an attempt at levity
A BIG THUMBS UP TO BANAL CONVERSATIONS
At the Loyola El stop, getting off the train:
Guy #1: Want to go to the liquor store?
Guy #2: Yes! Immediately!
In line at the Walgreens at Clark and Erie:
Baby Momma #1: So I said hello! Hello! What the fuck are you talking about? I don't want to take custody of her! I got my own babies to worry about! Shit!
Baby Momma #2: Uh-huh.
Baby Momma #1: But then I was like, Wait. That's money, you know? Extra check.
Baby Momma #2: Uh-huh.
In virtual space:
smartypantsmimi: You know my panhandler rule, right?
sirilyan: A shiny dollar to the first person who asks for it?
smartypantsmimi: Right. Then I'm done. I don't always get asked, so then I just transfer the dollar to tomorrow's pocket.
smartypantsmimi: And I deflect anyone else this way: when someone says, “Spare some change?” I look right at them and say “How's it going?” or “Good morning!” or whatever.
smartypantsmimi: That seems unusual enough that they are startled, and then I'm already gone.
sirilyan: I have thought of carrying a hamburger with me. Because if they want to buy food, then I will give them food.
smartypantsmimi: GOD THAT WAS THE BEST SENTENCE EVER OUT OF CONTEXT.
smartypantsmimi: I HAVE THOUGHT OF CARRYING A HAMBURGER WITH ME.
smartypantsmimi: I want to sneak it into a Beckett play.
sirilyan: *falls out of chair laughing*
smartypantsmimi: Often, at night. I have thought. Of carrying a hamburger with me.
sirilyan: He said he would carry a hamburger.
smartypantsmimi: Is it time to carry a hamburger?
smartypantsmimi: (despairingly) This hamburger is too large. To be carried.
smartypantsmimi: In the rain.
sirilyan: You carry my hamburger now. I am weary.
Me and LT, on the phone, from work:
LT: What should I feed you tonight?
Me: Let's go out. Somewhere. So we can talk.
LT: Uh. Do we have things to talk about?
Me: We always have things to talk about!
LT: But, like, things?
Me: Oh god no, not things. Sorry. No, no. Not like a we-need-to-talk talk.
LT: Not talk talk.
Me: Not talk talk. No British new wave involved.
LT: What?
Me: Never mind.
LT: Okay.
Me: I'm hungry.
Another good one from this morning: LT and I were sort of making out in the kitchen, even though I had my bag over my shoulder and transit card in my hand and was but moments from missing the bus.
[ear kissing and licking]
Me [cartoony Texas babbling noises]: Beebee ba bee. Dabadabada. Hoo-eee.
LT: What was that?
Me: Sorry. That last one turned me into Ross Perot.
LT: Yikes.
(In retrospect, my ear-kissing-babble-reaction was a bit more Boomhauer than Perot. But still, I doubt LT wants to make out with either man.)
A BIZARRE, ALMOST SELF-CONSCIOUSLY FREUDIAN DREAM, MORE DETAIL THAN USUAL BUT I WANT TO REMEMBER THIS ONE, GO AHEAD AND SKIP IT IF YOU WANT
I was in a grocery store with some guy, trying to find a place to poop. There was no bathroom. We discussed the need to be subtle. Like maybe we could just casually squat down and pretend we had to check a price on the bottom shelf. It wasn't working (store managers kept walking by), so we decided to go use the bathrooms at my college. The college, in stark contrast to its non-dream-world self, was insanely crowded, like a TV nightmare of an inner-city public high school. At one end of the hall was a room with a sign that said it was the ANTI-FEMINIST COMICS CLUB HEADQUARTERS. “Tired of all this Ms. and Bitch bullshit? Read comics! Breasts and spandex guaranteed!” I find my English class which is on the ART OF THE ESSAY and it is packed with tall lanky frat boys. We have to share little two-person tables and the guy at mine has his feet up and headphones on and is reading a Japanese porn comic book. I spot Kat in my class and I am really happy—she is wearing a long peasant skirt and a multicolored striped rugby shirt, and it crosses my mind that it is a dorky outfit but then I decide no, it looks cool. I head over to talk to her, and as I am fighting my way through the crowded classroom I put my hand in my pocket and find this carved piece of wood, like one of those wooden name keychains, that says EUCLID. Then class is starting so I have to sit down, so I just wave to her and toss the Euclid in an underhand throw. She catches it just fine.
SWEET FOOD-RELATED MYSTERIES OF LIFE
1. Sometimes I go for lunch to this place called Cityfood. It is like a little deli where you can build your own sandwich, and mine is always a half sandwich on toasted multigrain bread, with cheddar, horseradish mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, lettuce, and tomato. If you were a superintelligent robot, here is what you would be thinking right now after reading that ingredient list: ERROR ERROR DOES NOT COMPUTE MIMI SMARTYPANTS DOES NOT LIKE TOMATOES. You are correct, Robot! I don't! Or rather I like them in certain prespecified ways, like in salsa or on pizza or chopped up real small in a salad, but I cannot stand a big slimy slice of raw tomato. So why the hell did I have them put on my sandwich? Get this: it's not even like I panicked at the last minute. At this place you fill out a sandwich-building spec sheet and check what you want, and I checked “tomato” even though I hate tomatoes and had to scrape them off when I returned to my desk. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME. There must be some dark part of my unconscious that wants me to be the sort of person who likes tomatoes, who appreciates the summer freshness of a perfectly ripe garden tomato, blah blah all that Martha Stewart crap, it's a good thing.
2. The Vietnamese bakery called Hung Phat.
MEDIA
1. You may like Lucky Wander Boy. I did, for the most part. Some problems with pacing, and I like books to be a bit more populated with imagery and wordplay, but it was a page-turning good time anyway.
2. Tonight I am off to see some bands, including Glass Candy and the Shattered Theatre. I have heard a little bit of them and I think they probably own a lot of David Bowie records, and I am getting a wee bit weary of this “disco-music-for-our-generation” danceable no-wave thing, but I am interested nonetheless. This show is at the Fireside Bowl, and one of my favorite things about that place is that, when they have an all-ages show, you go INTO the bar to get away from the smoke. Because we older kids have nothing to prove, and it is not imperative that we be seen in public flaunting Mommy's rules and sucking on the coffin nails.
3. Sign #9 that I may be getting old: I am starting to like Yo La Tengo. I mean, no big deal, lots of people like Yo La Tengo, they are critical darlings and they have been around a long, long time. But I remember being a snotty punk and dismissing them with a flick of my multiple-leather-wristbanded hand, because they were all acoustic-y and heartfelt, but recently I went on a downloading binge and acoustic-y and heartfelt carried the day.
4. Why are there so many band names with air travel references? Jets to Brazil. Burning Airlines. Brian Eno (obliquely). Planes Mistaken For Stars. Jefferson Airplane. There are probably more.
—mimi smartypants is zestfully clean.