Tag: U.S.A


OH, WHAT A FEELING

(Guy in car playing string instrument.)

Me: What’s he playing?

Guy 1: Looks like a mandolin or something.

Guy 2: ONE NIGHT ONLY! In my car!

(An hour later, walking back after breakfast.)

Me: What the…? He’s still there.

Guy 1: Hey, some guys have a favorite stairwell, some guys have a favorite street corner, he likes that Nissan.

Me: Please, it’s a Corolla. It’s probably not even his car.

Guy 2: He just trolls the streets looking for empty Corollas.

Guy 1: Corrolla’s got great acoustics, yo.

4:47 p.m.


OVERHEARD

Scenario: Ten college guys waiting at the 2nd Street Station.

Guy 1: (Extending a hunk of beef jerky to his friend.) Bite my big sausage.

Guy 2: No.

Guy 3: Bite it!

Guy 2: No, I’m not gonna.

Guy 4: C’mon, bite it!

Guy 5: Bite it! Bite it.

All: (General bite-it-related jeering).

Guy 2: No way.

Guy 1: C’mon, bite my big sausage.

Guy 2: No, man.

Guy 1: I’ll put in $20 if you bite my big sausage.

Guy3: Me too.

All: Me too.

Guy 1: That’s like a hundred bucks if you bite my big sausage.

Guy4: No way, he has to take two bites for a hundred bucks.

Guy 1: OK, two bites of my big sausage for a hundred bucks.

Guy 2: Cut it out.


DADA ON 58TH

The Hudson is a hip hotel, the kind of place where the bar floor is lit from below and the showers look like they could beam you up. After checking out, I turn to see a firefighter ascending the escalator in full fight-me-some-fire gear. He’s followed by another, and another… and so on. Suddenly, there are five men with oxygen tanks searching for smoke to a saucy Latin beat. No one seems to notice. I think, “Um, the building’s on fire.” I look at the guys in flame-retardant suits, I look at the counter people quacking pleasant counter banter. No one is curious, no one is ruffled, the speakers continue to coo “Oye Como Va.” An Asian woman admires the leopard-skin pillow on a lobby chair, her friend approves. To her right, a firefighter unfastens his pickaxe and peers into a suspect stairwell. I think, “Um, hey? Guys? Is the building on fire?” The firefighters’ search takes on less urgency, and a few guests begin to notice them. These people gather around the firemen with coffee table books on New York… and request autographs.

1:28 p.m.


PACKED ALL MY BLACK CLOTHES

I’m leaving for Internet World in New York tonight. This will be my first time in NY, suggestions welcome. If you’re at the show, please say hi.

1:28 p.m.


LIKE MINDS

More fun with Craigslist. Two recent favorites from the San Francisco general community section:

90 — MOHAWK advice needed (san francisco)

I have a brand new mohawk and need advice on how to look professional when I need to. Any tips on how to look cool on the weeked (sic) would be helpfull (sic) also.

thanks.

35 — Full Moon Circle?

Does anyone know of a full moon circle I could join? I’m female and would love to worship the moon w/ others! Let me know… THANKS!

1:28 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.

Someone once said that Toledo sounds like something winged monkeys would sing. And it does, “Toh-lee-DOH, weeeoh-WHUM.” Every corner that doesn’t have an Applebees or a Perkins has a funeral parlor. Two brief Ohio related conversations I had with Fred, who is a certifiable Toledo resident:

Me: Rudy’s Hot Dogs. Oh, my God. That place only serves hot dogs?

Fred: No, they also have omlettes.

Fred: So I’ve already taken some hassling because the new truck’s an import.

Me: What? Please. [I look around the restaurant and whisper:] American cars are crap.

Fred: You know you’re in the Midwest when you have to say that in hushed tones.

Now I’m in Chicago. The humidity is such that I don’t need to rewet my contacts. It’s like heaven, except with more toll booths.

10:30 a.m.