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Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Questions To Never Ask. Ever.

Never ask a woman if she's pregnant. Never, ever, ever.

I have followed that rule like a religion. As far as I'm concerned, I don't see anything unless she says I do. I've had students come in with their girlfriend/wife that looked seconds away from giving birth. I said nothing.



Here's one I didn't see coming.

Ms. K is a client. I show up at her house on time. An older woman answers the door, says my client isn't here, she's running late. She'll be here shortly. I notice she looks like my client and, in the interest of making small talk, I say the following:

"You must be Ms. K's mother, you look nothing alike!" Hahahaha.

She says no. She's known my client so long they're starting to look alike. Haha.

All right. Okay. Seems a little weird that she's hanging around the house watching TV while Ms. K isn't here. But okay. Listen, she's a good friend. Maybe she's house-sitting. Maybe she's taking care of an invalid cat. Maybe she's living there...

Ooooooooooooooooooooooohhhh.

New rule: Never ask someone if they're the mother. Or partner.

Never, ever, ever.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

35 Summers



Time is a funny thing. Time is a very peculiar item. You see when you're young, you're a kid, you got time, you got nothing but time. Throw away a couple of years here, a couple years there... it doesn't matter. You know. The older you get you say, "Jesus, how much I got? I got thirty-five summers left."

Think about it. Thirty-five summers.

Benny from Rumblefish (1983)

Thursday, August 4, 2011

The Poem Man

He was in Barnes and Noble. An old man, white hair. Old blue eyes that looked more grey than blue.

He would hold up a book when people passed. "Would you like to read my book of poems. It's about me and my daughter."

His tone was frail. Hopeful.



People rarely made eye-contact. Sometimes they'd politely nod, smile, say no thank you. Sometimes they'd actually stop, feign interest. But most of the time they walked on by. And the old man would wait patiently at the table filled with his poem books.

I was a few isles over, watching. Each time he held up the book, I was crushed. Won't someone buy his book? But still, I just watched. And when it came time to leave, I took the long way around.