The Lexicographer's Rules

Tuesday helped her with computer. Died earlier, now better. Two sweet kitties, red sauce with peas, wine, beer, idle chatter, gossip. Nice girl. You’d like her. Dating somebody on a path to fame. Not Harrison Ford fame, more like Ken Ober fame. Maybe. Ran into Henley at the train. Talked to him. Nothing to say. “What’s up?” Nothing. How bout you? “Nothing. What’re you doing out here?” All skeptical like. Nothing. Visiting friends. “You know people out here?” It’s Williamsburg. Everybody knows somebody in Williamsburg. Yeah, a friend of mine. Make it sound important, make it a Thing, not just a thing. Yeah, we’re having dinner. Yeah, her roommate’s in movies. Yeah, they’ve been out here, like, forever. Before you, anyway. When it was hip. She’s cool. He’s cool. Apartment’s huge. Apartment can be penis of a platonic roommate relationship. Big apartment is like big penis. Brag. Show it off. Make bold claims, even on behalf of others. I do. Yeah, Henley, they pay, like, no rent. Cheap. Margaret Cho shot a movie there. Yeah. Quick trains back. Man dressed as woman. Halloween? Two days ago, buddy. But whatever suits. (Source Link)

Not a sitcom plot. Tiki stole props off Star Wars set. He has them still. One of a kind, well, now two of a kind. Couldn’t make movie without them. Can’t tell you what they are, otherwise George Lucas on my doorstep, in my mail, on my phone. Tiki is fake name. True, true. (Source Link)

Tech magazine, trade journal disease. Article victims shown in photos with arms crossed. Who crosses their arms for photos? Nobody. Photographers ask for it. Lame trick. Says, I think I’m tough, but my arms are crossed to protect me. From the camera, dumb photo monkeys. Why are businesswomen shown with lips pursed and eyebrows raised? Slate caricature, columnist photos. Look tough? No. Maybe gas? Durian in the room? Also, drop the floppy necktie. 1986. Also bad: photo next to column should be different every time. (Source Link)

The refrigerator is empty, trudge to the market. Bread, milk, cereal, fruit. The lines huge, twisting, unruly. Sunday afternoon. Pick the least long line. Right is a large woman, Trinidad in her voice, light. Not reading magazine in her left hand. One foot on the axle of a shopping cart, empty. “Andre! Andre. Get your scrawny little rear over here.” Andre’s got three boxes of cereal, drops one every step. “Let’s have that one. You take those back. Over there, bring me the syrup and the mix. Aisle 3.” Drops cereals into the cart. “Mister. Mister.” Talks to me. “Which is the best one? This one, or this?” Holds two coupons, each a different kind of ham. “That.” Largest discount. She nods, judgement affirmed. Lines are slow. Two girls lollygagging to the cart, braids swinging. Another exchange. This we’ll keep, take that back, no more sweets, where’s the bread, Mister, what do you think? Argue the merits of this food or that. Only win with the milk. Opaque cartons protect the vitamins. Line moves forward. She masters the city line: get in it to start, send troops on sorties, fill it before the register. The cart fills. (Source Link)

Coupla weeks ago saw girl hit by car. Heard the screech, turned to see her cartwheeling above the sedan. Legs, arms, coat, hair, bags out. Came down splits on hood of car. Slid forward good distance, too far, in a crump. Still, except left leg twitching. Didn’t know what to do, so ran forward. Ran back. Looked for a phone. Everybody looked for a phone. Cross-drew cell phones, called so fast, like a radio contest. Didn’t win. Three people said, I know first aid. Squatted next to her. Did nothing. Don’t move her. Back away. Give her air. Air? Plenty of air. Plenty of space. Now a crowd. Construction worker from near site, waves orange flag, diverts other cars, yellow animals, wheeled elephants. Emergency men and women come. Fire trucks come. Cops come last. Offending driver on the phone. Dialing, redialing. Who to call? Nobody. Call for business, call for hands moving, call to do anything, something. He is in trouble, nervous, anxious. His fault, probably. Run a light? Don’t know. Probably too fast. I called. She’s fine. Outside, anyway. (Source Link)