Little girl to little boy at the playground as they played house:
“I’ll be the mommy and you be the team leader.”
Our civilization is doomed.
Little girl to little boy at the playground as they played house:
“I’ll be the mommy and you be the team leader.”
Our civilization is doomed.
Nisa Rant and I just had a nice little dose of normality. We were taking a walk just as a neighboring elementary school let out.
There were two boys. One was wearing one of those orange safety patrol belts – symbolic in The International Language of Children for “dork.” We’ll call him Safety Boy. The second boy was larger than the first, we’ll call him The Bully.
The two boys crossed the road, then the The Bully grabbed Safety Boy by the lapels. He shoved Safety Boy into a tall hedge and held him there for a moment. Safety Boy said, somewhat dispassionately, “Ouch. Ouch.” It was very matter-of-fact. “Ouch.” No yelling. Just “Ouch” in a sort of low tone.
Then The Bully sets Safety Boy back down.
Safety Boy: “Ouch.”
The Bully: “See ya tomorrow.”
Safety Boy: “Okay. Ouch.”
Then they casually walked away. Fortunately, Nisa and I got past them before we started laughing. This appears to be a ritual, you half-expect them to punch a timeclock after the encounter. It was oddly soothing. It was a perfect moment.
oh my, the things we learn about each other
On the way home from work I was relating the story of the Bully and the Dork to my partner. He thought it was funny. Then told me he was not only a Safety Dork, but a Lieutenant, making him King Dork of his elementary school. I’m not sure what to do with this information, so I’m sharing it with you.
There’s yet another youth leadership conference in town and the place is awash with teenaged Future Fascists of America trying to cover their Extreme Suburban Shiny Whiteness with baggy Tommy clothes and painfully awkward slang.
I was observing a herd of them (mostly male) jabbering about the evils of welfare, their “a child not a choice” buttons gleaming on their tastefully scuffed backpacks. One kid walks up to the herd and says “WhazzupHomeDogs?” His homedogs replied that they were “Just Chillin Like Villains.” I was able to keep a straight face through the whole exchange…almost. I caught the eye of one of the maintenance guys and had to practically race around to the side of the building before we both got a hernia laughing. I know it’s sad, but it was also indescribably absurd.
(edited a few minutes later)
I’d like to add that the presence of all these smug and immature boys has reminded me of one of their traits which is like nails on a chalkboard to me. Three times today (read: since 10 a.m.) I’ve heard (three different) little boys (okay, I’m getting old, they must be between 14 and 17) point out that something is an oxymoron, simply so that they can then state that they know how to pronouce oxymoron correctly (i.e., not as oxy-moron). You used it correctly in a sentence, consequently you do not need to then point out that you can pronounce it correctly by stating the incorrect pronounciation for the express purpose of then stating the correct one.
It’s odd to hear it so many times in one day, but probably odder still that this little statement annoys the snot out of me so much. Always has, always will, in all likelihood. It’s just one of those tics that insecure boys (usually it’s boys, anyway) have that they(hopefully) will grow out of because it’s pretentious and really not especially interesting or impressive. Thankfully, most of them do. Do not ever get me started on adults who still engage in this kind of lookatmelookatme behavior. Ever.
I didn’t actually have bile for breakfast today, it just seems like it here. I’ll be heading off to pop open a very good bottle of wine, prop up my feet and finish American Gods very soon. You may now return to your regularly scheduled program.
Whoever put the word lifestyle into general usage should be shot, or at minimum punished severely.
We willfully packed ourselves in amongst the other sardines at the uber-fashionable bar while we waited for a table at the adjoining uber-fashionable restaurant. We didn’t know all this time we were being hip, we just like being able to walk home from places where we drink a lot, but it turns out we have been engaging in fashionable behavior for at least a year. Forgive us, we knew not what we were doing. I also had a moment of pause when we did get our table and I finally realized who our usual waiter reminds me of. Tyler Durden. Fight Club fans understand it is not a good thing for your waiter to remind you of Tyler Durden.
Anyway, our favorite bit of shouted conversation while we were still at the bar consisted of an overstuffed yuppie explaining something to his companions. He kept saying “we’re trying to duplicate our lifestyle here.” What exactly did that mean? And did he mean right there at the bar? He said it numerous times, each time more fervently than the last. I was slightly disappointed when the hostess came from next door to get us, but only slightly. The whole situation was getting ominous to me. Or maybe I was simply getting tipsy.