Wow, a hurried lunchtime entry generated a couple of interesting notes... Niceguymike said:

Martin Luther was definitely more than a bit of an odd duck. Most of his writings would put schoolboys to shame in their debt to scatological underpinnings. And he wrote at times of seeing the devil in the corner of his room, trying to tempt him to do things. Having been raised as a Lutheran, I felt it my duty to find out what our founder had to write about — and I was not impressed. Interestingly, most Lutherans have not read Luther, except for the Small Catechism.

I heard somewhere else that Luther just wanted to raise a bit of discussion when he was nailing his theses to the door, not to become a major religious figure. Though as my Briggs-Meyer personality type apparently has a penchant for the lowbrow and scatological, I can see where he’s coming from (and yes, I don’t mind a little Jerry Springer now and then). All I really knew about the Lutherans was that JS Bach was a Lutheran, that they treat musicians well (and pay them properly), and that some talented singers I know are or were Lutherans. That’s what comes from having a hymnwriter and a composer at the helm.

And the one and only HissMistress said about the café Pellegrinis:

Do you know, ever since I read that bit in your entry about Pellegrinis it's been driving me mad. I was thinking there was a reference to it in a Les Murray poem, but by the time I struggled to recall the title (An Absolutely Ordinary Rainbow) and looked it up and found out it was actually “The word goes round Repins, the murmur goes round Lorenzinis...” I was ready to sell what’s left of my pissy little brain on eBay. Don’t you see? This is what my addled memory consists of these days. The useless bastard can't even organise itself properly on matters of state capitals, for god’s sake, let alone coffee shops. And then when I reached the line, “There’s a fellow crying in Martin Place” all I could do was think of Martin Plaza and hum bloody Mental as Anything songs in my head and picture Mambo loud shirts patterned with bushfires and backyard barbecues and beer trees - which is what I've been doing ever since. So thanks heaps for that, josquin. (Oh, smooch anyway, darling. xxx)

I’m a lucky guy— I get a smooch even when I piss her off (thanks dear xxx). I get frustrated with my brain too sometimes, but I think it’s awesome that the name of a café brought to mind a poem, let alone an Australian poem. There would be at least three other Australians who could match that feat... so I think any poetry in our addled brains should be celebrated.

I had a brilliant birthday yesterday (actually Thursday 22nd). It started in Belgrave Heights, waaaayyyy out in the hills. I was at a meeting the previous night, and I accidentally had to stay the night because I was not alert enough to get the last train. It was surprisingly comfortable on the floor, but when I visited the facilities in the middle of the night I coughed and woke the baby. In the morning the baby was cute again and I took the train in, going past Marion’s station, but she was still tucked up in bed. At Laburnum station, about fifty twelve-year-olds from Box Hill Secondary College got on the carriage which brought up the noise level somewhat. There were four boys near me, reciting German poetry (???!!!), and discussing the pronunciation of certain words in a Berlin accent, as must be the wont of twelve-year-olds today. Marion later explained that there is a German poetry competition on at this time of the year; in fact, last year she had been asked to adjudicate, but had declined because she had just got back from Germany and had had enough Deutsch for the time being.

When I got home I snoozed for an hour before my landlord arrived and I signed my name about seventeen times to renew the lease. Then I went and met Marion for lunch. I had a hunch she’d want to pay so I found an inexpensive place with good food and said we could have a cheap lunch and splurge on chocolate later. After lunch we went to Koko-Black, which is becoming renowned for its hot chocolate. At one point I was trying to recall the name of a mutual acquaintance whose real name is Marion. It was strange looking at “Marion” and talking about Marion. A yummy time later Marion somehow paid for that as well, which was partly to do with my having no change and partly due to her sleight of hand. I know that’s a bit of a naughty, so I made up for it later.

After a swim and dinner I went for drinks at The Croft Institute. Getting there at 8pm in case anyone else did (as if!), I waited for twenty minutes with an excellent Margarita before my sister turned up. I had worried a little that my friends would not quite be cool enough for the venue, but everything was fine and I was being too superficial. There were about ten of us and I had some magnificent cocktails (the best could have been champagne with peach nectar where they’d run out of peach nectar so used peach schnapps instead. My cunning plan to get a drink for Marion kept being thwarted by people offering me a drink every time I got up to go to the bar, but I managed in the end. The bathrooms had eye rinsers for any emergency.

At the end, when Marion gave me a lift home the goodbyes were protracted. She still presents her cheek to be kissed. I can’t work out why, but it doesn’t worry me too much. Things have been progressing slowly but surely. I’m pretty certain from experience that I’ll be in love sooner or later, and she’s showing signs of real affection. As long as nothing stagnates, I know if I relax and get to know her, things could turn out swimmingly. And did I mention she has a magnificent figure that she keeps under wraps?

Here’s an interesting entry I’ve been reading by .

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