Particularly since my bicycle has been buried beneath an increasingly ungainly velocipede pileup in my apartment building’s lobby, I’ve been spending many afternoons this summer just walking around.  It’s a good way to explore the city, people watch, listen to music and podcasts (thanks again for the recommendations, M.!), and ruminate about people, the past, and the ever-uncertain future.  (Sometimes, in the tradition of stereotypical This American Life listeners everywhere, I’m stuck trying to modulate my outward affect while listening to something particularly funny or sad, just so I’m not That Person walking down the sidewalk, giggling hysterically to herself.  This can be tough; they just re-ran Notes on Camp.)

I’ll also occasionally come to surprisingly realizations about people, the past, and the ever-uncertain future.  Like I did yesterday.

To wit: I realized that I should scrounge up some sheet music for some of the songs sung by Hugh Laurie in the old Grenada television adaptation of Jeeves and Wooster, in order to facilitate sing-alongs within the Jejune household.

Of course, I realized that I’d also need to see about moving to a larger apartment, in order to accommodate an all-white grand piano.

And then I realized that I’ll have to start going about my business in dapper formalwear, and figure out the address of the Drones Club.

And then I realized that what I really need is a Jeeves, floating or oozing or shimmering abound me, extricating me from scrapes and generally ensuring a certain quality of life that I’d find most agreeable.

I imagine that finding a Jeeves will take a lot of time and energy.  But some sheet music, and a freshly clarified vision of this ideal future, should fortify me for the task.

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