I carefully packed away all my white clothes. Happy Labor Day! Not that I won’t see them; I’ve run out of closet space for some reason, so they’re all squashed in the one packed with ‘What was I Thinking?’ mistakes and my minks.
I don’t have to pull out my winter woolies. They never got put away. Last year I changed my closets around and then in July I was digging under the (never worn) Bermuda shorts for a turtleneck. And believe me, I wore them all summer.
Congratulations to JoPa and the Lions on a brilliant game on Saturday, shellacking Akron 31 -7. And because I don’t want to have to sleep on a park bench in Central Park while we’re in New York, a rousing ‘well done!’ to the Fighting Irish for narrowly edging Nevada 35 – 0. I didn’t see the game; perhaps the Pep Squad played.
I did catch part of a ‘49ers game on NFL Roundup on Clueless Sports. Their rookie running back is called Glenn Coffee. I love coffee; I live on the stuff. I might possibly have more ‘coffee breaks’ than ‘booty calls’. Well… okay, it’s too close to call without the chains.
Anyway, I think I prefer being asked “What do you want, Jeano?” so I can say “I’ll have mmmm… Coffee”; it’s more amusing than the ‘booty’ imaginary conversation. I used to have a thing for Tedy Bruschi. He’s not remotely hot, but I thought if I was married to Tedy, he could say cute shit like “Mrs. Bruschi, get the linebackers another brew-ski while you’re up.”
Maybe I’ll start a new index of football players with cool names.
I had a meeting with the Sam managers the other day; not just me, the three people designated ‘Senior Volunteers’. I said to Mikey “That’s not, like, because we’re old, is it? It’s because we can read and we know that Jilly Cooper isn’t ‘classic British literature’?” Honestly, you would be shocked if you saw what some of the staff put in the Classics section. Some of the volunteers are worth exactly what we pay them. Bupkis. Really true example: “There’s a lady on the phone asking if we have ‘The Forsyte Saga’. Did you ever hear of it?” Several evil yet witty rejoinders came to mind, but I just took a deep breath and looked in the ‘G’s’ in Classics for Galsworthy. And I’m not even British.
That reminds me. Jennifer, the third member of the triumvirate, and I stopped to have a coffee after the meeting. We were criticizing one of the managers and I said “Well, ‘the devil can cite Scripture for his own purpose’, you know.” Jen was gobsmacked. So was I, even though I often impress myself. But I do use quotes a lot; usually from ‘The Prophet’, it’s true, but I can download a Shakespeare or two from my memory banks on occasion. “Where’s that from” she challenged. “Merchant of Venice” I told her. Jen, who has a much more thorough background in English Lit than I, disagreed. She bragged that she’d directed the play while attending her posh boarding school. I promised to check the quote source when I got home, and ring her.
Yes, I was very childish. “Na-na-na-na! You were wrong” I crowed when she answered the phone. “Merchant of Venice – Act 1 – Scene III – Antonio.” She had to admit I’d stumped her.
On Tuesday, I had to go to Chiswick for JDavid, and enticed Pinkie into coming along by promising to take her to ‘the Mother of All Consignment Shops’. Wow. That was an expensive outing. We stopped for lunch on the way home at the Minnow, where, naturally, I ran into two people I knew (and Pinkie didn’t). One was Myra Cohen Cohen, who said, basically, ‘You don’t call. You don’t write. You don’t come over for a coffee. Did you forget where I live? Lose my phone number? I could be dead and you wouldn’t know it.” Well, I am paraphrasing, but just a tiny bit; she was looking especially Rosie the Terrible-ish and I thought “Trust my mother-in-law to be having a very expensive lunch at the Minnow. She wouldn’t be caught dead…well…alive at the Slug & Lettuce.” I said to Pinkie afterwards “God! I feel so guilty. I’m a terrible person. And there’s probably another big black mark in my fucking Book! Oy vey.” You can ask Pinkie; it’s true.
Jen rang late Tuesday afternoon to say she’d been to lunch in Richmond (coincidentally practically next to Chiswick) with a group of her school chums and related the story to them about the Merchant of Venice quote. She told me that she’d said “I was bested on Shakespeare by an American from King of Prussia, Pennsylvania!”
Hmm, I wondered. Which part of that statement is the most insulting? Granted, a lot of Americans are illiterate, but it’s not generally the done thing to say so, and I’m certainly not. Or does she think King of Prussia is, like, Alabama or Arkansas and I went to school in a one-room schoolhouse like Abe Lincoln or those obnoxious children on ‘Little House on the Prairie’? British people have the most peculiar misconceptions about Americans sometimes.
On Wednesday, I escorted another coach trip for the Senior Centre- this one to Worthing. I believe Worthing is the seaside, but I’m not sure. Hester (who came for company) and I never stopped shopping long enough to verify this rumor. Hester is the sort of friend you want by your side during a crisis– like when you have to go to a seminar with JDavid and you have nothing to wear. She’s a bit rigid, however. Everything is black-and-white, literally. Like she refused to let me buy that stunning sweater coat because it was black-and-white. “You’re a Warm Autumn. Ruby and I say ‘No! You can’t have it!’” (Not to worry; they had it in beige and brown.)
The summer outings had all been arranged before I got elected to the committee and, apparently, there had been issues with the bus on a few of them. As this was the last one, the bus company sent their poshest bus. It was an executive coach, with four seats together, two on either side of a table and satellite TV. It should have been quite pleasant.
It wasn’t. This woman got on and plunked herself at our table. I felt just like that Vietnamese officer in ‘Airplane!’ who made the mistake of sitting next to Striker. She didn’t stop nattering, and in this truly awful accent. I don’t even notice British accents any more, but this one was like a cat with it’s tail caught in a Chop-o-matic. Ignoring her and one word answers didn’t even slow her down, so in lieu of hari kari – on her, not me – I pulled out my .mp3 player and cranked it up, drowning her out and leaving Hester to cope. Since the woman was on her own, I gave my little ‘We’re in Worthing. Let’s be careful out there.’ shpiel in double quick time and dragged Hester off before Cat Woman latched on to us for the day. Yeah, just put another black mark in my Book.
The regular season starts on Sunday. The Birds travel to Carolina to play the Panthers. Would everybody please send Donovan ‘happy’ thoughts? And while you’re at it, focus on Farve getting a nasty bug or arthritis in his playing elbow so Jew Jock starts? You’re the best, faithful readers.
I have a date with Scooter Man on Sunday night. This will be a watershed in our relationship. He has never seen me watch an American football game. It will get ugly. I guess I’ll have to be extremely attentive in other ways to make up for it.