It Takes a Village

When a cat misbehaves you squirt a light mist of water in his face so he learns not to do something again. A societal equivalent would be so satisfying. When the girl at the coffee shop orders “a caramel frappucino with semi-dry foam,” you could just tap her on the nose with a rolled up magazine and say, “NO, Tiffany! Bad. NO.”

3:20 p.m.

This morning I saw a shiny penny, head side up, winking in the sun all movie-like. “Pick me up,” it beckoned in its little Abe Lincoln voice. “All the day you’ll have good luck!” But I just left it there. Something’s gonna fall on my head.

10:05 a.m.

So I got an electric toothbrush, which is charmingly efficient. You push a button, it brushes your teeth for exactly two minutes and beeps at intervals that indicate when it’s time to change sectors. My teeth are shiny and new–they do the little lens flare thing when I smile. The only problem is, my new toothbrush sounds very much like a vibrator. My roommate has begun to avoid eye contact with me when I leave the bathroom.

2:37 p.m.

You know what’s not pleasant? Drinking at the water fountain and feeling the stream of water dip when someone flushes the toilet in the bathroom next door.

Seeing Spots

The bus posters for Disney’s new 101 Dalmations feature a bunch of puppies falling through the air. They have quizzical expressions, they’re posed in awkward, falling-puppy positions. Cute, I guess, but puppies don’t land on their feet. I can’t get those 101 sickly thuds out of my head.