Good morning! Hello. Hi. Howdy. How are you? WE ARE ALIVE. I suppose that was an open question yesterday. What fun. Though not as much fun as for the ninety million people Trump insanely proclaimed he was going to wipe off the earth. This is no way to live. So sick of being under this madman’s thumb for a decade of my life. But imagine the Iranians. Jesus. Every night you go to bed not knowing if you or your loved ones are going to wake up.

It is shocking, even to me, how quickly we have evolved toward my predicted peace plan from just yesterday. I’d say we’re… halfway there already? I mean, I even called, to the dollar, the amount of money the Iranians would get for letting a ship pass through the Strait, though I did not predict the Oman angle. Well played, Oman.

There are a few major components still missing from the plan that is currently taking shape: Israel has not stopped bombing Lebanon with an intent toward occupation, which is going to have to stop, so that Iran’s support of Hezbollah will also stop. Israel will not want this. Trump, if he still has his mojo, will sell them out, as he sells all allies out, because the world is ready to sell out Israel. There is, it pains me to say this, an angle here where Trump can come up roses: he can liberate Gaza and the West Bank from Israel, which will be such a feat that the world will accept the tolls on the Strait. $20 a barrel is a reasonable fee for lasting peace in the middle east (ignoring the UAE/Saudi tensions, and several others but whatever). I still, god help me, god help us, think Trump has enough of his marbles to see this and pull this off. Not yet, not right away, but eventually the answer will be staring him in the face.

Because the treaty, as written now, is just a little too humiliating for Trump. And I think both sides will pretty quickly realize that. Trump was hoping he could do his usual declare victory and move on, but it hasn’t been working and probably won’t work here. The deal terms are leaking and just utterly humiliating for him. Iran may well plant the seeds: okay you want us to stop with the enrichment? You liberate Gaza and the West Bank and Lebanon, we will stop… you could be a hero… remembered for the ages.

And fuck a duck they might be right god damn I hate that guy.

No one, no one wants to hear any of this.

There also remains the issue of “reparations” for the damage done to Saudi Arabia, UAE, Oman, etc. Iran is obviously not going to pay for this. And those countries, realistically speaking, don’t need any money, they are fine. So it needs to be swept under the rug, and it will require Trump to sweep it under. Probably.

I will also say that this two week ceasefire: this is the moment for a war powers resolution. It won’t happen. I doubt we’ll even get two Republicans for it. Can’t tie his hands during negotiations, blah blah. But we should try to force a vote.

Oh also it could all blow up by tomorrow I suppose. Once he realizes how his fake declaration of victory is playing in the press.

Oh my god I hate talking about this so much.

Just back from the grocery store. Read an article (okay, a headline, I am an imperfect news consumer like everyone else) saying that men were worse than women at finding deals when it comes to grocery shopping. Well I want you all to know that I saved $28 on $53 so you can all suck it. BEAT THAT.

There were three different Jeeps there with their little toy ducks in the windshield. I did not know about this cultural phenomenon. So weird. Hey let’s take this brand that sprung from the military and M*A*S*H and put little toys in the window. Imagine if Hummers had Beanie Babies that would rule. I guess I can get behind this trend.

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We are listening to my spiffing new vinyl copy of Built To Spill’s best record: Perfect From Now On. 2007 reissue. Includes one extra track. They call it a limited edition but it’s a lie. Says right on it “Limited edition of 2,000.” Five thousand and sixty-four people own it on Discogs alone. Sounds great. I say it is their best record because it is the first “when it came out” BTS album I bought after I became a fan, between this release and 1994’s There’s Nothing Wrong With Love. Your first bought-when-it-came-out album by a band is, nine times out of ten, your lifetime favorite. Thank you, Nick, for getting me into this record when we lived together in 97.

Built to Spill will forever be the only BTS to me and every time someone mentions the Korean band I picture Doug Martsch dressed in his schlubby grunge finery doing funny K-Pop dances in an arena. It will be a source of lifetime amusement if all goes well. Or if we die tomorrow.

Black vinyl, though, so you get a different album photo today.

The arborists fucked up our cherry tree and we are getting no cherry blossoms this year and I am so, so sad. Well, there are like four. Maybe it was our fault, maybe we cut it too late, but they should have told us that. I blame them. I am sad. I missed them last year because it perfectly aligned with spring break when we were in Boston. Now I am missing them this year. So I guess this means no spring break next year. Here is a in memorium photo from 2024.

Anaïs Nin update: She is 52 in this volume of the diaries I am reading. I am 53, so this works great. She is somewhat more bitter than I about her lack of success, probably because I have had success at least once already and she has none. She is about eight years from international fame, which she will finally, definitively obtain for the first time in her life when she is about sixty years old. I used to use Neil Tenant as my figurehead for the “late bloomer” movement since he was in his 40’s when the Pet Shop Boys exploded, but Anaïs puts that to shame.

She is still living in bicoastal bigamy. She almost told Hugo about Rupert this last visit, but did not. She has severed things completely with Gore Vidal. She is now related through marriage to Anne Baxter (who was Frank Lloyd Wright’s granddauughter, who knew) and can’t stand her. She still has the same therapist as the last few volumes, which is a nice continuity. Renate Druks is very sad about her relationship. Anaïs got in a fight Alfred Perles, and his publisher, about her portrayal in his biography My Friend Henry Miller, causing a giant rigmarole with Alfred, Henry, and Alfred’s publisher because she still, twenty years later, didn’t want Hugo to know about her and Henry. She has a good relationship with Henry that we should all aspire to have with our exes.

(“rigmarole” should be spelled “ringamorale,” and I will go to my grave believing this.)

She is in a faithful period, at least to her two husbands. She says that since she met Rupert she hasn’t needed to sleep around, and has only slept with seven other men, besides her two husbands, in the last few years. They are named in the book. I assume they are their real names. Everyone in this book would now be in their mid 90’s at the youngest at this point, but it would be funny if one of these people is still alive and married and just now, in the 2020’s, their wife found out they slept with Anaïs Nin seventy years ago.

Hugo is having a part-time affair with a dancer named Faith, which is basically the subject of a novel I wanted to write in the 90’s: Hugo Guiler’s life in the months when Anaïs was away. I had him dating Bebe Barron and Grace Hopper, two women he knew through his artistic pursuits. But I guess in reality he dated a dancer. A little bit less of the Franzen “scope of America,” type thing going on there. So I suppose it’s good I never finished that novel.

(Dodgy grammar there with “wanted to write in the 90’s” but everything else felt very ungainly. “wanted in the 90’s to write?” No thanks.)

Anaïs made a trip to Chapel Hill in this book, which is pretty exciting. She stayed at the hotel right by the University, the old one that used to be a church. She had a cousin here. She had a good time. Shame she didn’t move here.

I am trying to not spend money. I want one perfect day where I don’t spend a single dollar. Since I bought a beer at the Sinclair on Friday, I haven’t spent any money on anything but food, gas (so much gas) and medicine. But I want a day where I spend nothing. Almost had one Monday. Emma made dinner, no money was spent, but I had to go to pick up a prescription. Tonight is Pizza Night and it feels like cheating if I just make Emma pay. So I am looking at tomorrow, our next home-dinner day. NOT A PENNY. So sick of spending money. I am not gonna buy anything.

Jane had a rough day yesterday. Not because of the illness. Emma went to the minute clinic and was negative for strep, and Jane doesn’t have a fever and seems to not be getting worse so back to school she goes. She loved school. But she is out of practice and listening to directions all day so at dinner a switch just flipped and she turned into a rebellious lunatic for an hour or so and it was a nightmare. We took her to the playground to shake it off. It helped. She had something similar at the beginning of vacation. Takes her a few days to adjust. I am very proud of my composure, even as she was throwing things at me while driving.

But by the end of the night she was in pretty good shape behaviorally again, and she was good this morning. Hopefully this only lasts a couple days.

I asked her what to get mommy for her birthday tomorrow and she said “something cute” which is the easy thing to do that I did not do because how much cute stuff do you need says the guy with 3,000 records. But in doing so I fucked myself because a) not spending money, b) no fucking clue what Emma needs. I really whiffed this one. Considering the certificate approach but it feels like a cop-out and also if Emma wants me to do something I will do it. Albeit with a smidge of grumbling, which I really gotta stop doing. Maybe I will give her no-grumbling certificates.

Anyway, ideas are welcome I have about 24 hours now.

Another morning drive mix, slightly re-arranged for improved flowability. I suppose I am a rarity that I love a playlist that has everything in it from country to drone to metal to pop. Wait there might not be any pop at all on this one. Regina, maybe. Poor showing for the women today, too. Shame on you, Apple Music. Clearly it’s not my fault.

All right talk tomorrow since we are all lucky enough to live another day.