Saturday Market

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.”

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!”

Let’s Buy More Poetry

The Art of Disappearing
by Naomi Shihab Nye from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems

When they say Don’t I know you? say no.
When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.
If they say we should get together.
say why? It’s not that you don’t love them any more.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees.
The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished. When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.
Walk around feeling like a leaf. Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

(Thanks, Writer’s Almanac.)

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.

Order Questions?

If you’ve ordered a book or a T-shirt from us a while ago and haven’t gotten it yet, please drop a note to Bryan at contact [at] mightygirl [dot] com. We’ve had a couple of weird mailing issues lately, so we’re unfortunately no longer able to ship outside the U.S. Also, we’ve added contact info in a couple of places on the order page so hopefully no one will ever be confused about how to reach us again. Again, I’m terribly sorry if you’ve had a frustrating experience, and we’re doing everything we can to make things smoother.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Advice

From the January 2007 edition of Esquire:

James Watson, Scientist:

“Do things as soon as you can If a decision needs to be made, make it. It gives you more time to change your mind.”

Penn Jillette:

“I asked [Phyllis Diller], ‘How do you do so many things?’ And she said, ‘I don’t do anything that isn’t easy. I try things, and if they’re not immediately easy for me, I quit instantly.’ That’s some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten.”

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!