[lit-ideas] Re: The Insta-Hot People

  • From: david ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Wed, 21 Dec 2005 22:28:53 -0800


Recommend a student manuscript to a literary agent. Grade papers. Grade, grade, grade. Hear/read loony versions of what I said in class. Find the website that one of the dimmest bulbs has carved great chunks from. Drive to airport. Spy father-in-law. Spy car indicating that it is going to leave the curb. Indicate and turn into space behind said car. Find that said car is using indicator as decorative item, in the spirit of Christmas. Find self blocking two lanes. Be descended upon by mad airport person, "Tell me why I shouldn't write you a ticket for that. I'm going to write you a ticket. See here, I've got a ticket book and I'm going to write you a ticket." What, I wonder, could I be guilty of? Believing that indicators mean something...in contravention of subsection c, paragraph four? And why is he so excited and angry? I decide there is nothing to say to the fellow. He dances about a bit and then runs off. The airport must employ him for entertainment purposes, in the spirt or spirit (I prefer the typo) of the season.

Get back into traffic. Remember that breakfast was at six and it is now one thirty. Something clearly missing. Fill self and father-in- law with terriyaki chicken. Take call from girls. Julia is getting an x ray. When last I heard from them they were going to do a half- day's work at Laura's office. Has someone dropped a speculum on someone's foot?

No problem.  The x-ray is  to investigate dance pains.

Back into traffic to return my Christmas gift. Premature, you say. Well it's a tennis racket and I played with it yesterday evening and somehow it's rotten. How a new tennis racket can be rotten is beyond my understanding of physics, but one cannot deny the senses. I played three sets with it and then one with my old racket. Three sets of the ball going nowhere near where I pointed it; one of the contrary situation. The fellow who sold me the thing was off, sick. Story to be continued.

As is every other purchasing tale in my life. The Insta-Hot people-- now there's a name-- have sent me two wrong fittings for the simple repair I've been trying to complete for the best part of a month. The hardware store sold me the wrong size allen wrench for my plumbing repair. The fish are dying...

Ah, but they're beautiful. When I returned two dead ones and a live one that was terrorizing the tank, I bought an expensive one, a big two inch thing, of bright and beauty. Everyone else is from Trinidad or South America; this one's from Asia. We shall have to see if international fish relations can be worked out. But I do love watching them.

And how are you?

David Ritchie
Portland, Oregon

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