68 posts tagged “city livin'”
Yesterday, I was stuck on the train heading back out to Virginia after work, and wishing it would hurry up and get there already (It had been a long day, after a long week of a lot of work and lots of metro delays--I shake my fist at you, metro, and your crappy service that left me standing on an outdoor platform in the cold and rain for forty minutes at rush hour because of a broken down train at the next stations!-- and we had a busy evening ahead of going to our friend Jean's opening at Stacy's Coffee House in Falls Church {which is lovely-- go see her paintings!} and then into Adams Morgan and the DCAC to see Self Accusation, a play directed by our friend B., which was excellent-- go see it before the run is over!). The woman behind me was on her cell phone. She had service underground, so she was on it for a very long time. Like all the way through Virginia. The service kept dropping, and she kept having to call the other person back, though I couldn't figure out why, since she didn't seem to want to be on the phone with the guy in any event.
She was on the phone with Joel. I know this because she said his name about a hundred and forty times. The other things she said a lot were "shut up" and "whatever." As in, "Whatever... no... yes.... *sigh*.... shut up... shut up... Whatever, Joel." She also seemed incredibly annoyed to be on the phone with him, which made her reasons for a) staying on the phone with him; and b) calling him back when their connection was broken, all very opaque. From this end of the conversation, Joel sounded jealous and stalkerish. It also sounded like they were both deceiving significant others in order to have harsh, rather unkind phone conversations (and one assumes to meet up for angry sex or something).
Hello? Joel? Yeah.... I'm on the train.On the train..... On. The. Train.... Yeah.... Rosslyn.... ROSSLYN.... yeah.... What are you doing tonight?.... Oh... no, I've got to go home..... No, I can't.... No, Joel, I can't.... whatever. Joel..... shut up..... shut up.... whatever. I can't..... I said I can't, Joel.... What about Tuesday morning?.... No, I said I can't... whatever, Joel.... Hello?... Hello?... Hello?
[redials]
Hello?.... I'm on the train.... I told you, I'm on the train.... Whatever, Joel, I didn't hang up on you, I'm on the train... no, I didn't.... shut up, Joel.... shut UP.... whatever..... so am I going to see you tonight?.... no, I can't.... I told you, I'm busy on Monday.... I have plans.... shut up.... shut up....whatever.... Yeah?... you miss me?.... so am I going to see you tonight?.... I can't, Joel.... I have plans Monday night...Tuesday morning.... I can't, what about Tuesday morning?... I can't, what about Tuesday morning?.... I can't, I have plans.... Tuesday morning?.... Tuesday morning?.... shut up.... What?.... hello? hello?....
[redials]
Hello?.... No, I'm on the train, gawd.... Clarendon.... CLARENDON.... I don't know, twenty minutes?.... I can't... I can't.... I have to pick up my kids....I can't... I have to pick up my kids... I have to pick up my kids.... whatever, Joel... is that what you tell your girlfriend?.... whatever... I bet that's what you tell her... I bet it is... I bet you tell her the same thing....whatever... shut up, Joel.... I can't.... I have plans Monday... Tuesday morning?.... I have plans Monday... Tuesday morning?.... whatever....
It actually continued on for quite a bit longer. She was still on the phone when I got off the train. So here's to you, dysfunctional affair lady, your life is far less interesting than a soap opera (I mean, no one was possessed by spirits from the great beyond, there were no cat fights, no one's baby was switched at the hospital, Alexis Carrington did not stalk into the train and pull the woman's hair, causing a cat fight where vases would be thrown and the winner would tell Alexis that there was more where that came from), and yet you managed to completely distract me from the book that I was reading (and enjoying, thank you) by conducting your manipulative and manipulated interactions with your probably-going-to-kill-you-in-a-murder-suicide illicit boyfriend. Besides completely invading my personal aural space, she did make me wonder how people have the time for affairs. Kids, jobs, their above-board significant others.... that seems like a full plate as it is. Why bother? Jeez, people. Get a hobby.
In D.C. the Tuesday before Halloween there is a drag race in Dupont Circle.... The High Heel Drag Race!
There were some awesome outfits, I must say.
These lovely ladies are sitting on the hood of a cop car.
There were some famous (dead) people.... and others less easy to identify....
There was entertainment by one of the local sports clubs, and other topical outfits, such as Larry Craig being pushed up and down the street by a policeman on a toilet.
There were four board games, which were seriously spectacular-- the game of Life on the left-- including Twister, Parchesi, and Candyland. And also some Tennessee Pride sausage... wearing very yellow boots....
A little leather, a little lederhosen (or dirndls at least), and a little Divine...
Andorra catches up with the game of life...
>Start Rant
So, a while ago I posted about a day when my evening commute was just. plain.hellish. In the standing-on-an-overpacked-platform-for-ever-only-to-encounter-more-breakdowns kind of way. There was an even worse set of delays at the end of August. Now, mind you, I could write a post every day whingeing about the less-than-stellar service (every single day, without fail, at rush hour there are residual delays on one of the lines from a broken down train that has been cleared. Every day. Without fail.) I thought a lot about posting a rant when it was announced the metro would likely put in place a fare hike to deal with their budget shortfall. I kind of put it off for a while, though I thought Catoe must be smoking something to suggest a 29% rate increase fast on the heels of major organizational disasters just the month before. I thought about it again when the WaPo had an article about how metro wastes $4 million in electricity every year-- something that could help with closing their budget gap if they'd shut off the damn lights. So now that weeks and weeks and weeks have passed Catoe has announced that metro is going to respond to these problems by clarifying their announcements, and making their employees do their best to grasp that they should announce things in the first place.
Metro General Manager John B. Catoe Jr. has promised to fix communications, adding his name to a list of agency chiefs who have vowed, unsuccessfully, to cure one of the agency's largest and deepest ailments. At a board meeting last week, managers outlined a new take on the long-standing problem. Success, they said, will not be achieved by simply making station announcements comprehensible; it will require a complete culture change, from top managers to all 8,200 bus and rail operations employees.
Hunh. Well that's just fascinating. I certainly don't disagree that the announcement system in Metro sucks. And I also do not disagree that metro workers are often rather opaque in their responses (but, honestly, no less helpful than anywhere else. They just don't usually seem to have the answers). Now, I wouldn't be horrified or anything if I could understand the messages that come over the speaker (though I'm not sure that the Death Start design of the metro stations is conducive to better acoustics), but, really, you know what would make me really happy? Consistent service..
I've lived in two cities that have much, much, much older subway systems: Boston and New York. Like three, almost four times as old. I spent many months in Paris and took the metro every day. And the number of times that there are announcements or messages on the electronic boards that there are delays on one like or another in one week tops the number that I saw in six months in these other places-- all of which have more comprehensive systems with more trains (if you include the several trolley branches on the Green line of the T). So what gives? Everyone is always whingeing that the traffic in the D.C. metro area is awful (apparently second only to L.A.). This may have something to do with the fact that taking the metro in from the suburbs takes FOREVER, isn't that cheap (especially when you add parking), and is usually undergoing something jacked up that has everything delayed. For example, last Thursday coming home there were residual delays on the yellow line due to a train malfunction; on Friday morning there were residual delays on the red line due to a train malfunction; all weekend long there is track maintenance that is delaying everything by upwards of thirty minutes on the orange line; and Monday morning there were residual delays on the green line due to a train malfunction on my way to the gym; when I got out of the gym the green line was cleared up, but there were residual delays on the red line from a train malfunction that happened while I was on the elliptical machine.
Seeing a pattern? This in addition to the fact that the normal running has trains coming every 20-30 minutes on weekends and 30 + minutes after 11pm. And there is talk of cutting back the extended weekend hours (much better to have the drunken Marylanders and and Virginians driving home from Adams Morgan?). Now, what exactly is this fare hike for?
Oh, right, to "improve service." So, we're supposed to pay extra for substandard service? How 'bout y'all provide something that is worth what we're paying now first.
Meanwhile, DCist has a story on the new fare hikes.... which, you know, would be maybe a little easier to swallow if the article hadn't ended with a listing of all the trackwork/service problems to expect this weekend-- i.e. every line but one. (And if it hadn't taken me almost two hours to get to work yesterday because of a jacked up door on the packed train I was riding).
Weekend Track Work to Affect Red, Blue, Green and Orange Lines:
Track maintenance and rail car testing on the Red, Blue, Orange and Green lines this weekend (October 26-28) will cause inbound and outbound trains to take turns sharing one track from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., Saturday, October 27, and from 9 a.m., to 7 p.m., Sunday, October 28.
>End Rant.
So, I used to have Comcast internet service when I was in the District, and I HATED them. It was THE WORST SERVICE EVER. Seriously. I've wasted hours, DAYS, in the black hole of Comcast Death. I am not alone:
This was the company that has had consumer service problems serious enough to prompt the trade magazine Advertising Age to editorialize that Comcast and other cable providers should spend less on advertising and more on customer service. And has spawned a blog called ComcastMustDie.com that's filled with posts from angry customers.
Uhm-hum. There is no such thing, as far as I can tell, as a satisfied Comcast customer. So how do I feel about Mona Shaw? She's, obviously, my hero.
In other news, I am very happy to report that D.C. has finally decided to do something logical: metered rides! Wheeee! I might finally take a taxi in this town once they get those babies installed. All this griping about how the cabbies will lose money. And yet, I did EVERYTHING to avoid taking a taxi because of the stupid zone system, and I was not alone in my allergy to zone driving cabs.
I walked from the gym to work this morning, as I needed to pop by the organic market on the way in. When I was coming up to Thomas Circle I heard a beep, screen, and a crash-- an SUV and a BMW had gone toe to toe. I didn't see the back of the SUV, but based on the front bumper of the cherry red beemer I'm guessing SUV came out on top.
Coming around the corner I was passing that church on the circle where all the homeless folk hang out. I stepped out into fourteenth to cross the street right in front of a homeless dude hanging on the stoop, smoking, and coughing the cough of deep illness. He yelled out, "HEY THERE, MY SISTAH!"
Now, I must admit, in general my assumption when someone African American yells sistah in my general direction is that there is an African American woman likely standing behind me out of my view. But, no, this morning was, in fact, not the case.
"HEY, MY WHITE SISTAH! COUSIN YOU MAY BE WHITE BUT YOU IS STILL MY SISTAH! WE ALL GO BACK TO ADAM AND EVE IN THE GARDEN MY SISTAH! YOU MAY NOT BELIEVE IT BUT WE IS ALL AFRICANS! EVEN YOU!"
We had a chock full weekend involving art, performance, travel, and lots and lots of flarn.
Thursday we went to the opening performance of 33 Variations at Arena Stage. It was very enjoyable, alternatively moving and funny, and good performances all around. We both liked it a lot, particularly the set design and lighting design. There's an interesting article about it in the WaPo.
Friday was taken up with much wedding necessities, various flarn tasks, and then driving north. I wanted to take P on a surprise trip, and didn't want him to know where until we got there, but he figured it out when we were about 50 miles away. Of course, when booking out hotel for the evening on Travelocity, they failed to mention that the Days Inn, ahem, "near the zoo," was in fact in a rather dicey place. Pulling off the highway P said "isn't this the part of Philly where all the murders are always happening?" We rolled up to the Days Inn Ghetto at about nine at night, having passed a number of neighborhood characters along the way. What did I know? I mean, when the Fabulous Miss A lived in Philly and my parents were just across the bridge I always visited her in Center City or when into CC with my mom or whatever. I didn't spend a whole lotta time elsewhere (except for, you know, the airport).
So. We pull into the parking lot where a bottle blond woman who is clearly on the clock is leaning into an SUV while her bare booty is flashing everyone. Uh-huh. I go into the lobby to check in and wait in line behind a loud, dirty woman who smells very bad and is calling everyone either "honey," "sugar," or "baby." Behind the bullet-proof glass is a South Asian man in his forties who is angry. He won't look at anyone unless you demand that he talk to you, and even then maybe not. He seems to be thinking, "Damn all of you, I have a degree in engineering and came to America to make my fortune as an engineer and here I am dealing with the dregs of society in a hotel. I should have stayed in Lahore." He pointedly ignored me as I waited, and also pointedly ignored the man banging on his window saying, "where can I get a orange juice, man? I needs an orange juice. Where can I get a orange juice?" Smelly lady finally moved on, though stopped to tell the orange juice man, in a booming voice, "YOU CAN GET ORANGE JUICE AT THE STORE, HONEY. JUST WALK OUT HERE PAST THE IHOP AND YOU CAN GET A JUICE AT THE STORE, BABY."
The other man behind the glass was older, sporting little round glasses, it was a bit like having Ben Kingsley playing Ghandi getting your hotel key. He also seemed a bit like he may have been on a hunger strike because he was moving very very slowly. When I got back out to the parking lot the woman was still hanging her bare booty out of the SUV. We parked and went inside, contemplating whether or not the Jeep would be there in the morning.
The halls smelled of stale smoke (surprise), and the room smelled of deep seated damp. Surprisingly, we had a quiet enough sleep, mostly because the A/C ran at about 10,000 decibels. It was like having an airplane taking off continually in the bedroom. We got up early and headed into the city, thankful to find the Jeep there and in one piece.
Coffee, breakfast, I took Phil to the Mutter Museum, which was the reason why I'd decided to take him to Philly in the first place. I think I've had it on my mind recently, as I've been thinking a lot about Wunderkammers, and the Mutter is probably as close to a Wunderkammer that you can get at this point.But also because I knew that it was something that he'd be interested in (and he was).
While in Philly we saw signs up for the Franklin Institute of Science saying that they had a King Tut exhibit. Whoo! Since both of us had had a major impression on us made at a young age by King Tut mania in the sevenites, but had never had a chance to go see the actual exhibit, we were all over it. It was an interesting exhibit.... but it was also highly disappointing. If you click on the link you will see that all of their advertising has what appears to be the famous mask (it's actually a much much smaller piece that was obviously chosen for the advertising due to its resemblance to the most famous pieces from the tomb). But, while the exhibit was chock full of neat stuff that was in his tomb (canopic jars, chairs, helper statues), neither the sarcophogus nor the mask were anywhere to be found. The stuff got progressively more interesting and ornate as we went through, and we rounded that final corner thinking, well, here, at last will be the mask! And then found ourselves in the gift shop. It was a very pricey show, and falsely advertised. Not a bad show, but I think we both would have enjoyed it more if we'd known that we weren't going to see the most famous pieces-- and since they choise a piece that invokes it to be shown on all the posters and ads the implication is certainly that we should expect to see them.
We also would have enjoyed it a lot more if there were fewer people. Good gravy. Lots of people lost in their audio tours, blocking the view forever while they listen to the droning voice on the tape, stumbling like zombies through the exhibit. And lots of people with kids who were too young to really make it through an exhibit that long, one man getting angry at his seven year old for not being interested in or fascinated by the same things he was interested in and fascinated by. "Well you'd know that if you'd been paying attention, but you weren't!" Dude, he's seven. This is the sixth room of stuff. His attention isn't mature enough for that. Give the kid a break.
Also packed into the weekend were a photo trip to Arlington National Cemetery (lots and lots of people there) and a trip to the National Gallery to see the photography show on modernity in Central Europe. The show was very interesting, with some really lovely photographs, and an interesting view on the development of photography in Hungary, Czech, Slovenia, Russia, etc. It's definitely worth a trip down there to take a look-- and is closing soon, so hop to it.
We went to the gallery with friends of ours and we all went to a new-ish Mexican place on 7th afterwards where we had a whole lotta margarits (which were very good, and made me very sleepy). Standing on the corner by the Archives metro stop afterwards, about to head in opposite directions, we chatted for a while, until a very happy man came up to the group and announced, "Someone said that there's gonna be ducks coming out of the cake!" He smiled and moved on. And with that, we headed home.
Coming home from work the other day I hit the commute from hell... one of those reminders about why, while the newness of the D.C. Metro system makes it seem like it's a well maintained and organized system, it's actually pretty crappy. Usually I'm reminded of this when I take the bus and am standing on a corner in a sketchy place for work and the bus just ain't coming. But the other evening was a two hour train odyssey to get from Metro Center home.
One thing I have realized is that the train system here doesn't like the summer. Every summer I've been here there's a spike in the number of problems that happen. When I got on the green line from work the train that pulled up had the third car dark and out of service. I had an errand to run downtown and walked upstairs at Chinatown, past the red line train that pulled up on the platform with its third car out of service. Errand run, a quick stop at the library to pick up some books, I hauled my heavy bag of books to Metro Center, passing another red line train with a car out of service on the way down to the orange/blue line platform-- which was jam packed. There was no place to get off the escalator. There had to be a thousand people-- more-- on the platform. A blue line train sat on the track, doors open... except for the third car, which was dark and out of service. Trains pulled in and out of the other side (some with cars out of service), but nothing moved heading in the direction of home. An announcement came over the intercom: a train broken down just before Rosslyn.
See, when this happens, particularly when this happens at rush hour, I start feeling very grumpy about the fact that whomever designed the system seems to have learned from the Titanic school of transportation design: it will never breakdown, so why build in ways of dealing with such things? In all of the years that I lived in New York I only once ever saw the platform look like it did the other night: in 1991 when the worst wreck since 1918 happened on the IRT. (I have a very distinct recollection of it because it was my first day going back to college after twice pulling out and I had to go through Union Station on the L from Williamsburg to the 5 train to Flatbush). In D.C. I see this a couple times a year. Whoever thought that having only one track (as opposed to the local/express in NYC) was a good idea should be forced to do customer service on the days when there is a breakdown.
So. Waiting waiting waiting. The blue line train fiiiiiiiinally pulls out. An orange line train pulls in, but it's nuts and there is no way I'm getting on. So I wait. People stuff themselves in like sardines. But the doors don't close. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. The announcements in the station say that there are delays, but that the broken down train has been cleared. So what gives? The conductor announces that, yes, the train at Rosslyn was cleared. But now there is a switch out at Foggy Bottom. Another ten minutes passes. The train finally pulls out-- the third card blacked out and out of service. Another blue line train, and then another orange line train, which I make my way into and get stuck, squashed uncomfortably against the corner of a divider.
It was sloooow going, lots of angry people, and it was hot in the train. A fist fight nearly broke out at Foggy Bottom when six people tried to push their way on to the train. When I finally got to our stop I watched the train pull out-- third car dark and out of service. The parking lot was pandemonium. I spot P standing up in the jeep, waving his arms, at the other side of the lot and nearly get hit twice trying to get there. He tells me that people were acting like idiots the whole time he was waiting and there were several altercations that nearly came to blows.
So. A day when I'd been excited about the idea of getting home at a reasonable hour (I'd had fantasies of cooking dinner! Of scanning film! Of reading a little bit!) we walked in the door after nine. And I only live seven miles from work.
Three random things.
1) I was riding the metro home the other day and a woman got on with her toddler. It was rush hour, the metro was packed. The woman looked to be in her late forties, the child was about three. At first I thought she was the grandmother, but then she admonished the girl to quit struggling to slide out of the stroller and sit in mommy's lap. I'm all about mom being able to sit on the metro, and (unusually) several people got up to let her sit down, but then she took up all three seats that we proffered, sitting in one and blocking the others with herself and the stroller, which at rush hour seemed clueless at best. The woman sitting next to me, across from the woman and her daughter, was counting through a small rosary. The little girl was staring. She held them up for her to see and the girl was fascinated. "You see the pretty beads?" the mother said as the girl stared at the crucifix swinging back and forth. We pulled into the Pentagon stop and the woman handed the rosary to the little girl, who grabbed it and started waving it. The doors opened and the woman got up to get off. "Oh, your rosary!" the mother said, but the woman smiled at her and said, "Oh, it's okay, I have others," and stepped off, immediately engulfed by the sea of military uniforms.
2) There is a man with a dog. A young dog; a puppy. He comes every day-- at least he has for the last month or so-- and stands under my office window, encouraging his dog to poop in the yard of the building. I don't know where he comes from, or goes to, but the dog is hyperactive (being a puppy) and jumps up and down a lot, periodically chomping on the man's pants and shirt, yanking and pulling, his head going back and forth as he tries to shake the life out of the garments. He yips and yelps and gurgles right under my window. The whole time the man utters a long low grumble of curses and admonishments at the dog. When the dog loses interest he teases him until he grabs on to his shirt tales again.
3) On the corner across from my office are the sad remnants of a yellow scooter. It looks like it was in an accident and got some damage, was then chained to a lamppost (while the driver was taken to the hospital? Which makes me sad) and has since sustained more damage and lost some things (tires, seat, etc.). It is rather sad and dejected looking. This morning as I neared the corner I could see a homeless man pulling a blanket out of the clothing donation box next to the scooter. (Well, hey, it was for him more or less to begin with, right?), which he worked hard to wrap around his head. I reached him just as he finished. He then semi-squatted and stared intensely at the scooter, saying, "MoooooooooooOOOOOOOOOoooohhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh!" He repeated that a couple of times.
On Thursday nights I have been taking a class. It's a photography class-- the first one I've taken in years and years and years-- as they were having a sale on tuition and I've been wanting to get back to the lab for ages. I signed up for it and about three days later everything with the moving went into action, and then soon after Artomatic went into full swing.... so what seemed like a good idea at the time (hey, it's cheap enough that I can afford it! And what else am I doing of a Thursday night?) turned out to be poorly timed (argh! I have to miss three classes while moving and cleaning and I can't go in on weekends to use the lab because I'm unpacking and gawd I've got three artomatic meetings this week and all I want to do is go HOME not go to South Capitol....). But hey, it is what it is (and when it is), so I'm trying to take as full advantage of it as I can.
Last night was the first time I've developed my own film in well over a decade. I managed to mis-spool (sadly, if not surprisingly). Fortunately, neither roll was anything I was totally in love with, and I didn't lose all frames, but there was some film on film action with pinkish sworls and such. *sigh* practice practice practice.
On the way home I had one of those horribly disconcerting city experiences. I've had a few similar ones before, luckily not on the receiving end but always on the observing end. I was walking to the Eastern Market metro stop from the class a bit after nine, and old, white haired gentleman in a Mackintosh in front of me (it was raining). On the corner of that little... park sorta thing?... where the metro stop is a car was parked. Okay, lots of cars were parked. But this one-- an American car, like a Taurus, was on the corner. All the windows were steamed up. As the old fellow and I neared the corner (diagonally across the street), the back passenger door opened, there was movement, then a booming man's voice.
You ain't going no place! You gonna sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up!
Then his beige puffy coated arm reached out into the night, grabbed the inner door handle, and slammed the door shut. The old man, who'd watched the whole thing, turned away and hurried on. I kept looking at the car where through the steamed glass I could see the puffy coated arm pumping repeatedly towards something that was below it. He was clearly punching someone, over and over and over, in quick succession, and very hard. The car was rocking back and forth.
The old man was already up by Pennsylvannia. I looked around, hoping for a cop, and spotted a Transit Police van parked maybe a hundred feet away. I walked up to the passenger window and knocked. There was a cop in the van on the driver's side. He rolled down the window.
Uhhh... I know it isn't in the transit system, but, uhm, there seems to be someone really beating the hell out of someone in a car over there.
He asked where, and I directed him to it. He said okay, he'd checked it out, and started to get out of the van while I went down into the metro station. I had to wait on the platform for about ten minutes for my train. Five minutes into waiting I could hear sirens for a cop car and an ambulance on the street above. They stopped when they got close to the metro entrance.
Though, in general, despite not knowing what bag contains most of my underwear, I am. My skin is less happy... I've been all dry and crackly this winter, but a weird thing appeared on my arm a few weeks ago-- just before I went out to AZ-- and it hasn't gone away. I finally broke down and went to the doctor today to have it looked at. He seemed unsure what, exactly, it was, but gave me some cream for it (a prescription that took two hours of waiting to fill). I walked to the office afterwards, passing a man getting into his car on P Street. His young son was with him, but was edging ever closer to a pair of Pekinese dogs tied to a tree, waiting for their owner to emerge from a hardware store.
"Seth... Seth.... Come back here, Seth. Don't touch the doggies. Don't touch the doggies. Seth."
Seth turns around, looks at dad. Gauges... pleasure of petting furry doggies vs. wrath of dad. Dad looked like his wrath probably wan't that bad. He was dressed tweedy and drove a lefty car, a middle-aged African American man with salt and pepper hair. He looked like a professor of literature or history. Not comp lit. Not anthropology. He looked like he needed a pipe. He looked like the sum of his wrath would be a wave of guilt-inducing anxiety. Seth finished assessing. Turns away from dad, edges closer to the doggies.
"SETH. Come back here. Seth. SETH... NO."
Seth turns back, looks at dad, assessing again. Okay, dad's sounding angry, but how angry does dad ever get? And look! Doggies!! Seth moves on to reason, three year old style.
"I was just going to meet the doggies and see the doggies and I can see them closer. I can see the doggies closer. I can see them."
"Seth, we don't touch doggies we don't know."
Actually, Seth, that's a pretty good rule of thumb in general. Mostly, it's a good idea not to touch things that breathe that you don't know-- people, doggies, polar bears, vultures, rabid raccoons.
"But I djust wanted to pet the doggies. Djust pet them a little."
"No, Seth."
"Why not?"
Dad paused, I'm betting contemplating whether or not telling Seth that we don't do that because you never know which doggies will savage you would scar him for life, making him fear all animals forever. He settled on a solution.
"Because those doggies aren't happy, Seth."
Mind you, I get what dad is doing. But the dogs really didn't look particularly unhappy. What they really looked was uninterested. In Seth, in dad, in me, in anything that wasn't their owner coming out of the hardware store ready to unleash them for the rest of their walk and maybe home for some kibble. I wonder how this will get translated in Seth's young mind.
***
I still can't find my notes on New York. Though I also can't find many things that I would like to find. Like more socks. I did, however, find a roll of film I shot there, and so I have a picture from the trip, P watching the big city peoples doing their thing through the coffee shop window.
