Saturday, April 2

Like a Tea-Tray in the Sky

Check out this intensely beautiful body painting series of zodiac signs. Seriously. You have never seen Capricorn look this cool. Technically they're pictures of naked women (and thus possibly NSFW), but the paint is very thick and the technique is so good that sometimes you can barely tell. I say art, the FCC says porn. Or maybe it's the Justice Department. Says porn. And, um, I say tom-ah-to. Wait, what was I talking about?

Strange Girl at Party Last Night: "Girls are pretty. Girls are freaky. Who knows what's a girl anyway?"
Me: "Mm-hmm."
SGaPLN: "Would you like a french fry?"

     

Friday, April 1

Bless all the Little Children

It's one of those days: the bass clarinet goes in the lap, the clarinets and the backpack go between the knees, and here come more and more and more and more people squeezing themselves onto the 23, which strangely always runs the slowest, oldest, smallest buses in the fleet.

"Excuse me, sister, would you like a book of Acts?"

One of Them is sitting next to me, impossibly large white plastic bag of paperbound Bible tracts in tow. I take the pamphlet and put it inside my bass case, making just enough of a show about having Too Goddamn Much To Carry Already Thank You to hopefully ward off any future interactions. This accomplished, I bend my head awkwardly past the case and resume my Blank Public-Transitgoer Stare out the window.

"Sister? Jesus saves. Would you like a book of Luke?"

It didn't work.

"Sister? Excuse me, sister?"

I take the second pamphlet and put it with the first, this time grunting a little as I readjust the case. She has already gone on with her rounds, patiently asking each person in turn, "Sister? Brother? Would you like a book of Acts?" and later "How about a book of Luke? Jesus saves, sister, brother." Each time she holds out the pamphlet until she gets a response, sometimes letting her arm hang outstretched for minutes on end while the target turns up his iPod and pointedly fixes his gaze elsewhere.

The doors open. Three young boys bound up the stairs and into the aisle, followed slowly by their mother, who is in solid black hijab and veiled from head to toe.

"Little boy? Little boy, here, it's the word of Jesus. This is the book of Luke."

The boy stares at her for a moment.

"Tell your mother I said it was all right. Jesus saves. Here, take it."

He turns to his mother. She raises an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"It's the book of Luke. Jesus saves, sister."

Silence.

"Are you Muslim?"

Picture, if you will, the greatest possible depth of incredulity and repressed annoyance which a woman with only her eyes showing can convey with a single, slow nod of her head.

"Can I give him a book of Luke, sister?"

"No."

The bus drives on.

     

Wednesday, March 30

Intensely Awkward Exchange #6859275.3

You were the random stranger sitting on my front porch using your cell phone.

I was the girl trying to get into my house.

This is how I wanted the conversation to go:

"Hey."
"Hi. You need something?"
"Yeah. This is my house. Can I get past you and go into it?"
"Oh. My bad." (gets up from porch)
"Thanks." (goes into house)

Except you were on your cell phone, so it would have gone like this instead:

"(blink.)"
"(quizzical eyebrow raise?)"
"(point. point.)"
"(blink! jump up!)"
"(tip hat! go into house)."

Which wouldn't have been too bad. Then, though, I realized I didn't have my key because I'd given it to my houseguest, so I'd have to sit and wait for her to get home.

So the conversation actually went:

"(blink.)"
"(quizzical eyebrow raise?)"
"(point. point.)"
"(blink! jump up!)"
"(blink. blink.)"
"(blink?)"
"(wince. shrug. waving motion.)"
"(blink. sit back down.)"
"(dial cell phone. extremely reassuring smile!!)"
"(blink. quizzical look?? slow walk away?)"
"(wave!!! sit down in same spot!!!!)"

I was trying for this:

"Hey."
"Hi. You need something?"
"Yeah. This is my house. Can I get past you and go into it?"
"Oh. My bad." (gets up from porch)
"Wait, shit! My houseguest has my key. I can't go in. Go ahead and sit down, I don't care. Hey, I'll call her and see if she's going to come let me in."
"Okay.. thanks!"

But instead I think I got this:

"Hey."
"Hi. You need something?"
"Yeah. This is my house. Can I get past you and go into it?"
"Oh. My bad." (gets up from porch)
"Just kidding! I don't live here! I forgot, I live somewhere else! I am a silly, silly head! Oopsie doopsie! Please wait here as I dial the police with my secret spy phone! Happy happy happy!"
"Uh, bye."
"You're leaving?? Just when we were having so much fun! Okay, well, maybe I'll sit on this nice front step you've left open. Mm, you made it all warm! Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba, noo-noo-noo-nooo..."

It really was my house. I really didn't have a key. I should have just said so out loud. Thanks for keeping my step warm.

     

Monday, March 28

Name Games

Dad: "I think I've spent all of your inheritance on the office pool for the NCAA tournament, but hopefully if UNC makes it to the Final Four I won't leave you with any debts."

Me: "That's good. I haven't really been paying attention actually. All I know is Temple got knocked out of the first round of the NIT. I was glad, too."

Mom: "Why?"

Me: "Chaney. Jerk."

Dad: "I hear he's back next year, coaching."

Mom: "Who?"

Me: "Chaney. Jerk."

Mom: "..Chaney?"

Dad: "Dick Cheney is the coach of the Temple basketball team, dear."

Me: "...Yeah, it sucks, he got his own company all these no-bid contracts for the uniforms, and now the players are complaining about how he decided they can't afford the shorts anymore so now they have to go out and play in their boxers."

Dad: "He's on oxygen out there on the court. Actually, they used to have enough oxygen for the whole arena, but now they only have enough for him. He had three or four heart attacks during the Atlantic 10 tournament alone."

Me: "And players keep getting killed during the game, and Cheney just goes on and on about 'necessary losses.' I think they've been through five point guards just this year."

Mom: "Oh, you two just don't know when to quit."

Me: "And then he doesn't even call their moms personally to apologize! He just sends them a mass email!"