My daughter read my “Half Veggie” post (June 13, 2011) the other day and had a bone to pick. Well, not exactly a bone since the question was over her like or dislike of vegetables. She does like broccoli, carrots, cucumbers, spinach (in Greek spanikopita), potatoes, tomatoes (sometimes) and salad greens of various sorts. So she qualifies without qualifiers. And I learned something too. Best not to read some blog entries to my kids until they pick up on the concept of hyperbole.
We were leaving the house the other day when I remarked how much the red-and-gold marigolds—which my son brought home from kindergarten as the tiniest of seedlings—had really grown and thrived.
Without missing a beat, my daughter said: “Flowers are the new pet.”
Overheard at the pool this morning:
“My cars says it’s already 99 degrees out, but my phone says it’s only 95 . . . “
What else do you expect for mid-summer?
Would any of these writers have been caught dead or absinthe-free at a Starbucks Café in a Barnes & Noble, as the mural depicting them at one of these cafés would imply?
It’s hard to imagine any of these literary luminaries tapping on an iPad, listening to an iPod, texting, websurfing, Facebooking, streaming, gaming, e-mailing, tweeting, or cell-phone chatting . . . (as though writers need more ways to procrastinate!)
Didn’t they go to cafes to get away from distractions or avoid social pressures, to sit back and just observe people—stealing details from real life or energizing novelistic dialogues with overheard snippets of conversation (not irritating cell-phone half-a-logues).
And I wonder: which early 21st century writers will appear on such murals in the future? And how will they be depicted—sans pen, pipe, or pensiveness?
I love shopping early in the morning. Stores are nearly empty, clerks fresh off of “employee team meetings” and hopeful for a day that might prove better than the one before.
At one of my favorite haunts, The Dollar Tree, an always-chipper manager was trying to instill the same enthusiasm in the cash/debit register, which was nonresponsive after I swiped my card:
“Come on . . . you’ve had your two cups of coffee and your two packets of sugar. I know that for a fact,” he said, gently tapping the machine. “Wake up.”
Feliz cumpleaños, America!
Se habla español…. ya?