Tag Archives: people watching

70.

Right, so. This is basically a cheat, because I didn’t write any of it, but it would be cruel to deprive the world of the overheards from the party I went to tonight. Therefore, here they are.

It used the word orgiastic the most of any book I’ve ever read.

I just really like bacon.

You know what, though, Hazel? Right now’s not really a good time to roll. [Hazel is three years old; this referred to an aborted physical maneuver.]

I honked at you and then I waved in the other direction to make you feel weird. 

No one who lives here actually likes the didgeridoo.

Talk to the children.
Do we have any of those?
No, we only have interns now.

I don’t understand anything that’s not Legos.

I’m self-taught and largely a fraud.

Bunny Island and Easter Island need to get together!

Last year, our traditional Christmas hammerhead shark had an inflatable unicorn horn.

I do love the postal culottes.

69.

I fall in ten-minute love at least once a week at the gym. There’s the elderly gentleman who does elegant, strenuous yoga for half an hour and then checks out his biceps in the mirror exactly like a floppy-haired kid. Last week it was a Korean woman in jeans and a bedazzled reindeer sweatshirt and full makeup. She ran on the treadmill for an hour and didn’t break a sweat.

Today my elliptical neighbor was a pale girl with very long black hair. She started out like all the rest of us, working into her running pace and staring out the window. About 20 minutes into my workout, I caught a swift movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see her flailing like a mad thing. She was still running, but she was also swinging her arms and bending at the waist and flinging her hair around. Girl was totally at her very own headbanger’s ball, and it was awesome to behold. Whatever the song was, it pushed her dance buttons. And when it ended, she just went back to regular running, completely oblivious to her suddenly smitten neighbor.

45.

The Hobbit of Hawthorne Boulevard has an anxious and diffident look. His walking stick overreaches the top of his head by six inches at least. His fine, tender hair is slipping down over his eyes in a childlike shape that belies the full beard over his t-shirt. He steps to one side, shaking the hair out of his eyes, and then looking down at his feet. Whatever his quest, I wish him well.