October 8th 2011-- Portland, OR Stumptown coffee brewers in the Pearl District
I don’t really like greyhounds. They have no sense of humor.I always expect to see them profoundly sitting on a velvet bed by a fireplace as their master (not owner) sits and reads the Wallstreet Journal, smokes a cigar, and sips on a thing of brandy on the rocks. The dog in the meanwhile has his paws crossed and he quietly contemplates his old racing days, adjusting his posture out of habit to keep his senses keen.
You can always spot an old English woman. Its the way they carry themselves. The pasty and powdered skin contrasted with their rosy cheeks, which are always, without exception, that heavy drunk pink.
The English ladies always seem to be stout and find the most absurd over-sized floral printed outfits. The embellished shoes are both dull and gaudy at the same time and usually painfully match the color of their lipstick. Their jowls are heavy and droopy due to their collected wisdom in etiquette, antique China ware, and tea. They do not drink coffee.
Though this does not prevent the presence of stained crooked teeth which of course does not dampen or embarrass their air of imperial confidence.
Yes, let’s not forget their hair which is always whisked to cloudy perfection, like how their mother used to make it, I’m sure. Their hair can be colored, oranges usually, or purely white perhaps to enhalo their thinning crown of curls. Curled every morning while still in their pink quilted robe and matching slippers (embroidered with a simple rose and stem on the center of each foot).
The English ladies’ fingers are always a little too long and their nails a little too pointy.
Their purse, which usually matches their hair or their floral outfit is always neatly rested in the pit of their elbow. An attempt to walk gracefully usually results in what one might describe as a waddling tea pot. Perhaps that’s why they like tea so much.
Despite all these physical characteristics, I feel that their immediate unpleasantness has not fully been captured. Imperial superiority, educated, tight-upper-lip-accent (the Queen’s english)— yes to all of those. Perhaps its their lips again, and how they always seemed to be tightly pursed and wrinkled in the wrong places that makes me think that they’ve always just tried a lemon for the first time.
Their eyes are small and they always manage to raise their eyebrows and glower at the world simultaneously. As f we are all just part of their “little pink bits” (see reference to British empire if you don’t get that one). Their superiority is unyielding (much like their musty rose perfume). With such a presence, it would be rude of us not to greet them with the queen’s wave.
(and yes, I know its technically a man, but it felt rather appropriate anyways)
August 16th 2011-- Lafayette, CA downtown Starbucks
Why is it that we find underwear lines through pants so offensive?
I mean, sure, through the pants we are able to see the booty fit of their underwear (full coverage, boyshort, hipster, bikini, etc). And underwear! Heaven forbid we should even be reminded it is there.
The slightest hint of its appearance causes us to judge the most normal of people, we think “don’t they care?! Have they no respect for their dignity? Why can’t they be gracious for that sake of humanity?!!”. Okay, so that’s probably not exactly what goes through people’s minds when they see panty lines.
Granted, I hate it if my underwear even alters the shape of my butt through, my pants, even if the lines themselves aren’t visible. Is it an aesthetic thing or am I concerned that I’m insulting the fashionable world?
The whole panty line dilemma must be a somewhat recent happenstance. Before women wore big ruffly bloomers underneath infinite amounts of fabric, large skirts, metal, and mesh.
And what about men, some men out there wear “whitey-tighties” (unfortunately). We never see their underwear .
And for the record yes, this was prompted by a specific person who I ordinarily wouldn’t have mentioned, but boy did that panty line throw me a curve ball!. A curve ball of inspiration that is.
But going back to my time line. The thong’s only purpose was to prevent said panty line, no? Beyond that they’re completely impractical excepting of course their potential ability to build a lady’s confidence/sexiness. So perhaps if I research the beginning of the thong’s development (which must have originated from a convenient wedgie) then I can find out when panty lines really became problematic.
There’s a man probably in his late 30’s/ early 40’s who is attempting the chin-strap facial hair to make his face look more ‘chizzled’. This is a sorry attempt for he has one of those frog neck/chin things going on— almost a double chin, so the chizzling effect is around his first chin, I think he should grow a second strap around his second chin, that would be a great look for him.
Also, he has a camouflage suitcase and a shirt that says “race team”, referring to surfers in Maui. Yeah, I find that hard to believe, not with that facial hair!
He’s the loud talkative one in the group of friends traveling together. I find that most men with chin straps are that type of friend. Do you really think it looks that cool? Okay back to the guy instead of just his facial hair.
He looks like the friend that hasn’t quite grown up yet. The other two have no or normal facial hair and are wearing clothing appropriate for their age group. Beneath that horrid string of fuzz is a baby face with a hook nose, I know it.
He has one of those glorious receding hairlines too. Oh yes, one of those tufts in the front— a little buzz cut island separated from the mainland hair by a sea of baldness.
If you were really a surfer you would have long salty and sun stained hair. a nice body (ahem) and none of that god awful facial hair. I’m not a fan of chinstraps, if you couldnt tell… unless we are talking about the penguins!
In fact, this penguin, if it were balding, basically looks like the dude.
A truck just drove past, an old Ford pickup with chipped green paint. Behind the cab on a big pole sits a large Barbie doll head whose face is stained with exhaust and whose (purple) hair is ratted beyond repair. Not sure what to think about this one.
This is more of a people-interaction more than an observation— but while dining at Domino’s Pizza I was approached by a guy. He seemed to be a few years older but had a friendly countenance. He held out his phone where he had typed out “whyr are you flying to?” He showed it to me, and before I could say anything more than “oh” he said okay and scurried back to his table near mine. Utterly confused I sat there until his assumed girlfriend shows up and starts signing to him. So being deaf at least explains the weird syntax and why he didn’t just ask me verbally. Being at my gate now, he does not seem to be flying to Jackson Hole.
July 25th 2011-- Lafayette, CA Starbucks on the far side of town
A man wearing a scrubs shirt and blue jeans pulled into the parking lot, found no parking and then decided to pull into the handicap spot. I thought maybe he had a temporary card until he stepped out of his little Honda Accord, slammed the door, and power walked in the Starbucks for his cup of Joe. Tsktsk, the doctors of today. I guess if some amputee war veteran falls down from parking so far away, we have a doctor near by!
July 25th 2011-- Lafayette, CA Starbucks on the far side of town
"Awesome ends with me" is the phrase written on a young boy’s shirt. He’s bouncing off the benches and clearly things that he completes the word awesome— and maybe he does, but that’s not what the shirt implies. Let’s be annoyingly critical about this: really is shirt implies that everything is awesome until he shows up and then all of the awesomeness ends. I don’t know why one would want to advertise their awesome-ending powers, so I suppose we can go ahead and assume that the makers of the t-shirt really had no idea and thought there were being clever. Well sir, I just out clevered you in the most obnoxious way possible; I have many friends.
Outside of the Starbucks there are two kids— probably middle school age. The girl has a basket attached to the front of her bike with that I would have to assume is the most petrified cat in the world. There’s a lid on the top of the basket to ensure the poor creature has no hope of escape. Though, I really cannot criticize too much. I know that if I had had the opportunity as a child, I would have been taking my cat out for rides daily.
In the parking lot I drove past an older man and a respectively older woman who are bickering. I can only tell because of the man’s arm gestures. I park my car near them in the next aisle over and keep my windows down. Mostly incoherent, but occasionally the man raises his voice enough to let me catch a glimpse.
"you’re not letting me finish!"
I wonder if he is the underdog, all of his hand gestures seemed defensive and the woman seemed mellow and really more intent than anything else— perhaps apathetic. The man’s car door was open, like whatever the problem was came up last minute before they went their separate ways…if they were traveling in the same car, I would have thought they’d argue on their way home (or perhaps along a back country road with a gun… no— probably not that)