In Which I Indulge in Bicoastal Nostalgia
It occurs to me that I never actually finished off my account of my trip to New York. Not too much happened in the last 36 hours. Jeff beat me at Scrabble before I left; he contemplated snapping a photo of our board, but decided that would be bragging. Rate Jeff's rack here. I fixed supper for my folks on my last night in the city. I told David it was good training for cooking for kids, starting with the minute before dinner when Mom asked if she could have chicken instead of noodles. Dad was very praiseworthy until the end of the meal when he let slip, "I'm having some more of those fried onions. As for those," he poked at the bell peppers, "I've done my duty there." Sigh. We shopped in the morning and then Sarah and Lucy came over to catch me before I caught my plane, on which I had an entire row to myself. There's a lot I didn't get to do, and a lot of people I didn't get to see, in spite of how busy it was. It's a big city and a lot of my favorite people live there.
It also occurs to me that I left a few bits out of some earlier accounts that I'd have liked to have shared with you. Like how at Rich's birthday dinner Scotto hoped aloud that if Adele was hired by the CIA they'd send a hot chick to his place to do a background check like they did when Rich was hired at the Justice Department, and Jimmy spluttered into his pizza, "Hey no fair! They sent me a dude!" Or how I went to Rhode Island with Jan and my parents, and how Jan was wonderful and how Rhoda and Ponto killed a toad which set off the usual round of puking. Or how I shared Jeff and Adam's living room with a guy called Chet whom I was very much hoping would not remember having met me five years earlier at a Chili Peppers concert for which I made us 2 hours late by trying to take a bus that didn't exist.
So sure, New York was a ball, and I miss everyone very much, but it would be a shame to ignore the fine times Davis has to offer. Tonight, for instance, I went searching for cardboard boxes. I asked my neighbor, Clementina, where she got the boxes she is using to move tomorrow, and the answer led to a road trip around Davis to search for boxes in recycling bins and behind shops. She's having a spot of cabin fever what with the breastfeeding and all; I'm not sure what my excuse was. It turns out Clementina has a lot more stories about box hunting than I might have imagined. My favorite was about how when she was growing up she was raised to avoid carboard from other people's homes in case of inviting new breeds of cockroaches. Whenever packages arrived from Mexico, they would have to open them outside. Before we hit pay dirt at the produce department of Safeway, we plundered the recycling bin behind a Chinese restaurant, yielding one box labeled "horse radish powder" and another labeled, "squeeze rocket party packs." Bet you can't get them in New York--oh who am I kidding, of course you can.
It also occurs to me that I left a few bits out of some earlier accounts that I'd have liked to have shared with you. Like how at Rich's birthday dinner Scotto hoped aloud that if Adele was hired by the CIA they'd send a hot chick to his place to do a background check like they did when Rich was hired at the Justice Department, and Jimmy spluttered into his pizza, "Hey no fair! They sent me a dude!" Or how I went to Rhode Island with Jan and my parents, and how Jan was wonderful and how Rhoda and Ponto killed a toad which set off the usual round of puking. Or how I shared Jeff and Adam's living room with a guy called Chet whom I was very much hoping would not remember having met me five years earlier at a Chili Peppers concert for which I made us 2 hours late by trying to take a bus that didn't exist.
So sure, New York was a ball, and I miss everyone very much, but it would be a shame to ignore the fine times Davis has to offer. Tonight, for instance, I went searching for cardboard boxes. I asked my neighbor, Clementina, where she got the boxes she is using to move tomorrow, and the answer led to a road trip around Davis to search for boxes in recycling bins and behind shops. She's having a spot of cabin fever what with the breastfeeding and all; I'm not sure what my excuse was. It turns out Clementina has a lot more stories about box hunting than I might have imagined. My favorite was about how when she was growing up she was raised to avoid carboard from other people's homes in case of inviting new breeds of cockroaches. Whenever packages arrived from Mexico, they would have to open them outside. Before we hit pay dirt at the produce department of Safeway, we plundered the recycling bin behind a Chinese restaurant, yielding one box labeled "horse radish powder" and another labeled, "squeeze rocket party packs." Bet you can't get them in New York--oh who am I kidding, of course you can.
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