Tag: observations

A few nights ago, I got a little misty when a cab driver waited for me to get inside safely before driving away. This morning, I felt an inexplicable sense of relief at having an elevator entirely to myself. I think it’s time to spend a weekend somewhere that has trees.

11:27 a.m.

Last Friday was Julie’s birthday. She wanted to go see “The Vagina Monologues,” so we got tickets. For a few hours we listened appreciatively as three women reenacted interviews with hundreds of women talking about their vaginas. When the lights came up, I was entirely too aware that everyone around me had genitalia. Then we went home.

12:05 a.m.

The guys over at The Morning News just published a very brief interview with me (bottom right corner, second column).

11:01 a.m.

Went backpacking this weekend, and cursed my lack of penis.

Me: Are you peeing again?

Him: Yep, and I don’t even need to.

Me: Damn you.

Him: I’m just doing it because the convenience overwhelms me.

Me: Bastard.

10:49 a.m.

More people I wish I knew:

  • The guy in the boyscout ski cap wearing a T-shirt that reads, “Smoke crack, worship Satan.”
  • The beautiful girl in the pale pink sweater running back to her construction site with hardhat in hand.

12:42 p.m.

Fun trip. My cousin married a Boy Scout troop leader; I fell down a flight of basement stairs in Toledo without breaking any bones; then I drove to Chicago where I met most of the 37 Signals crew–all of whom are as smart and fun in person as they are on screen.

The highlight of the trip was my drive from Cincinnati to Chicago. Indiana radio… how can I say this tactfully?… bites monkey butt. If I hear “I Hope You Dance” one more time, I’m going to find Lee Ann Womac and exchange a few of my own affirmational phrases with her. And who can forget Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam’s “Head to Toe”? Apparently not the Indiana DJs, because I haven’t heard that gem as much since 1987.

But there were a few things I’ll always cherish about the Midwest:

  • Restaurants called Beef and Brandy.
  • Lewd camera poses with Bob’s Big Boy statues.
  • The woman in a denim top with a matching bunny-print denim bag.
  • Seven Bucks for a steak, and Krispy Kreme Lemon-filled donuts.
  • The way natives say “Chicahgoh.”

I’m home now, which means that I’d have to search long and hard for a country music station on the radio, and I can talk smack about American cars in crowded restaurants without getting the crap kicked out of me.

12:03 p.m.

Brief conversation with a girl whose name is a noun:

Me: Hi, I’m Maggie.

Her: I’m Jubilee.

Me: What a happy name.

Her: You think so?

Me: Yeah, like, celebration, party…

Her: Huh. I guess I never thought about it that way.

10:21 a.m.

“Traditionally, the same actor plays Captain Hook and Mr. Darling.”

The Picture Book of Peter Pan (c. 1930)

Does anyone else think that’s creepy?

2:30 p.m.

It was like something out of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel–we fell in love when the butterflies were mating. I drove home between fields of corn, and hundreds of yellow butterflies chased one another across the road. The setting was idyllic, the relationship proved less so. He was an entrepreneur without a lot of extra time for romance, I was too young to be thinking about happily ever after. A year later, I was upset, and disappointed, and ready to call it quits. Driving home one night, I realized the butterflies were mating again. I smiled and watched two of them dance around each other. Then they hit my windshield.

10:36 a.m.

I just came across a magazine ad for women’s deodorant that screams,”TURN SHY RECLUSIVE ARMPITS INTO VIVACIOUS DIVAS.” Sort of makes you jealous of all those vivacious-armpit girls.

11:50 a.m.

7.11.01

How perceptions are formed:

My hands felt sticky, so I went to wash them. There was a woman plucking her eyebrows in front of the mirror. I washed my hands and then figured that I might as well use the bathroom while I was there. When I came back out, she was still plucking away. I washed my hands and left. Hence forth, she’ll think of me as that wacko OCD girl who has to wash her hands before and after peeing. But she’s the one plucking her eyebrows at work. Freakshow.

3 p.m.