A group of us are at a bar celebrating. A stranger approaches with a drink in each hand and says, “Are you the soup and mayo pigs?” The best part is how we look at each other questioningly. Are we the soup and mayo pigs?
On the bathroom wall of this SOMA coffee shop, someone has scrawled, “I have a boner that could hit a homer.” I find this intriguing because the gentleman in question most likely wasn’t drunk, and yet he felt compelled to share. I myself have never put pen to plaster, because I can never think of anything worthwhile to say. Perhaps if I had a penis.
A heartening note from Rosecrans:
Going to the butcher, I buy a paper and read it in the park on Saturday
morning because it’s so nice out. Little girl and her mother sit down
next to me with a plastic bag from a bagel store. Mom answers her cell
phone. Little girl picks up the bagel bag, says fondly, “Bag…I love
As we’re leaving a restaurant, a well-dressed gentleman and his wife block the door. He’s helping his wife with her coat, but when he finishes, he just stands there with his hand on the door.
R: Excuse me.
(Gentleman turns and blinks at her slowly.)
R: Excuse me?
(Gentleman may have had one too many mojiotos over dinner. R moves his hand from the door and opens it so we can leave.)
M: He was looped.
R: Yeah, that was weird. He obviously heard me.
M: He just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
R: Brain to arm. Come in arm.
B: This is arm, over.
M: I need you to move the door.
B: (drunken slur) Don’t you tell meee what to do.
Why are you alwaysh telling me what to do?
R: Exactly. “I’m not gonna move the door. In fact, I’m gonna give this woman the finger!”
M: So that’s how that works.
For the past few years, I’ve read almost no books because I subscribe to so many magazines. Right now, I’m getting:
O, the Oprah Magazine
Martha Stewart Living
The New Yorker
Jason Kottke recently embarked on a campaign to read more magazines, and he got a surprisingly long list of
suggestions from his readers. Look it over and see what appeals to you. Scanning it, I realized it’s been way too long since I’ve picked up copies of Giant Robot, Readymade, or The Believer. Then again, I’ve been meaning to finish Cry, the Beloved Country, The Lost Contient, and Midnight’s Children for quite a while too. I could use a few weeks on the beach.
Scenario: A pushy man gets on the bus with a cart too big for the aisle. He stands just next to the bus driver. The driver tells him to move, so he shuffles back about a foot and stands with his cart in front of an older woman. She expresses concern; he ignores her; she reiterates. All the dialogue below is hers:
You can’t stand here.
You’re in people’s way.
I said you’re in people’s way!
(The bus driver tells the man to find a place to sit down. The man shuffles back a bit more.)
(Victorious now.) You hear him? That’s it.
You’re doin’ fine.
A: When I was a kid and we played imaginary games, I was always the boss. If we played house, I was the mom. Or if we played work, I was the boss. I was such a brat. I used to always fight with this one neighborhood kid over who got to be mom. Mark Smith, remember him?
M: Oh, yeah!
A: He came out of the closet a few years ago. His mom was crushed. The rest of us were like, “Surprise.”
A: Really no one wanted to play Dad, except my little brother. Dad was so boring. We’d just give him a briefcase and say, “Go to work now.” And he’d have to march off into some back room and play by himself for awhile.
M: Oh! That’s sad.
A: Yeah, he’d leave for a minute and then come back and be like, “OK. Work’s over!” So he’d pretend to read the newspaper.