walk in the most excellent of the Middling City's Olmsted Parks, South Park. Magical, with water lilies, vistas, and the pesky golfers are not so plentiful and, as is the wont of public coursers, they do not let out yelps of helpful Fores whilst driving that little ball home.
So we meet over at the park and Literal Harold, upon hearing of my odd bout of heatstroke last week, promised to have a palm frond in hand to fan me.
And I'll be goddamned if he didn't appear from his sensible Chevrolet Classic rental with a faux palm frond fan in hand. I snatched it from him and did my own fanning.
Dined at the favoured Allentown joint last night where there is always a primo selection of Thursday nighters, and vino. Enjoyed lots of sauvignon laughs, even despite the gushing rain that sent most of the diners indoors, me et some al under the tented outdoor cabana bar.
Off to more points above, beyond to make and do.

Love that Sauvignon Blanc.

this just in:
Philip Glass to play Middling City U this September the 18th.