Day after thanksgiving...

...at the bar near me with the plywood sign out front!

Phyllis wasn't bartending, it was the other bartender with dark hair who I had met before.

There was this older middle-aged Mexican woman who was stumbling out with the help of friends when I was walking in, and the bartender was saying, "That is the last time I serve Rosita Southern Comfort, the last time!"

Then when she served me, she told me there was a table in back with leftover Thanksgiving food if I wanted any.

"Has it been there since yesterday?", I was like.

"Good question!", she said, and laughed. "No, I just took it out of the fridge and set it out for everyone; it's left over from yesterday, you should have stopped by"

I went up, and it was two big plastic containers of ready-made coleslaw and potato salad, and a big aluminum tray of fruit salad from the can, so I got a big bowl of fruit salad to go with my beer (I love those maraschino cherries they have in there, that are drained of their strong taste).

"So did you have a full meal yesterday?", I was like.

"Yeah," the bartender was like, "We had two seatings."

"No shit," I was like.

"That was a joke," she said.

Sometime after that, I noticed that the entire corner of the bar near me was a memorial, with signs saying "MARTIN WE'LL MISS YOU" and other things like that.

She noticed me looking, and was like, "Yeah, I'm not sure if you heard, but Martin passed away."

"To tell you the truth, I didn't know him," I was like.

"He was that older Irish guy who was a real estate agent and landlord that came in here always, we'll miss him," she was like. "Though, he probably shouldn't have been coming in here, the drinking killed him. So many nights it was him and me, and I'd tell him to go home, and he'd say that he was keeping me company till close, and I would say that that's nice, but I have to hop on the bus and you can get in your car, so just go home now so I can leave."

Later, when I left, I was said bye but said wrong the name.

"No," she was like, "My name is [I forgot again]."

Then, she was like, "Your name is [my name], right?", and when I told her yes, she was like, "That's my brother's name," and right when I was like, "Oh," she was like, "And don't assume I like my brother."

As I was leaving, she started telling someone again that it was the last time she was ever serving Rosita Southern Comfort.

Forgot... - Brazilian story.

I forgot -

A while ago, I met the ex-boyfriend of my one lawyer friend from Missouri's Brazilian acquiantance at a brunch where everyone was out, and since he was visiting (they're still friends), she brought him.

Somehow we started talking about waterballoon slingshots, and then me and some people started talking about potato guns, and then he started saying that in Brazil, a lot of people have these little home-made plastic pipe slingshot things that they can fire dried beans and rice at people, and his parents actually got him one that was set up like a crossbow.

He also said that like a month ago, he was clubbing with a friend from Rio till 5am, and then they were both full of energy and kind of drunk, so they went back to his friend's apartment, got bathing suits, and then went to the beach and laid out under umbrellas and drank more and napped all day. Only, he in his drunkenness forgot to put sunscreen on his legs and they were sticking out in the sun though the rest of him was under the umbrella, so he woke up to find 2nd-degree burns on his legs. That night, he said, he kept waking up to wet sheets from his rolling over and his blisters popping.

...what a great day...

Ran around like made and got a bunch of errands done...

Met my one friend from Buffalo downtown for coffee and to study (and also found out that she's translating the 1st novel ever published in the form of the vernacular Indian language she studies, as a project that will feed into her dissertation chapter; her advisor is a native speaker of the language and is checking the translation; she wants to get the novel out there, since she feels the language she studies is under-represented in studies of the literature of modern India)...

Afterwards stopped by a bank branch to order some new checks, the clerk there waived all fees after I had mentioned that I had to pick them up somewhere because the mail at my apartment wasn't secure (people bitch about big mega-banks, but I've only had good experiences with the one that I deal with)...

What a pleasant day.

Though, I really wish I could watch intense, graphic movies, because I find myself fascinated by the movies "Alien" and "Aliens" and want to watch them, esp. the last was directed by James Cameron, but I know I can't. We all want what we can't have!

Another story from my one Dutch prof: A colleague.

At the same holiday party where she told that other story, me and another grad student were talking with her over wine, and while they were talking scholarship, she brought up some scholar and his book that the other guy knew and I didn't.

"Who is that?", I was like.

"Oh," she was like, "He teaches at [a major Catholic university] and specializes in [his specialization]. I've known him for years. He and his wife are always taking their children to swim-meets. It's actually quite amazing, really; they have 8 children, and she looks 19. I don't know how she did it! Of course, that was years ago, she probably doesn't look the same now."

Story from my one Dutch prof: How she met this priest.

When she was doing her masters years ago, there was this stern elderly priest who was on faculty and always in his office and working and though he was kindly, he never interacted much with people.

Then, one year during Christmas, the school's tradition was to put on a play (in Latin) by the medieval nun Hroswita (sp.?) of Gandersheim, and my one Dutch prof was an angel and had to wait in the prof's office till a point in the play and descend down the short staircase to where the play was, and take the virgin martyrs to heaven at the appropriate moment (they got arrows through the head).

So, she was in the office waiting, and the stern elderly priest was in there working, and she actually finally had a conversation with him, and when it was getting close to her cue, she excused herself from the conversation so she could listen better for her cue, and at that point the stern elderly priest intoned, "[Her first name], are you a virgin?"

"No," she was like, "I'm an angel."

To be a city councilperson...

You need to raise at least $80,000 in a campaign (n.b. - *raise*, people sometimes spend more), otherwise you're simply not viable.

I found this out through a meeting of the local community-organizing group, which is looking to host a debate. Members of the community were really appalled by that fact, esp. since so many of the people attending the meeting were poor or marginalized or living in subsidized housing.

Was on the phone the other day with my dad....

Mom (is watching tv, calls from background): "Sarah Palin's in Haiti!"

Dad: "I hope she's drinking water from the trenches."

(then - in a put-on voice)

"She's tough, she's from Alaska, she can handle it. Drink up, Sarah!"