silverfae9 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
silverfae9) wrote2003-10-29 10:17 pm
silverfae9) wrote2003-10-29 10:17 pm
I was dreaming I was Al Capone
The announcer guy from The Price is Right died...how strange is that?
On my way back up my hill after moving my car, cardboard container of carbonated beverages in hand, I pass three men standing on the sidewalk. There is a case of Corona on the sidewalk and the men are jabbering rapidly in Spanish. A boombox next to the beer is tuned to some sort of sprightly, carnival-like instrumental music. They nod as I walk by, looking at me and my Mountain Dew as though we're the ones doing something new and unusual.
Tomorrow is the pumpkin carving party. In honor of that, I've unearthed this that we published in last November's issue:
Carving Pumpkins
By Matthew Gleckman
One evening late in October
we covered your kitchen floor
with old newspapers and sat
drinking wine with friends.
Carving pumpkins like cadavers
we loped off tops with steak knives
removing pulp, seeds, and spleen.
When the guts had been pulled
and spreakd across the paper
you paused-slime covered-
long enough to laugh at
week-old funnies.
Sitting on the sagging
green couch across the room
I drank faster than usual,
out of nervousness,
until you shot me a smile
that slowed me down some
and made me wonder
which of my organs
you are after.
Pete is so "LA" now. I was talking to him on my way home from work tonight (yeah, I was that girl on the bus) and he kept slipping in lines like 'remember [some girl]? She's working on Spielburg's new movie.' He's becoming a more essential version of himself out there and I'm so, so glad that I don't have to be his girlfriend for it. I wish he'd just find a nice Baptist girl and settle down already.
I was talking to the electrician about Florida today, because he went to college in Miami. We were discussing the fact that no one ever gets how bizzare a place Florida is until they live there, and I think I'm going to start all my stories from now on with 'This one time down in the bayou...'
Yesterday morning I walked up to my normally empty bus stop to find a young male in a suit waiting for the same bus. I did the reflexive female 'young guy in a suit' thing. Was he a banker? Lawyer? Metrosexual? (I think that that they hold the same fascination that surly art boys do for the girls that date lawyers. They're kind of interesting to ponder occasionally but you never want to get much closer.) Our bus came and we got on, and at the next stop another man in a suit entered. They knew each other...they always do. As they started talking, I realized that they were merely salesguys at Nordstrom's. The second was asking the first if he was planning on making a career out of peddling shoes to the moderately well off. "If you diligently sock it away into a 401k starting now," the second one said seriously, "in 20 years you could be comfortable." I pretty much tuned out at this point...bankspeak first thing in the morning makes me numb, as do people who are seriously planning for a future that may not even come. This morning I arrived at the bus stop to find the same guy. "You have these schedules down pretty well." It's early, I'm sleepy and sick and preoccupied, not even a little bit into starting a conversation with a yuppie. "Yeah, I'm here Monday through Friday. Please remember to tip your waitress." His friend gets on at the next stop and points at the lunchbag the first one is carrying. "Bringing your own, huh. That's $8 you're saving there. That'll add up."
These two are becoming my own little sociology project. I hadn't realized how cultish Nordstrom employees actually are until now.
On my way back up my hill after moving my car, cardboard container of carbonated beverages in hand, I pass three men standing on the sidewalk. There is a case of Corona on the sidewalk and the men are jabbering rapidly in Spanish. A boombox next to the beer is tuned to some sort of sprightly, carnival-like instrumental music. They nod as I walk by, looking at me and my Mountain Dew as though we're the ones doing something new and unusual.
Tomorrow is the pumpkin carving party. In honor of that, I've unearthed this that we published in last November's issue:
Carving Pumpkins
By Matthew Gleckman
One evening late in October
we covered your kitchen floor
with old newspapers and sat
drinking wine with friends.
Carving pumpkins like cadavers
we loped off tops with steak knives
removing pulp, seeds, and spleen.
When the guts had been pulled
and spreakd across the paper
you paused-slime covered-
long enough to laugh at
week-old funnies.
Sitting on the sagging
green couch across the room
I drank faster than usual,
out of nervousness,
until you shot me a smile
that slowed me down some
and made me wonder
which of my organs
you are after.
Pete is so "LA" now. I was talking to him on my way home from work tonight (yeah, I was that girl on the bus) and he kept slipping in lines like 'remember [some girl]? She's working on Spielburg's new movie.' He's becoming a more essential version of himself out there and I'm so, so glad that I don't have to be his girlfriend for it. I wish he'd just find a nice Baptist girl and settle down already.
I was talking to the electrician about Florida today, because he went to college in Miami. We were discussing the fact that no one ever gets how bizzare a place Florida is until they live there, and I think I'm going to start all my stories from now on with 'This one time down in the bayou...'
Yesterday morning I walked up to my normally empty bus stop to find a young male in a suit waiting for the same bus. I did the reflexive female 'young guy in a suit' thing. Was he a banker? Lawyer? Metrosexual? (I think that that they hold the same fascination that surly art boys do for the girls that date lawyers. They're kind of interesting to ponder occasionally but you never want to get much closer.) Our bus came and we got on, and at the next stop another man in a suit entered. They knew each other...they always do. As they started talking, I realized that they were merely salesguys at Nordstrom's. The second was asking the first if he was planning on making a career out of peddling shoes to the moderately well off. "If you diligently sock it away into a 401k starting now," the second one said seriously, "in 20 years you could be comfortable." I pretty much tuned out at this point...bankspeak first thing in the morning makes me numb, as do people who are seriously planning for a future that may not even come. This morning I arrived at the bus stop to find the same guy. "You have these schedules down pretty well." It's early, I'm sleepy and sick and preoccupied, not even a little bit into starting a conversation with a yuppie. "Yeah, I'm here Monday through Friday. Please remember to tip your waitress." His friend gets on at the next stop and points at the lunchbag the first one is carrying. "Bringing your own, huh. That's $8 you're saving there. That'll add up."
These two are becoming my own little sociology project. I hadn't realized how cultish Nordstrom employees actually are until now.
I once dated a nordstrom's employee...
Re: I once dated a nordstrom's employee...
Re: I once dated a nordstrom's employee...