a tiny golden protest

Hello and thank you to everyone who has not given up on The Gallivanting Monkey. I have no internet at my house at the moment, and we have Mrs. Mama Monkey-In-Law staying with us, and since the wedding, when not showing Mrs. M.M.I.L. the sights, I have been mostly staring into space.

I will tell you about one small thing that happened. After which I tell you look not again for The Gallivanting Monkey until the last week in July, even possibly the first week of August. I will be back from my honeymoon, and other grand festivities like the wedding of my friends Pete and Carolyn will then have passed. But then, my five or so devotees, I am going to make it up to you. I will post until my face turns blue and you start pulling your hair out, unable to keep up with the streams of stories, flotsam, jetsam and general rushing whatnot that will be pouring out of your monitor into your overloaded eyes.

After our wedding, Dave and I stayed at the delightful Alexis Hotel for a couple of nights. On the second night, there was a horrible, raging dance party in the building across the street. This dance party was relentless, and so loud it was as though there were massive amps in our very hotel room. M-M-M-MY SHARONA!..........TELL HER ABOUT IT.....WE BUILT THIS CITY!.....on it went, all through the night. Dave and his mom, however, slept like babies, like logs, like FREAKS. I don't know how this was possible. I lay there in alternating states of weary zen and clenched, wide-eyeballed rage. There was no ceasing. I began to see light in the sky. I began to think about sleeping in the bathtub, as far away from the thumping, hideous windows as I could. Finally, I got curious, and took my tiny gold watch over to the window so I could see what time it was. It was 4:30AM. I took a bath.

Later in the morning, I was regaling Dave and his Mom with my story of sleeplessness and rage, and when I got to the part about taking my watch to the window, Dave asked if I was trying to show them what time it was. This struck me as the most hilarious thing I'd ever heard, and I laughed until I cried and beyond.

I love the idea of going and gently tapping a teeny gold watch -- no bigger than half an inch in diameter, with roman numerals, no less -- on a dim, hotel window in the quixotic belief that the hordes of people 50 yards away at some misguided Top 40 oldies rave will catch sight of the miniscule, cranky golden dot below them and suddenly scatter to their homes in silent shame.

Goodbye for another little while. Please don't forget me.