A dozen beautiful teenage girls walk by in their most studied casual wear. They’re bound for an afternoon of posing at the open-air market, and they laugh too loudly as they pass. “A gaggle,” I say. Bryan turns to look, “I think that’s technically a murder.”
Category: My Life
Karaoke Madness
Early Sunday afternoon, we stop by one of our favorite antique co-ops. This time, something is gravely different.
It seems, in order to promote their new karaoke venture at the town pub, two of the owners have set up an enormous karaoke machine amongst the porcelain creamers and table runners.
We halt just inside the front door to stare as they whoop their way through Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” Then we realize that we are the only customers, and that eye contact is a serious mistake. We become absorbed in the rusty egg beaters and depression-glass juicers, but it’s too late.
“Hello!” the woman calls out. “Do you Karaoke?”
We are unsure of how to respond. We look at each other uneasily.
“Do you want to sing ‘Respect’?” she asks me.
“Me?” I say. “Oh no. No thank you.”
“Oh, why not!”
“Well… well, I suppose it’s because I’m not drunk.”
“Ahhh. Is that what it takes?”
“Yes.” I say. “That, and relative darkness.”
“Maybe a different song?”
“Maybe free coffee and a jug of Baileys would help your cause.”
“What about ‘I Got You Babe?” she asks. “You could sing it together.”
“No,” I say. “No thank you.”
“Can I get your email for our mailing list?” she asks.
We wander into the next room.
As she belts “These Boots are Made for Walkin’,” I buy a very nice illustration of a quail’s egg, and a lovely beveled mirror.
Ok, Shhhhhh
The girl at the next table is very drunk. When her tablemate heads for the restroom, she unexpectedly turns to me and my friend.
“God damn, he’s cute. You know? He’s cute right? I know! He’s married, and I’m engaged, but man. You know what I mean? Man! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my Mark, and he loves his Anne. I mean, Dan isn’t even my type. He’s all built and jacked up, and Mark is like tall and thin and fuckin’ smooooooth. You know? Fuckin’ smooth. I mean, compared to Mark, Dan is nothing to look at. I mean, he’s hot, or whatever, but not my type. I mean Mark is gorgeous, like a fuckin’ model. And Anne is so sweet, and she’s gorgeous too, like, model-gorgeous. And I love Anne, for sure, she’s incredible, I mean, so incredible. But it’s like, when me and Dan get together, it’s like… Man! I mean, I’d never do anything with him, I wouldn’t even date him, I wouldn’t even look at him normally as the type of guy I’d look at. Maybe for like two seconds. But I love my Mark, and he loves his Anne. Nothing’s gonna happen, but you know sometimes you just gotta get it out. And me and him are like laaaughing and talking and just laying it out, like, I like you, I like you too stuff. Nothing’s gonna happen though. OK, SHHHHHH! Here he comes!”
Three Things on My Mind
1. How restaurants, when they give me tea, never give me the ability to stop the brewing process. Help me out here, restaurants. A saucer for the teabag, a little basket that lifts out of the pot, thereby removing the loose leaves. Or, if you want to get all fancy, a carafe of boiling water with which to dilute the syrupy, over-caffeinated, mouth-puckering stew. What do you say, restaurants? Let’s do this thing.
2. How I was not ready with my camera when the be-kilted St. Patrick’s Day bagpiper paused to coo over Hank in his little green onesie. Drat. Fiddlesticks.
3. Using see-saws and merry-go-rounds to pump water in developing nations is awesome.
Hoodlums
In Portland, a group of punk youth is entrenched on sidewalk. They are smoking, trying to out-blasé one another. One holds a sign that reads, “AT LEAST WE’RE NOT MUGGING YOU.”
Gangsta Tip!
It’s harder to look threatening when you’re posing outside the Quiznos in a strip mall.
Us = Going To HEll
Bryan: (Bouncing the baby, singing a Doors tune) C’mon c’mon touch me babe!
Me: (Grimace)
Bryan: What?
Me: Nothing, I just thought you were singing a sweet song to the baby, and then it turned vaguely pedophile.
Bryan: (Singing to the same tune.) There are puppies in my van, let’s play!
Me: (doubled over laughing) Gah! Stop!
Bryan: Your mommy said it was OK!
Two Instances of Genius
1. I was reading a New Yorker article about an entomologist who used to roll her hair up in the car window when she was driving while sleepy so that her hair would jerk her awake if she fell asleep at the wheel.
2. Alice’s correspondence with age Four and a Half will hurt you with its brilliance. Read it, and do not stop until you get to the bit about Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Stats
I’m three months pregnant, and my 9-year-old nephew and I discuss baby names:
Trevor: What will you name it if it’s a boy?
Me: Maybe Hank.
Trevor: Hank Aaron had more home runs than anyone else.
Me: Really?
Trevor: He was MVP in 1957.
Me: I didn’t know that.
Trevor: He was also black at the time.
Filling in for Siblings
Bryan: I know you’re hungry, little baby, so you’ll want to get your hands out of the way. Stop pushing the bottle away, little guy.
Me: (cooing voice) Who doesn’t know what hands are yet? Whooo doesn’t understand the basic principles of physics? Whooo?
Bryan: Who jerks around like he has some sort of grave neurological disorder? Whoooo?
Both: It’s Henry! It’s Heeeenry!
Mighty Girl 