I hear crickets...
Penalty kicks aren’t playing, they are something else.
And, by the way, I don’t know which network has the rights to the Cup in 4 years, but for the love of God, please change commentators. The commentators were terrible. Awful. Really. I was embarrassed. Surely there are people who both know the game AND are smart and interesting commentators? As opposed to the people ABC hired.
I’m spending time in that lovely city in the desert. It’s really nice here – the temperatures aren’t too hot, and I love the sun. So it’s all good. I got to spend a few hours yesterday driving around the city, looking at development and changes with a local historian of the city. It was really awesome. The place has changed a lot in the last 30 years, and even the last 3. Cool.
I’m tired, and don’t have a lot to say today, I am afraid. Sorry – you might want to go read a newspaper – you will likely feel more informed than you’ll get here!
OK, just back from taking a nap. Feel more rested. Actually, I’m not sure that 3 hours constitutes a nap. It may actually constitute a night’s rest.
At any rate, I’m less sleepy, which is good, I guess.
But I still have nothing worth writing about, though.
I’m on vacation. Two friends and I went out last night to a club to go dancing. I know, surprise, surprise. Creepy guy was there, also no surprise. One friend seemed to be doing her level best to pick him up, which made me laugh really hard. Well, to be clear, I don’t think she was trying to pick him up, but she kept looking in his general direction – that’s all that Creepy Guy needs. He kept getting closer and closer, and staring harder and harder. I didn’t intervene to help her – she didn’t seem to want the help! Anyway, she denied her intentions and actions. All I know is that CG, as I lovingly call him, must have had the best night in his recent history. Good for him.
// Metacomment: I just made a HUGE editorial error. I was at dinner with my friends, and I mentioned this paragraph to my pal. She is really pissed at me. She wanted to point out for the record that she was NOT trying to pick him up. And she wanted me to delete the paragraph. I, as a matter of editorial principle, am including the paragraph. And my pal is NOT going to be happy with me. //
On the way back to the house last night, there was a policeman standing in the middle of the street, inside a small ring of those red flares that are used to mark accidents. There was no accident anywhere near, nor detritus from one. The officer was just standing there in the small ring of fire. Kind of like a Johnny Cash song, only different, probably with more music. I almost stopped and asked him what he was doing, but I decided that Folsom Prison Blues might be the result, and so I decided to keep driving.
I spent much of today listening to a tape of myself talking to a bunch of folks. There is almost nothing in the world worse than listening to a tape of oneself. I never realized just how annoying all my verbalisms are, how strange my accent is, and how my jokes are SO not funny. Sigh. I recommend this as an approach to learn how to be a better speaker, or generally as a strategy for making oneself feel remarkably self-conscious! I’ve decided to declare a victory on the listening project and go home – or rather send the recorder home!
So I was sitting at dinner, with my best friend, who’s a little ill, and my grumpy pal. In such circumstances, I become even more annoying than usual. I'm a bit …well… chattery. My internal dialogue just comes out, and becomes reified in one-sided, fairly erratic conversation. Kind of like my blog. Anyway.
So I filled the dead air at the table with my internal dialogue. I talked about the table right next to us. The table had 3 guests. Two women – clearly mother and daughter – and a guy. Mom and daughter were both pretty hot (daughter was in her 20’s and mom was the appropriate age). Both were wearing low cut, short sundresses – mom’s was a floral print, daughter’s was bright red.
The guy was not in their league. Don’t know what he was doing there. Didn’t look like a date, didn’t look like an introduction. Seemed odd – he was NOT in their league. They were very attentive to him, however; they looked at him, they laughed at his jokes, they didn’t blink (which is creepy). So all the social signs pointed to date – but the guy was sitting across the table from mom, and daughter was next to mom. So guy wasn’t next to the girl, which makes it look like NOT a date. And there’s no physical contact walking up to the table. It’s not a date. What was it?
Anyway, it was fun to watch this table for lots of social reasons. First, mom had just put new lipstick on before she sat down. How do I know? Because she licked the excess off of her teeth with her tongue behind her lips. Watch a woman who has just hurriedly put on red lipstick – she’ll lick some of it off her teeth.
Secondarily, both mom and daughter were wearing heavily padded bras. This isn’t a problem, under any normal circumstances. As one of my pals says “you are wearing the dress, or the dress is wearing you.” In this case, the bras were wearing them. Each of them adjusted their bras about every 5 minutes. In fact, they had the SAME adjustment motions. Either genetically encoded, or some odd learned behavior. Can you imagine the learning sessions? Mom: “Honey, first you put your fingers under the wire on the edge, pull it away, then shift your shoulders, like this…” Regardless, the best part was when they did it at the SAME TIME. Heh.
Other funny things at dinner. I have a pal, argvee. She’s awesome. Anyway. Our waitress could have been her sister. Down to the mannerisms. The waitress was funny too. But I kept looking around for cameras, since it could have been some weird reality show. Dude, the resemblance was uncanny…
We also chatted about hair. According to my friend, there is more short hair here than in the Bay Area. That doesn’t feel true to me – I see more of a particular haircut, where the women’s hair is about shoulder length, in a bob-like thing, pulled back into a single ponytail at the nape of the neck. Everyone has that hair. I wonder if it’s one set of hair, that they are sharing. Passing it around, while I'm looking the other way.
I mean, after all, it is all about me, isn’t it?
I'm struggling with what to call this posting. I had a conversation with my friend – she used the best line ever… “Ask not for whom the blog posts, it posts for thee”. That could be a good title.
I think that’s enough for now. More later, when the muse strikes again. It’s been a pleasure sharing my brain with you for a few minutes. Hope you enjoyed it, and don’t forget to wash your hands before you eat…