I'm in one of those life phases where The Big Hand is bringing me whatever I want. Examples include contemplating the long grass in my backyard and entertaining strategies for taking care of it--Otis knocked on my door within 20 minutes, a homeless guy with access to a lawn mower. Or thinking "I need at least 5 new students to pay September rent"--seven new students have enrolled since then.
Every now and then there's a funny twist in the process. Reportedly, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie maintain a residence here. So I've lost count how many times I've wished I could "meet Brad." He's cute but the cherry on top is that after seeing him in two live interviews, I also like the way his mind works.
Brad, Brad, Brad I've whisper-chanted when I'm out in the Quarter. So far, not even a remote siting of Mr. Pitt.
It tickles me that I sort of met "Brad" on Star Island. Not Brad Pitt, but Brad Whitford. Well, actually it's Bradley but his brother, my old shoaler (see previous post) calls him Brad. Even funnier: he does not look even remotely like a "Brad" to me.
Someone at the bar last night called me a "smart ass." So, in true smart-ass form I guess, I renamed Mr. Whitford during the conference. Doesn't he look more like "Caleb" than "Brad" to you?