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?

Cool Hunter

Blondies is a lovely place. It’s a martini bar where they give you the shaker with your drink. This means that you have the first martini in your glass, and two more waiting for you in the shaker. Three martinis for the price of one makes it an excellent place to get to know people. Mostly drunk people. Or the 300-pound man in a pink leotard and tutu with heart-shaped deedleeboppers on his head. He seemed to be on his own, chatting with the door guy for a while before moseying off down the street. That was when I noticed his leg warmers. So I guess they are coming back.

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?�

The Rules

This young man is driving a white minivan, the kind they use to take residents of old-folks homes to the mall. A little girl is buckled in next to him, tapping her hand against the window. He puts a cell phone to his ear and begins talking. She turns from the window, leans across the space between their seats, and shakes her finger in his face. “No, no, no!” He grins, embarrassed, and hangs up.