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The Grocery Store
No wonder consumers are tempted to make such poor food choices. Merchandisers barely give you the time to get through the sliding doors before they start bombarding you with imposing displays of sugary snack foods and beverages.
And if salt is what you crave, I’m pretty sure our local supermarket has a designated potato chip aisle.
Comic bus ride in Seattle
Nothing compares to the bad entertainment available on public transportation. Last Thursday, I was sitting on the #3 bus to Madrona watching a mom embarrass her teenage daughter. I try to read but am distracted by a woman seated across from me – with a boyfriend I presume – repeating offensive jokes from some comedian’s monologue.
The jokes are horrible but she keeps snorting and cackling at her renditions like someone with a bad cold being mercilessly tickled. “Why did the white man get kicked off the moon? No, no, why did he try to buy up the moon? Because he thought he’d get a better mortgage from the Indians! Hahahah cackle, cackle.” Her laughter grates on my nerves. The boyfriend nods and stretches his lips from side to side to form a pity smile that is as pathetic as the corny joke. A teenage girl seated next to me chimes in to add her two cents so I presume she’s the cackling comedian’s daughter.
It’s hard to ignore the trio. The mom slaps the boyfriend’s thigh to make sure he is getting the jokes, and not drifting off, and the impact jerks me out of my own private space on the bus. “And I love it when he [the television comedian who’s jokes she’s repeating] says…” and goes on to repeat a “joke” that was inappropriate for the setting. After an earful of bad jokes and one slap on the knee too many, the boyfriend grabs the woman’s invading arm and commands her to shut up because he has had “enough of her shit that aint funny.”
“That woman isn’t my mom!” the blonde teenager screams out for the edification of everyone within earshot. And to the mom, she says: “You’re not embarrassing me, you’re embarrassing yourself. Shut up. That’s enough!” Despite the angry protest from her family members that she shut up, the mom continues to grunt and cackle and tries to squeeze out one more bad joke, but another bus rider interrupts her with a plea to stop because her jokes are inappropriate, not funny, and likely to offend. The daughter in the skull hoodie looks up again and verbally assaults the passenger for disrespecting her mom and starts lecturing the woman about manners and the need to respect one’s elders. How ironic.
While Dad’s in Vegas
“My papa ran away” I overhear Tiggy explaining to Ashika as I sit at Antim’s giant dining room table sipping tea with cardamom. “He’ll be back soon,” I say to cheer him up but I sound too distracted to provide reassurance. Tiggy looks up from the chaotic water color he’s working on at his friend’s activity table and gives me an exaggerated look of melancholy.
David rings moments later and does a better job of providing reassurance. “I’ll be back on Saturday, cheri,” he explains to Tiggy, who nods enthusiastically at the cell phone I’m holding up to his ear, says “okay papa!” then goes back to his art project without hanging up or saying goodbye.
Between sips of hot tea, I go over my movie choices for the evening, once Tiggy is snuggled in bed. With D in Nevada, the timing is perfect for one of the French dramas I have added to our “watch instantly” queue on Netflix, and which D keeps pushing to the bottom of the list thinking I wouldn’t catch on.
For tonight, I have Les chansons d’amour (“Love Songs”), a romantic musical about a love triangle with a tragic twist, and in which one of the characters will inevitably break out into a song every time the film starts getting interesting.
There’s also Le fils de l’epicier (“The Grocer’s Son”), a drama about a 20-something problem kid who returns to the countryside to take over the family’s mobile grocery store business. I can see it now. He’s going to be resentful. He’s gonna confront past demons. And the end, he’ll mature, turn the business around and win back/find his love interest.
David will be glad he isn’t home to sit through either of these but I can’t wait to watch them.
No More Newspapers
The Seattle PI published its last print edition this week. I haven’t bought a newspaper in years so I can’t say this is shocking news. But it’s still sad to see another newspaper go. It seems like every daily newspaper in the country has either cut back or has gone under. Even the New York Times keeps cutting back.
Now I’m wondering whether the demise of daily papers signals the end of reporting. A lot of the media sources where I get my daily headlines get their news from detailed newspaper reports. Now what are they going to do?
Torrential Downpour
Just my luck: I got caught in a torrential downpour this afternoon after leaving the Barnes & Noble in Bellevue. It happened so suddenly. One minute I am pushing the heavy glass doors open to leave the bookstore, observing that it was still drizzling. It had been drizzling since Friday night so what else is new? Seconds later, though, I am crossing the deserted parking lot, cringing as the prolonged but innocuous drizzle turns into a torrential assault of rain and ice pellets, drenching me from all sides and threatening to mangle my miniature blue chain-store umbrella.
I broke into a waddle/sprint to reach the car – parked at the far end of the lot – panting and splashing a frigid mixture of rainwater and parking lot gravel onto the backs of my maternity jeans as I ran. When I reached the car, my jeans were soaked through and my calves were freezing. I swung open the passenger door and drenched my side of the vehicle before I could pull the door closed.
Then the rain stopped. We made it halfway out of the parking lot and the rain just stopped. I sat in the passenger seat, angry and shivering as the sun peered out from the clouds. The midday monsoon was short-lived and seemed to be intended for me. At least I had my umbrella.
Tiggy Wants a Snuggie
Tiggy looks up from the television and declares: “Maman, I want to buy that!”
“What?” I ask.
“The blanket with sleeves!”
No way am I purchasing a snuggie.
V, A, A, T and D family blog 