Posts from July, 2008
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Tall Glass of …Milk
Sometimes, my favorite thing on a hot day (besides, say, dreaming about living in an air-conditioned apartment) is ice cold milk in the orange juice glass.
Not exactly the long-term refreshment you might want, but icy nourishment on days you don’t feel like eating much. Yum.
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Enforcement
Between the regular warnings that your personal property is no longer personal when you ride with the MTA, and the weekly police “drills” to get us used to seeing thirty or more police cars swarm to locations throughout the city, things are feeling much more 1984 around here.
Last night, I heard a cop scream from his loudspeaker, “PULL OVER THE CAR. … TAKE THE KEYS OUT OF THE IGNITION AND PUT THEM ON THE HOOD… NOW!”
Since when is it standard operating procedure to demand the keys placed on the hood?
I was too preoccupied watching and listening to get a good shot of the interaction, but it ended with …nothing. Not even a ticket for the cabbie. And unfortunately, since the cop stopped talking through his loudspeaker, I don’t know the details.
Sometimes it feels like they just stop people because they can. And needless to say, I don’t like that.
Last Saturday, I was coming home tired from a visit to my mother (on Staten Island). And as anyone who has to ride the ferry somewhat regularly knows, by the end of a long day, after sitting with idiots on the boat, then finding a subway closure and a longer walk than expected, you just want to get home.
So as I was schlepping three bags at a fairly good clip through the underground paths at Union Square, I was surprised to hear a police officer shout after me, “Ma’m.” Again, “…Ma’m.” And finally, with gusto, “……Ma’m!”
It seemed that he was expecting me to stop, especially since just a moment before I’d seen another three women stopped for a bag check. But this was not how my night was going to end. I’m not voluntarily turning around so this jackass can make sure I’m “safe”. It was on him to stop me, and he’d have to make a real issue of it to catch up.
So I kept on walking.
And since, in some ways, I’m still a good little sheep, I thought I should do something to make me look as innocent as I really am. So I took out the gum I’d been chewing and deposited it neatly into the garbage as I passed it, still not stopping.
There, asshole. I’m a good, non-littering citizen. But you’re NOT going to touch my bag.
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Groucho Girl
Hey, all you lovely people who purchased a Groucho Girl shirt! Thanks!
(Hello to the rest of you, too.)
A few of you have written to ask what this Groucho Girl thing is. Answer: me. And you. And you, over there, too.
(Really, it’s me.) Up in the top corner of this page, there’s a photo of me at age three, sporting an ever-serious mug from behind the groucho glasses.
The shirt’s image is a design by Eric, based on the original photo.
And the wearers of the shirt are smart, funny chicks (and roosters). Some of whom may make a better straight man than the rest.
So now that that’s wrapped up, go! Pick out your size!
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Melkchocolade
One of Eric’s coworkers just returned from Belgium and brought some delicious souvenirs back with her. (Thanks, Anu!)
And this Belgian chocolate has reminded me that it’s my favorite treat, not ice cream or cheddar cheese or baked ziti: this is the winner. And it also features the prettiest lady I’ve ever seen on a candy bar.
Overall, I’m just really enamored of this packaging.
In conclusion, I’ve run out. Anyone going to Belgium soon?
