Creature of Habit

Waiting for my plane at SFO…

She walked up to the gate with a determined look on her face. Well, not to the gate exactly, but to a pay phone situated in a close proximity to the gate. She parked her rolly suitcase next to her, propped up next to the pay phone, took out her cell phone, and made 20 minutes worth of calls, never straying more than a few inches from the phone booth. After her last call, she hung up, left the pay phone, and took a seat in the boarding area. Old habits die hard.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame…

The couple in front of us seemed a mismatch. He, a tall, lanky, covered in red freckles oaf. She, a petite, refined, soft-spoken Vietnamese woman. The entire game, he kept leaning over, breathing heavily in her face, and asking, “Are you sure my breath doesn’t smell like garlic?”

Business Travel…

gives me the perfect opportunity to eavesdrop. I eat dinner alone and while waiting for the food to arrive, I pretend to read a book or a newspaper, all the while indulging in my secret vice.

Overheard in Reno, NV:

he: I’ve traveled to 47 of the 48 states.

she: The 48 continental states?

he: No, the 48 United States.

she: Dude, we have 51 states in the USA….

Was one added while I was out of the country?

Beauty Is in the Eye of the Beholder

Overheard at a party:

“You know, ugly people really have it better. I mean, they’ve been ugly all their lives, so when they get older, it’s not such a shock….”

All the News Fit to Print

The NY Times ran the article. As well as msn, the splash page even. I figured it must be true. “One of the best flea markets in America is at Treasure Island, just moments away from downtown San Francisco, Sundays only. 6 am – 4 pm. But arrive early, as many vendors leave by 2 pm.”

I dreamed of the gems I would find. It was the “Sunday activity” for my parents’ visit. We’d explore together, amazed at the treasures we’d unearth. We aimed to leave the city by 7 am – eager not to miss any bargains. Heavy fog enshrouded the island, giving it a mystical feel. We drove to the address. Not a soul stirred. No flea market, no cars, no people, no sign of life whatsoever. We continued around the small island. It was practically deserted. After circling the island twice, I had a deja vu of searching for the woodworking village while in Korea. Here I have the advantage of speaking the language, which didn’t really help, as I left the island just as befuddled as ever. No flea market, no activity, no riches to be discovered.

Jim Dandy

Ever so carefully he swept the sidewalk, dressed in a threadbare suit, his feet covered by socks and rubber flip flops. He had the look of a well-kept bum, a 2-day shadow gracing his face. His sunken eyes watched the movement of his broom, back and forth, back and forth. Slowly the pendulum motion of the broom slowed. He bent down, fingered an object caught in his broom, then ever so gently picked a bird’s feather from the refuse, examined it, then gingerly placed it in his left breast pocket before continuing, swish, whoosh, swish, whoosh…

It Just Struck Me As Strange…

The gate agent, in a sacchariney sweet voice, announced, “You guys have been great. You haven’t asked a lot of questions or shot us any dirty looks. We’ll get you on your flight as soon as possible.”

So if we *had* shot her dirty looks we’d be waiting even longer?

Bruce, Baby, Bruce

“Do you even know any Bruce Springsteen songs?” she asked me.

“Well, sure, I mean, I’m sure I’d recognize them. You know, once they’re played. Like Little Pink Houses. I’m sure I’d recognize that one.”

She laughed. “Wrong singer. That’s John Cougar Mellencamp. Try again.”

I thought for a moment. “The one about dancing. If I had a chance, I’d ask the world to dance, dancing with myself, when…”

“Nope. That would be Billy Idol. Getting closer, though. Springsteen does sing Dancing In the Dark.”

“Well, even though I’m obviously not the biggest Springsteen fan, I’m looking forward to the concert.”

The concert was at Pac Bell Park, our local baseball stadium, situated right on the bay. Before going to the concert, we visited one of the multitudes of sailboats docked right outside the stadium. I sipped margaritas from plastic stemware and watched the sun slowly setting in the sky. The conversation around me was all Bruce, all the time.

And the concert was awesome. Springsteen is a spirited performer. He engages the crowd. He’s enthusiastic. He has fun. Even though I didn’t recognize a single song until the third encore, I’m still glad I went.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

I felt his presence behind me as I began to open my front door. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed him stumbling up the front steps, obviously drunk, a fairly large guy. He made no effort to reach for keys. I waited, he stumbled. It was late enough that no one else was on the street. Wary of someone I didn’t know entering the building behind me, I boldly turned around and confronted him. “Excuse me, do you live here?” The words left my mouth with much more sass than I intended. He laughed, stumbled again, and with a snort replied, “Yes. 405.” Oh, great. My upstairs neighbor. My key still in the lock, I slowly turned it, then entered. He quickly weaved in front of me. Halfway down the hall he came to a dead stop. He spun around and stared. I stopped and faced him. He slowly opened his mouth and, in the exact same tone I had used with him, slurred the words, “Wait a minute. Do *you* live here?” I simply laughed and nodded yes.

The Swedes

When Emily returned from Europe a few weeks ago, she brought with her some biber kuchen that she had been given as a gift. It looks like a large gingerbread cookie with a picture of frosted happy Swedish people frolicking in front of windmills on it.

We first took it to a barbecue. We cut a few bite sized pieces and placed them on a platter. People were curious to try this gingerbread concoction. After a few moments of chewing, each person would politely smile, keep chewing, then utter something to the effect of “That’s nice.” It wasn’t the culinary sensation Emily had hoped it would be. The general consensus was that it would be tasty on a long hike if you didn’t have anything else to eat.

At the end of the barbecue we Saran Wrapped the remainder. Linda took it, saying she would bring it on our next hike. It went on a hike, it attended another barbecue. None was eaten. At the end of the barbecue, Linda turned to me and said, “Okay, it’s your turn to take the Swedes home. Make sure to bring them to the next party.”