Black book is idea repository

I'm getting rid of my little black book.

It's not what you're thinking; I don't think I've ever owned a book for that purpose, let alone one with a specific color.

My little black book is an idea repository, begun in 2006 and inspired by "Curb Your Enthusiasm." In the series, Larry David carried a notepad everywhere he went, and would write down funny ideas that would presumably turn into scripts later on. I presume a real life version of that notepad contained Festivus and, "I invented, 'It's not you, it's me,'" long before they were "Seinfeld" staples.

I said, "That is what I'll do, as well," and purchased a small black notebook.

It was met with varied response. My high school friend peered through it and said, "Those are some really funny ideas." My friend (we'll call her Jennifer) said, "So it's your diary," in the same way you'd say, "Does that jacket come in men's sizes?"

It's not a diary, Jennifer.

• few of the ramblings which are clean enough to print here:
• What if horses can talk, and they all think "Mr. Ed" is a traitor?
• If Jewish people were barred from eating peanuts and peanut products, and allowed to eat pork, how would the world be different?
• Admitting you're overweight means you understand the situation of your gravity.

Entries became less frequent from 2007 on. There are remnants of other years, including a business card I formulated and contact information I never ended up using.

I combed through the book on a free night, ignored the terrible ones and wrote the keepers on a document stored in my tablet. Future entries will be put there or on the phone for future transcription.

Before throwing the book away, I checked the inside pocket ... something folded? Please be money, please be money, please be money.

Nope. Just a note. "Thank you! <3, Deb." For clarification, that is a heart; Deb wasn't making me guess a number less than 3.

Who's Deb? How did I earn thanks, or a heart sign? I knew a Debbie in Portales, and a Deborah in Clovis, and realized I'd done nothing nice for either. Perhaps I should, thus justifying the note, then say, "Debs of the world, I have earned your gratitude."

But then the light hit the note just right, and I saw faded vertical lines. Oh, a bar code. From a restaurant. Deb was the server where Jennifer and I went, on that night she made fun of me for having the book.

Maybe I saved it because I'm sentimental, and there would be this receipt to remind me of what culminated between us.

I still talk to Jennifer, and visited her during a business trip a while back. Perhaps next visit, I'll bring up the note, and tell her about the optimism and dreams that note contained.

Except that would make my book a diary. Let's just keep this one a secret.

Kevin Wilson is a columnist for Clovis Media Inc. He can be contacted at 763-3431, ext. 313, or by email: [email protected]