Category: categories

Now Isn’t That Nice?

This week’s New Yorker is a good’un. “Truth in Architecture” by Larissa MacFarquhar contains a description of Moshe Safdie–who is apparently a world-famous architect–that reminds me of how I’d like to be more mindful:

“He wears beautiful, finely woven shirts that he designs himself and has sewn up by a shirtmaker. He takes great pleasure in eating: he is the sort of person who always squeezes his orange juice by hand, or drives far out of his way to procure strongly flavored olive oil. To him, appreciation of such sensual delights–wine, clothing, food–is not an indulgence of whim, but rather an enobling of ordinary need…”

And from the same article, a spot-on similie:

“The fog was thick and white, and the car drove blindly through it. Tree branches flashed in and out of view like scratches on blank film.”

Better with Bacon

B: Have you heard of this Go-gurt crap?

L: Yeah.

J: What? What are they talking about?

Me: It’s like yogurt in a tube so you can throw it in your backpack and go!

B: Every time I see those ads, I want everyone involved fired.

Me: Worst idea ever.

L: They should make ranch-flavored. With beef bits.

Me: Aaaaaa. Jerky-ranch.

L: Or with baco-bits. They stay crispy! How do they do that?

Observant

L: I’m taking off my shoes now.

Me: OK.

L: I’ve got some good-looking feet.

Me: You do have good feet. They’re little. What size do you wear?

L: Eight.

Me: Really? They look smaller.

L: I was kidding, but at least all my toes are the right length. You know?

Me: No.

L: I can’t stand the girls who have those extra-long second toes and they still wear sandals.

Me: I have monkey toes.

L: I don’t mean long, I mean uneven.

Me: What?

L: You know what I’m talking about. The second toe is way longer than the first toe, and it’s actually sticking out over the edge of their sandal.

Me: I have never noticed that.

L: You haven’t? Oh my god. It freaks me out. Sometimes both of the next two toes are longer than the big toe. It’s like creepy spider toes crawling out over the edge of the sandal. Yeeeeh. Why would you wear sandals knowing that you have this problem?

The Go Ahead

J: I have a good story.

Me: Tell it.

J: I’m not sure if it’s really acceptable dinner conversation.

Me: Oh, who cares? Tell it.

J: OK. So my balls were really itching, right?�

And Salt Will Take Care of That Stain

Me: Man, I can’t keep my hands off these stupid things.

Her: What are they?

Me: Molasses chips, they’re like toffee.

Her: Oooo. They have dark chocolate ones too.

Me: Yep. They’re good with red wine. Pretty inexpensive too. They make great hostess gifts.

Her: Hostess gifts? You’re so

Me: I know.

Which reminds me of a joke Rosecrans sent me the other day after receiving thank-you note #601 from me:

Why don’t WASPs have orgies?

Too many thank you notes.

While I Was Away

I contributed to the Santa Claus piece for The Morning News.

The Fray posted my “Chagrin and Men I Have Loved” piece. It’s the same one you may have already seen on The Morning News, albeit with a new introduction and a few photos of me as a kid. The first one you’ll see is a photo of me and my sister jumping from sand dunes. I’m the one standing on the dune, she’s the one leaping to her doom. If you click on my name, just below the story title, you’ll find my favorite childhood photo. I was three, and I was pissed. If you scroll down, you can see me and my junior prom date Rahul. He’s going to be an usher at our wedding. We offered him flower girl, but my niece threatened to beat him up, and he chickened out.

Hat Baby

The Morning News posted my third piece in the fashion series yesterday. It’s about hats. I would’ve told you sooner, but I was busy with oral surgery yesterday and jury duty on Monday. It’s been a monkey-butt week, but everything is better with painkillers.

They Do Not Move

A while ago, Paul Ford did a piece on Sex in the City forThe Morning News. It was funny. Observe:

“I prefer to imagine the show as a black-box play from the 1970s with Beckettian overtones, three women on an empty stage, looking at the audience, speaking in monotones:

1: I doubt I am fecund.

2: I have eaten so little.

3: Where are the men?

1: There are no men.

2: I will pay a woman $40 to caress and decorate my toes with varnish. I will wear shoes that cost more than the weekly wages of a restaurant worker, with tips.

3: What kind of tips?

2: Not on the shoes, for the restaurant workers.

1: I am hungry. I will not marry.

2: Talk about the shoes.

3: The shoes!

Unison: Shoes.”