The “gentlemen” in the cubicles near me have been talking about how they could beat each other in various sports for the last couple of weeks.
Recently they’ve been talking about running a 40 – throwing around times like 4.8 and 4.6. They’ve decided to have a race next week. One of them has declined because, “do you know how long it takes me to warm up?”
They’re moving to a different part of the building at the end of the day today, so I won’t get the hear about the results of their race.
Getting ready for my Morris interview. Feeling like I’m not going to be very happy with the outcome, because it’s a roundtable, so I might get one or two questions tops. I feel the loss of this even more than usual since Tabloid is such a wonderful film.
Mr. B.’s friend Alec had a routine. He would come home from school, unlock the door, then fret about the “scary noises” he heard in the empty house. I remember the first time I saw him sitting on the bench behind my house. He was craning his neck around watching our house.
Alec had the cell phone his mother gave him to keep in touch while she was at work. She had a long commute and wanted him at home until she got there, taking care of school assignments and chores. He was a very smart and kind boy. I asked the mother to allow Alec to come inside to do homework. But she was adamant. He could sit on the bench until she got home or calmed down. And that was that.
So, Alec would show up several days a week at least, and Mr. B. would sit with him on the bench. I heard that even when we were gone, and that happened a lot, he still would show up on that bench with his books and phone.
Eventually, Alec, his little brother, and his mother moved. We never saw them again. But I still think about him. Especially lately. And this memory is tied up with Clusterflock. Because when I drop by in silence, just reading the posts, I’m like little Alec on the bench, watching the walls of a home where people I care about live. It’s a comfort ritual.
Deron–I was reading on our small couch last night and heard a rustling outside the window. It was completely dark but I could see that one of the limbs of a spindly tree nearby was slowly bending down to the glass. When it reached the bottom of its arc a very surprised possum sat gaping at me like the man in the moon. He soon retreated, which caused the limb to slowly rise away. I think the possum was more startled than I was; I kind of figured the rustling was caused by one of them before I even saw anything. I’m glad it wasn’t Mia sitting in my seat, though, since she would have shrieked and done the cartoon run-fast-without-moving thing. I’m just telling you this because I know you have a special place in your heart for possums.
Hey, Deron. Let’s start planning the Beavis & Butthead marathon. And the trip to Las Vegas. And maybe a mini clusterflockstock journey to northern California. And the trip to L.A. for Amae’s film screening. That ought to keep us busy for a while.
Andrea,
My friend Stephen, calls a couple times a year. He used to start the conversation with “What are you wearing?” in a sexy, low, aristocratic southern accent like Dixie Carter’s. Then he’d giggle. And we’d be off in a long laughter-filled love-fest.
Deron, today I got paid to be a “technical consultant.” As though I were some kind of IT dude. I did some walking-through and talking and everything worked right and it was, like, yeehaw! I think I was the more excited of the two of us.
Helen Keller was one of our favorite games. I was Annie Sullivan and sister was Helen. Sister would throw herself on the ground in a tantrum, which was completely in character, and I would drag her up and shake her harshly, douse her with the water hose.
She is fine. Really and truly she is. She cut off my doll Susie’s eyelashes and pulled out her hair and slashed her face with red lipstick to look like blood. But hey, today we’re good!
Not that I’ll be able to respond.
This is hard.
I know. We all care about you and are here.
The “gentlemen” in the cubicles near me have been talking about how they could beat each other in various sports for the last couple of weeks.
Recently they’ve been talking about running a 40 – throwing around times like 4.8 and 4.6. They’ve decided to have a race next week. One of them has declined because, “do you know how long it takes me to warm up?”
They’re moving to a different part of the building at the end of the day today, so I won’t get the hear about the results of their race.
Quiet day today? I just got back, so I don’t know what’s going on. But looks like I have some friends on Google+ after all!
Getting ready for my Morris interview. Feeling like I’m not going to be very happy with the outcome, because it’s a roundtable, so I might get one or two questions tops. I feel the loss of this even more than usual since Tabloid is such a wonderful film.
What are you wearing?
Rick wins.
Mr. B.’s friend Alec had a routine. He would come home from school, unlock the door, then fret about the “scary noises” he heard in the empty house. I remember the first time I saw him sitting on the bench behind my house. He was craning his neck around watching our house.
Alec had the cell phone his mother gave him to keep in touch while she was at work. She had a long commute and wanted him at home until she got there, taking care of school assignments and chores. He was a very smart and kind boy. I asked the mother to allow Alec to come inside to do homework. But she was adamant. He could sit on the bench until she got home or calmed down. And that was that.
So, Alec would show up several days a week at least, and Mr. B. would sit with him on the bench. I heard that even when we were gone, and that happened a lot, he still would show up on that bench with his books and phone.
Eventually, Alec, his little brother, and his mother moved. We never saw them again. But I still think about him. Especially lately. And this memory is tied up with Clusterflock. Because when I drop by in silence, just reading the posts, I’m like little Alec on the bench, watching the walls of a home where people I care about live. It’s a comfort ritual.
Deron–I was reading on our small couch last night and heard a rustling outside the window. It was completely dark but I could see that one of the limbs of a spindly tree nearby was slowly bending down to the glass. When it reached the bottom of its arc a very surprised possum sat gaping at me like the man in the moon. He soon retreated, which caused the limb to slowly rise away. I think the possum was more startled than I was; I kind of figured the rustling was caused by one of them before I even saw anything. I’m glad it wasn’t Mia sitting in my seat, though, since she would have shrieked and done the cartoon run-fast-without-moving thing. I’m just telling you this because I know you have a special place in your heart for possums.
I once asked Steve McKelvey to cheer me up and he started unzipping his pants.
Amanda Mae, I’ll bet if you stand up and unzip your pants like Steve did, you’ll gain control of the interview.
Hey, Deron. Let’s start planning the Beavis & Butthead marathon. And the trip to Las Vegas. And maybe a mini clusterflockstock journey to northern California. And the trip to L.A. for Amae’s film screening. That ought to keep us busy for a while.
i love you people. also, Rick: nothing.
Does anybody else feel like this is a slow day for the internet?
I’ve been at my new job for three whole weeks and ain’t been fired. When that stops seeming remarkable, I’ll let you know.
Andrea,
My friend Stephen, calls a couple times a year. He used to start the conversation with “What are you wearing?” in a sexy, low, aristocratic southern accent like Dixie Carter’s. Then he’d giggle. And we’d be off in a long laughter-filled love-fest.
One time, he asked, I answered “A riding crop.”
Deron, today I got paid to be a “technical consultant.” As though I were some kind of IT dude. I did some walking-through and talking and everything worked right and it was, like, yeehaw! I think I was the more excited of the two of us.
And I got paid in real American money!
I didn’t need to unzip my pants I was wearing a dress. I sat across from Errol at the roundtables and I was the prettiest girl in the room.
Amanda! How did it go? What did he say about me?
Hey, Deron? Another thing about my Technical Consultant gig. I got a testimonial!
I am “an Annie Sullivan for the computer illiterate!”
Did you know that Helen Keller had a dollhouse in her backyard?
Neither did she.
I love you people, too.
Cindy, I was hoping we’d hear a Helen Keller joke from you.
xdh dke sthie.s cnteiss.
W-A-T-E-R.
Helen Keller was one of our favorite games. I was Annie Sullivan and sister was Helen. Sister would throw herself on the ground in a tantrum, which was completely in character, and I would drag her up and shake her harshly, douse her with the water hose.
She is fine. Really and truly she is. She cut off my doll Susie’s eyelashes and pulled out her hair and slashed her face with red lipstick to look like blood. But hey, today we’re good!