[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
Begin:
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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