Tavern at lunchtime

Jim, publican, to me: If you're arm-pitching, you can't pitch six innings one night and six innings another night. If you're stretch pitching (he adjusts his apron and demonstrates pitching "from the stretch") it's all in the arm. The windup. That's when ... when when when you feel it in the legs. It's all torque. I tell these parents, "Hey, it's your kid, if you say they can pitch then they can pitch." But these kids, they're young. They're not throwing curveballs. I can throw fastballs, I mean, not really fast, actually, but I can pitch moderate, batting-practice fastballs for five hours straight.

First Communion Party, Buffet Line

I'm at a party celebrating the First Comm-
union of four (maybe five?) kids, who are all related to each other, and one is related to me. I know about 10 percent of the 150 people present. We're in a banquet hall where there are other parties going on in other rooms separated by moveable walls -- baby showers and another First Communion, I think. At my party, most of the men are wearing the Casual Golfer uniform (myself included): Khaki pants (the older the man, the more pleats in his pants, like tree rings) and a three-button, short-sleeved shirt (again, gray hair an indicator of whether the shirt will be tucked in).




So, buffet line. I'm last in line, until a guy with thick, salt-and-pepper hair parted in the middle (also, salt-and-pepper mustache) approaches. He's wearing a light brown suit with matching light brown shirt, white pocket square, and white snakeskin boots. He cuts in front of me so casually that I didn't notice until he struck up a conversation with a toddler, being held by his father (baby's father was in uniform, 2 pleats, prob. early 40s). Toddler, blue and white pinstriped something-or-other, with a bib.

Snakeskin Boot Guy: Hey. Heyyyy. Yeah, are you lookin' at me? What are you gonna eat? Maybe some italian sausage? Nah, they probably don't have italian sausage. Maybe the turkey? Yeah?

Toddler: ...

Toddler's Dad: Yeah. He's my moose. The other one's my bird.

Toddler: ...

Snakeskin boot guy: You're not talkin, huh? Only Dad. Only papa. Yep. Hi! Yeah...

Toddler's Dad: Yep. He's tough. He's a moose. He takes food right out of his brother's hand. When the other one has an obstacle, he'll think about how to avoid it or go around it. This one, he'll go right through. A bedroom door. Like if a door is closed and dad is on the other side, this one will go right through. Yeah.

Snakeskin: Tough guy, huh?

Toddler's Dad: Yeah, he's a three-goose-egg at one time kid. He's tough though. He don't cry much.

Another guy in the buffet line (two pleats, late 30s): That's good. That'll be good for him when he's in sports.

Spot Coffee, Buffalo, NY 9:30 a.m Sunday

Two girls in front of me in line. Both around 10 years old. Girl #1 is black, Girl #2 is white.

Girl #1: I have $20 (she flattens a $20 bill and slides it around on the surface of the glass display case, over the chocolate-covered croissants.) Actually, I have $40. And seven credit cards. My father says credit cards (inaudible).

Girl #2: When you have credit cards, you don't need cash. Not right that day.

(enter Girl #3, who, like Girl #2, is white with fine, blond hair and seems like she could be a little sister. She runs up to Girl #1 and touches her shoulder in a way that looked affectionate to me.)


Girl #3: You know what my favorite color is? Black.

(Girl #3 runs away).

Girl #2, whispering, with the back of her hand covering her mouth: That was creepy.

(photo from Alex-S's Flickr)