Sunday, June 29, 2003
I was listening to the tape of Melissa Bank's excellently written book, "The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing". She uses lots of short sentences, reminding me of Hemingway. They are like this (I'll make some up): "I sat. I sang. I read. I waited. I walked " And she goes on.
Anyway what I am getting at is this: at one point in the book the female character (who I assume to be always right) says something like "Don't eat that fortune cookie or the fortune won't come true." And the guy spits it out.
I was absolutely flabbergasted. I thought you had to eat the fortune cookie to make the fortune come true. And for so long I had been getting good fortunes, thinking that my luck was good, eating the cookie to make sure, and then eventually wondering what happened. Why didn't the cookie do its work? I finally stopped believing in the cookies. And now I find out I had been doing it all wrong.
Sunday, June 29, 2003
Saturday, June 14, 2003
Well I know I haven't been saying much and many of my loyal readers are wondering why. For the moment I'd like to tell a story that I already put somewhere else on this vast website, somewhere so remote that it may never be view by a human eye (mine own not counting). A place where even search engines never go. OK, I'll admit it, I originally put it there on purpose.
Bridgehampton Mobil
When I was about 19, I took a summer job at the full service Mobil station in Bridgehampton. It was owned by a gruff old-timer who had retired to small town life from running big gas stations on highways.
We would have all kinds of celebrities stop in most of whom I didn't know at all, but one was Duffy, Truman Capote's other half, and a writer himself. A very nice man. Now the station -- right to the Southeast of the flag pole -- looks abandoned. It hasn't operated in years.
One day two drop dead beautiful, thin, tall 25 year olds drove up in a bright shiny volkswagen bug. They both got out and one of them walked up to my boss and said "pump me, please." He and I looked at each other, since she had not driven up to the gas pumps, but closer to the garage.
He said "what?" And she said a perky, "Pump me!" My boss said to me "Geoff, you handle this one." I was certainly gratified and a bit surprised. I guess he thought he better stay out of truoble with his wife.
What she really wanted was air in her Michelins. I obliged.
Miss "Pump me!" girl, if you are out there reading this, I know you are now 47 or so, but please drop me a line. It is always a good time to check that tire pressure!
Saturday, June 14, 2003
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