Text message from my sister, Wednesday afternoon, unabridged

Somebody farted loudly in my birthing class last night.

On hiatus

Because I'm kind of at an eavesdropping convention. I don't want to be accused of upstaging anyone.

From Reader: Art Gallery, Buffalo, NY Wednesday July 23, 3:17 p.m.

Sixty-ish woman to a couple of the same age, all are sitting on a bench: When that dog dies, we're getting a full shoulder-up bust made. Their heads are huge! Wiemereiners aren't that big though, so we wouldn't have one made of him. Just the mastiff.


(Thanks, Marty Cohen)

Stewart's, Queensbury, 11 a.m.

Gravel-voiced mom, to cashier: Yeah, I'm cleaning his room while he's out of there. He's in Boston.
Cashier: For college?

Mom: No, he's just up there with Trev, partyin' like a rock star.
(I miss some conversation while I pour a large coffee)

Mom: He has to have the nose surgery. The same ones hockey players get. He's awful, mean, and ugly. Like his father.

(mom leaves)

Cashier, to me: The doctor told him he has the hands of a sixty year old man. Ever since eighth grade they were telling him that he was going to have arthritis, but that don't mean nothin to him, even though he's 18 now. That's from all the football and wrestling.

Me: Well, was he any good?

Cashier: Oh, yeah, he was in the paper all the time. That's $2.45, hon.

Mad Lark Laundry, Lark St.

Recent fraternity alumnus (judging by his t-shirt), as he retrieved a pile of oxford shirts from a top load washer, whispering falsetto:


The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me! The renegade who had it made, retrieved for a bounty! Never more to go astray! This'll be the end today/ Of the wanted man Na-na-NAH-na-na-na-na-na!

White Rock Mountain Ozarks, Arkansas

Night falls , thunderstorm brewing

Jack White (Old guy, long white beard, Bob Dylan Cap and blue and white striped choo choo train overalls) :

You see, Bob Dylan wrote "Desolation Alley" when he was THIRTEEN YEARS OLD, can you imagine that kind of cynicism when you're THIRTEEN?
What you got there girlie?

Me: An Indian Love Flute.

Jack White: I made one of those for my wife when we married, bless her heart...

(Thanks, Sharon)

The dog kennel

Kurt, the owner's son, to me: Oh yeah she shit out a sock.

Me: What?

Kurt: Yeah, a green sock. You want to watch that it could be dangerous, or they could have to go in and get it out and it will cost you $2,500 and besides she could get really hurt.

Me: Geez. I really thought I had put all the socks away.

Kurt: That's all you can do. I would have thought the younger dog would be the sock eater. Anyway, people ask me questions all the time of how to get your dog to stop eating shit like that. It's like they want this wise, Ceasar Milan answer. I just tell them, "Why don't you try keeping your socks or shoes or whatever on a high shelf?" Then they look at me like I'm the idiot.

Voice mail from oldest friend

I just wanted to let you know in case you were wondering if all is right with the world. I’m driving from Grand Forks to Duluth right now to pick up my truck. I’m buying a truck. I’m driving 269 miles to buy a truck I’m paying $250 for. Then I’m using it to tow my Metro back, so not much has changed. I’m 34 years old and still doing this shit. OK, bye.

From reader: Broadway, Saratoga Springs

Woman, 45ish, dressed for a day of Saratoga shopping, holding open the door and shouting at two girls in Borders, one about 8 and the other about 13. She's pointing at a man dressed as a hot dog on the sidewalk:

Girls, girls! Come on! Hurry up! There's a hot dog man out here! He's a hot dog! This guy's a hot dog! Come on or you'll miss it! Hurry! He's doing a little dance! The hot dog is!You gotta see it! C'mon c'mon!

Girl, 13, at seeing the hot dog man: Oh God.

Woman: Mr. Hot Dog Man, can we take our picture with you?

Mr. Hot Dog Man, from inside hot dog suit: Mm-hmmph.



(thanks, kate)

Newsroom chatter, Sunday evening

(I took extensive notes on this so my confidence level is high in getting the exact quotes)


Me: (Name of Newspaper), can I help you?

Caller: Yeah, I was wondering if you were aware of something that I haven't seen a word on in news articles or in a google news search.

Me: Probably not. But go ahead.

Caller: Tomorrow night, a binary asteroid is going to pass us at a distance of about six times the distance between the earth and the moon. Do you know how close that is?

Me: I'm guessing that's pretty close, relatively speaking.

Caller: Exactly. Are you familiar with the Tunguska Blast?

Me: No.

Caller: It's the 100th anniversary of the Tunguska Blast. In Siberia.

Me (excited): Oh! I saw a filmstrip about that in third grade. It was a comet or an asteroid that hit Siberia and it was like a nuclear blast.

Caller: Yes. It was the size of 10 Hiroshima-sized bombs. It flattened 10 million acres. And that was just an asteroid of 100 meters in diameter. This is two asteroids, one is 600 meters in diameter and the other is 200 meters. It would wipe out half of life on earth and put us in an endless nuclear winter.

Me: Well that would be bad. Not sure I'm equipped to write a story about that at the moment.

Caller: Well I could write something.

Me: Are you sure this is happening tomorrow? Usually (the Associated Press) science desk has something on these near-misses.

Caller: Maybe you could just give them a heads-up. With a link to the Google search. I could write some news-ready thing for you. I could have it to you in an hour.

Me: OK, you do that. (I give him my email address). Maybe I can check to see if AP is writing about this.

Caller: You know if it did come too close, all it would need would be a little push to send it on its way.

Me: A little kiss and Newtonian physics saves us.

Caller: Yes! But if it's too close it's too late to do that.

Me: Right. All we would be able to do is watch that awful Bruce Willis movie, crack a beer and watch the skies.

Caller: I just watched that movie for the first time the other night.

Outside an apartment building, Jay Street, 9 p.m.

Completely androgynous elderly person, smoker's voice, to me:

Those are beautiful dogs. Are they gentle?

Me: Thanks, yeah.

CAEP: And the weather. Isn't it nice?

Me: Sure is.

CAEP: Are you the guy from the other street?

Me: Well, I don't know if I'm who you're thinking of. I live around the corner.

CAEP: Yeah, yeah. Your dogs are beautiful. Are you a gentle boy?

Me: (I assume CAEP was addressing Roger) Yeah he sure is.

CAEP: My cat. The heat has been so bad on the cat I had to take him to the vet.

Me: Too hot?

CAEP: Well he had to get one of those, you know, (makes pointing and shoving gesture) enemas. Because he was so, so, so stopped up.

Me: Huh.

CAEP: How old is he?

Me: Roger is about 5.

CAEP: He's 35. You know, for every year it's seven years.

Me: I've heard that. They pack a lot of living in, I guess.

CAEP: And how old is the other one?

Me: Twelve or 13

CAEP: (tilts head, pauses) She's over 100.

At lunch, Delmar

Friend, to me: She said, "One of these days you're going to get someone so angry" ... no, she said, "you're going to piss off the wrong person who is going to destroy you."

From reader: Art gallery, Buffalo, NY

One middle-aged woman to another pointing down the hall:

"Did ya see that one with the bear and the goats, lookin' all evil? It's evil! Jesus."

Same woman, two minutes later:

"Did I tell you? Larry passed the GED! He finally passed the GED!"

(thanks Marty)

Dog Park, 7 a.m.

Me: Maddy. Maddy. Maddy. Maddy come. Maddy. Maddy.

Dog owner, 40ish: She'll be all right.

Me: Just tell me I'm a nervous dog owner. I don't want to chase her out onto Madison Avenue. That would be bad.
Dog Owner: There are plenty of dogs and garbage to smell around here. She'll be fine.

Me: Thanks. Sit. Sit! Come on, sit.

Hamilton Street, Dove Street

Old man in wheelchair, wearing a tweed cap, to the driver of a handicapped-accessible van and a woman who had pulled up a lawnchair next to the van: When you die, your soul...

Woman on stoop, mid-20s, on telephone: Yeah, I'm getting through. Thanks.

More Newsroom chatter, 20 minutes later

Editor A: You know the best thing about that murder?

Editor B: What?

Editor A: Shotgun.

Editor B: Really , is that what he used?

Editor A: Shotgun at a party. Gives a bad name to shotguns.

Reporter: Did you notice the copy desk took out the word "blast?"

Editor A: Why?

Reporter: They said it was insenstive. You know, weekend ends with "a blast?"

Editor A: Why is that insenseitive?

Reporter: I guess if you read between the lines like a copy editor you might consider that insensitive.

Editor A: I read between the lines all the time and I don't mind that. I kind of like that.

(Another reporter, on phone: A political boondoggle? Hold on. The proposals... are... a political boondoggle... designed... to curry favor...yep, go on...)

Phones ring.

Newsroom chatter, Tuesday morning

Editor: Hey, that was a good story.

Reporter: Thanks, man. It keeps on giving.

Editor: You know, one of these days this guy will retire and be out of your hair until he turns up somewhere else.


Editor, later, on phone: What do you think the odds are that he blew away the old lady, called the kid, said I can't believe what I did, then blew away him self? That's what the Binghamton papers are saying. A .357 magnum.

Friend, on phone

more cat pictures

"I'm on the phone grandma. I'm getting some water, would you like something? (to me: Hold on) What are you doing? Kittens? Where? Oh. Oh! Ohhhh! Oh my God, I'm going to go look at the kittens. (To me: I guess there are kittens outside and I'm going to go out the door and loo....) Oh! Oh my God! They are kittens!! LOOKITTHEKITTENS! Oh my God, Dan, I'm going to have to call you back because there are kittens here. Lookit these fucking kittens!"

From reader: Starbucks on Wolf Road

"He wanted a baby before New Year's Eve so he could have a tax writeoff."


(Thanks, Naomi)

Dress rehearsal, West Side Story, Washington Park outdoor stage

Director: OK, go backstage and get into costume and come out and we will do this thing. Do not, repeat, do not turn this into social hour, folks. The time is...we are starting at eight o'clock, that is 22 minutes from now. OK?

Father, to child of about 6: Do you see that scrim? That's where the band is, behind there.

Child: I KNOW that.

New Scotland and Myrtle Ave., near Albany Medical Center

Woman, young, wearing nursing scrub pants and a white t-shirt, on phone: Well this is the third year we've lived together. Really, after the second year, that's when I should have told her, "OK."

Outside the new bakery on Lark St., Saturday night

Man, red hair parted in middle, thin, short, a frantic look, talking to six people gathered around the outside of the shop. He pointed and gestured while he spoke:

And even though I said that I didn't think she would ever trust me again.

Snippets overheard at fireworks, Downtown Albany

...The WHOLE universe. This is just a known principle of NATURE. (heavy guy in blue t-shirt. Long, curly hair tied back in pony tail, scraggly beard and sideburns with large patches of skin showing through)

(banjo music)

(Police sirens)

Wooooooooooooooooooooooo! (an adult)

Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhh, booooooyyyyy! (a child)

Stop clapping STOP CLAPPING THEY ARE NOT OVER YET! (girl, about six)

You know, right now there are probably 30,000 fireworks displays going on simultaneously around the country. And every fireworks display needs, what, one to five people to run it? That's, like 100,000 peopole. Who are these people? What do they do the rest of the year? That's the same amount of people into stamp collecting. Or model trains. I think I've found a micro-niche. Where is their magazine? (husband of a friendly acquaintance)

Riding my bike home from Washington Park, distance: Half-mile

Washington Park
Woman, blond/brown curly hair, to small dog with curly, blond-brown hair: Bailey! Hello, sweetheart! Helllloooo!

Madison and Lark
Fat man, Oakley wraparounds, yellow golf shirt, the bottom of which hung off him like a skirt, to goateed friend: Yeah, Steph did that to me once...

Hipster guy to girl he had his arm around her waist: Let's cross here. Yeah. Ha.

Madison and Dove
Man on porch: Thwit (hocks a glob of spit and phlegm onto the ripped-up sidewalk)

Hudson and Dove
Heartbreakingly beautiful girl, long brown curly hair, white sundress with brown paisley print, big brown oval sunglasses, getting into her car and speaking to an unseen passenger: I'm sorry about your car. Sorry.

Young girl, middle school? High school? To her two girlfriends: That was back before I even liked him. But he didn't like me talking to anyone. But then he dumped me. I did like him but I don't like him like that anymore.

Neighbor, leaning in her doorway, long, frizzy blond hair with brown roots, blue-and-white-striped bikini top and pair of shorts, to me: Hi.

Price Chopper, Madison and Delaware, 8 a.m.

Woman, early 30s, do-rag on head, pretty, smooth face, burgundy knit shirt with the sleeves pushed up. She has a cart overflowing with groceries including a "Scribble Board," a small, plastic easel with a sketch of a squealing toddler on the box, the box is balancing on top of the cart, to the cashier, a girl named Isena:

It's supposed to be buy one, get one free. It's ringing up at $4.99.

Isena: I'm going to scan it again.

Woman: It's supposed to be buy one, get one. I don't know why it ring up like that.

Isena: (Says something in Spanish to the older cashier in the next line, whose name is Cookie).

Cookie: (Responds in Spanish. I recognize the word "trabajar")

Cookie: Marshall. Marshall!

There's a long pause, while we all wait for Marshall.
Woman: Either it rings up as buy one, get one, or it's going back on the shelf.

Two minutes pass in silence. Enter Marshall from stage left. Marshall, wearing a navy Price Chopper polo shirt, gets an update from Isena, and from the woman.

Woman: It's supposed to be buy one, get one.
Marshall enters a code into the cash register. He says something inaudible, but apparently the buy one, get one special is on another brand of frozen sausages, not the one the woman was attempting to purchase.

Woman: But these are the brots. I wanted the brots.

The Pinto and Hobbs, State Street, 8 p.m.

Man with dog (I could only see the back of his head, he had dark hair and was wearing a gray t shirt ... puppy looked like it was going to grow up to be a 100 pound lab-ish mutt), to two women. All in their 20s, I could only hear voices:

I have never done anything like that. I've never been arrested, never chased by the police.

Woman #1: Well I didn't even tell you how it all started.

Man: You didn't but...

Woman: We were in high school.

Man: Hello? Wait, I have to take this (he leaves. Doesn't come back).

Lark Street, 8 p.m.

Man, standing, 40s, graying black hair, blue-gray t-shirt with sleeves rolled up to shoulders, to a man and a woman seated at a cafe table:

I don't know. I don't know the answer. I don't know if there is an anwer. I've been here a long time and I never seen a cat like that.

At the office, continued today

Coworker, mid-60s, on telephone:

Thank you for the photo but her legs are cut off. We need to get her legs in the picture. When you get here you can do your hair. No, no. No! Tell Naomi this thing is going in the newspaper. Be sure to tell...As far as I know this thing is running tomorrow. They're anxious to get it in. I know she is. Oh! She'll be back on Monday. I'll let her know. I wil. I'll call Marge. Good luck with Marybeth. It makes me sad. No! It makes me sad. Yes!

Lark Tavern

Woman, late 20s, to me:

I was filling in on sax and he was sitting next to me and I felt like shit because he was great and I was awful. But it was fine and we started talking and getting along. And one time he said to me, "Stanley Turrentine is playing here." And I didn't know if he was just stating a fact or if he was asking me to go with him. He was asking me to go. But it was my grandmother's birthday that night and I told him that and he thought that I was just feeding him a line. But it really was my grandmother's birthday. So we went out another time and started hanging out and we have been together ever since. ... Our son's name is Maceo.

At the office, Tuesday

Co-worker, mid-60s, to stripper, mid-70s, over the phone:

We're not interested in your voice, Josephine. We're interested in your body! Wear your hair the same way you had it done that night and come in and we will take your picture.