*Emails Have Been Changed To Protect The Innocent

Typing email addresses in for a group email, the vagaries of age are really kicking my ass:  I have to take off my glasses and actually lean in to read the names.

Email addresses were one of the first things in the computer age that we as a culture got to choose for ourselves, and we weren't all that great at it, to start out, or so some of the "aol.com" and "hotmail.com" addresses would lead me to believe. I'm sure no one expected betrayed2403@aol.com*,  or silentgypsy72@hotmail.com* to follow them around for the rest of their lives.

Not that I did much better, though 25 year old me would put the number 69 in his email address when he's just making it up, wouldn't he?
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One year ago: In Media, Rest
Two years ago: Burning Eden
Three years ago: The Burden of Our Early Work

Right Tool For The Job

"Oh my God, you're literally yelling at the TV," Katie says with a look of distress. On the screen, a beautiful celebrity emotes through dozens of smash cuts of heightened, tastefully shot wealth-porn over a grandiose soundtrack, culminating in a hardsell pitch for... perfume.

"But, I mean," I say gesturing wildly, "it's just so..., I mean..., just look at it!"

"Honey," she says, placing a gentle hand on my arm, "if you want to yell, that's what Twitter is for."
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One year ago: Careful What You Ask For
Two years ago: People Watching
Three years ago: Starting Over
Four years ago: How Can I Hate You If You Insist On Not Being Hateful?

Negotiating

"Okay, but this whole having-to-pay-for-the-three-months-rental-all-at-once thing is kinda..., you kinda sprung that on us, so uh, is there a way for us to go month to month?"

The storage space rental admin pretends to look at something on her screen, and in that moment, I know she knows I've got no leverage. I can feel her tuning me out, prolonging the moment as the air leaves the room before the phone rings.

When she hangs up: "Yes, that was the owner, and unfortunately, if you want the first month free, you'll have to pay the full amount up front."
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One year ago: New
Two years ago: Unguarded
Three years ago: Drawing Attention
Four years ago: Priorities

Mild Synesthesia

"Really, almost all 'J' names are green," I say thoughtfully. The tables next to us at the restaurant are absorbed in their own conversations, and candlelight glitters through our glasses of wine, a deep ruby red flame.

"What about 'Katie?'" she asks.

"Katie is orange, of course," I reply matter-of-factly.
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One year ago: Gloomy Imaginings
Two years ago: Deescalation
Three years ago: Cab Thoughts
Four years ago: Flying
Eight years ago: Get The Cool Shoeshine

Close Talker

I pass the bottles of seltzer and the large plastic container of spinach over the scanner at the self checkout, then the sausage and another bottle of seltzer.

"So I told him he needed to get working before I found somebody else to do the job," the guy on his cell phone says. He pushes his cart right up to my scanner and stands right next to me, badly invading my space.

My iciest look is of no avail, though, since his phone apparently puts up this social barrier that makes it impossible to see other people, even through he's practically standing on my foot.

--------------------------------

One year ago: Catharsis

Two years ago: Perseverance

Three years ago: Aliquet Fuge

Four years ago: Birds of a Feather

Eight years ago: Because I Promised

The Ascension

I'm singing Gram Parsons to the doge as she stands hesitating at the bottom of the stairs.

I get the door open just as I hit the rocking part of my favorite verse: He swore the fiercest beasts could all be put to sleep the saaaame silly way. A woman strolls past and slows to watch our little tableau play out with a smile on her face.

The doge, unaware of anything but the task at hand, with an old lady's sigh places her front paws on the first step, and laboriously jumps her hind legs up behind her to begin her ascent.
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One year ago: Catharsis
Two years ago: Four
Three years ago: A Night of Random Encounters
Four years ago: Cut My Hair

All The Way Down

"Those look like pretty steep steps to me," the woman says, while the doge examines our stoop dubiously. The woman is wearing dark, Ray Orbison-style sunglasses and leaning heavily on a cane. 

"When you're going upstairs, it's a little easier, since you're in control," she goes on thoughtfully, "but going downstairs is scary!"

"I mean," she indicates her cane, "I can make it up from the subway okay, but can you imagine what would happen if I fell going down?"

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One year ago: What Does It All Mean?

Two years ago: Dropping My Eaves

Four years ago: Deferred