Still bereft of my Comcast e-mail, I called Frank D. again. He wasn't in, but I had a nice chat with Barbara. She and Frank are going on a cruise to the Panama Canal in October, leaving out of Long Beach; we speculated on whether maybe I could meet them there. I looked it up and it's about 85 miles away, maybe doable if I took a shuttle there or something. We'll see.
Stopped in at the office and made an appointment with the manager on Monday. I'm going to see if there's any leeway on breaking my lease. If I can pull it off, it'll be a hassle and even worse would be trying to find something else, but I'm going to give it a shot.
Stopped at The Capes and was shown a pretty nice one bedroom. However, they do accept dogs and a real downer was that it was near the freeway and quite noisy. No to that. Stopped at Via Ventura and was jollied along by "Jonathan," a portly, middle-aged Brit, who asked me to come back at 5:30 to see the model, which was being renovated or something. Got back then, he was out showing others; waited twenty minutes, figuratively said, "screw you," and left. Well, they accept dogs, too, and I'm now going to confine my search to those who don't.
Frank called back and thought he had gotten me on his Comcast account, but again, it didn't work and I called the culprits in a tizzy. Talked to the e-mail specialist, repeating for the umpteenth time the problem. He took all the info--mine and Frank's--and assured me I'd have my Comcast address back within 24 to 72 hours. Why in the hell it might take three days is beyond me, but at this point, I'll accept anything.
In the meantime, my friend called, saying she had tried to e-mail, but got a message that it wasn't a valid address. Yes, I know, and the explanation's above. My friend, her husband, and his son are pushing closer to their to their new lives everyday. Boy, talk about an inspiration re life goals, and the planning and execution thereof.
Got a call from Time Warner to the effect the guy will be here today between 9 and 10. It will be odd to see television again; actually, I'm looking forward to it because it'll be a novelty--and in color, too.
About 5:00, got a virtual visit from the Tokyo two-year-old, smiley and bubbly as ever. He showed me his bus and red plush dog, mentioned various topics (I'm not quite sure what they were), and generally enchanted his Nana, as ever. However, I had to cut it a bit short, in order to keep my appointment with Jonathan, the Jerk--see above.
Over my late-night (8 pm) Chardonnay, I suddenly became interested--or re-interested--in Eva Peron. As with The Sound of Music and the Von Trapps, her actual story has been Hollywood-ized out of all recognition. I'd compare Evita to peering at an acquaintance viewed in the coffin: Something's there that resembles the living person, but it morphs into a manikin as you gaze. On You Tube, I saw some of the movie--I do like Don't Cry for Me, Argentina, --then watched a documentary on this fascinating young woman who led such a turbulent, partly hidden life for only thirty-three years and is still revered by many in Argentina.