I've Got Something Better Than That

When we travelled all the time for ESPN, my friend Kordt and I had a recurring experience at Pea Soup Anderson's at Santa Nella - there was a waitress named Jorge (pronounced Georgie) whose section we'd request. We'd order the Traveller's special, which comes with unlimited bowls of pea soup and various fixings. Kordt would ask for Tobasco. Jorge would say, "I've got something better than that!" and would come back with Cholula. I would try it and pronounce it a vast improvement, but Kordt would try his and agree that while he enjoyed it, he'd still like some Tobasco, which Jorge would retrieve cheerfully.

After a couple bowls, she would ask if we wanted any more soup and we'd tell her we were too full. She'd lament that we'd barely had ANY, and tell us that, one time, a guy ate 13 bowls of soup. We'd exclaim loudly, "Thirteen bowls?!?!" and she'd wait a beat and then, with a twinkle in her eye, she'd say, "I mean...I like Hagan Daaz Vanilla Swiss Almond ice cream, but I couldn't eat 13 bowls of it!" and we'd laugh uproariously. 

We always asked for Jorge's section and this scene was repeated. Every. Single. Time. 

It was perfection. We loved it.

Birds - Identification and Behaviors

 

I'm Meeting Someone

In the early days of newspaper ad dating, I agreed to meet at guy at Sparky's in SF. We described ourselves to one another on the phone ahead of time. He was 6 feet tall, with dark hair and blue eyes; I said I'd be wearing a blue sweater.

At the time of the date, I went to the restaurant and ordered a coffee at the counter from the waiter, telling him that I was meeting someone there. A tall guy with dark hair came in and told the waiter the same thing had said - that he was meeting someone.

I asked, "Are you Paul?" He looked at me and said, "Nope." A minute or so later, he left. I felt the blood rush to my face, since I was sure he had just bailed.

I was working up my nerve to ask for the bill so I could leave, when another tall guy walked in. I didn't say anything.

The waiter studiously wiped the counter down.

The guy kind of cleared his throat and said, "Um. Are you Darcy?"

The waiter burst out, "Oh, thank GOD!"

Video #2: Breaking Down in Mechanicsville

Mishaps have brought me some of my best memories. I really enjoyed making this video, partly just because of the process itself, but also because I spent some time remembering back when I was first on the tour. We didn't get travel or a  hotel room included in our pay, so we would stay in groups, seven or eight to a room, sleeping on the floors and bribing the maids to bring us extra towels and hoping they didn't tell on us.

Funny that the memory of times like these -- car fires and sleeping on floors -- bring me such happiness. So, here is my story:

Breaking Down in Mechanicsville

He Who Represents Himself

At 7, when making his case on something, Paul performed a trial to prove his innocence. He wore a Henning Underground cap as the lawyer, "Where were you on May 12?" and then put on a Giants cap to answer as Paul, "Playing on the slip-n-slide." Henning underground cap: "I pronounce me not guilty!"

A Story About Skipping

One time, I was sitting in front of the Learning Resource Center at ARC, and a woman was sitting on the bench opposite me. To the left of me, there was a long, gently sloping walkway. From way-y-y down the walkway, I saw a very good-looking, athletic guy skipping enthusiastically toward us - with really high skips. The woman and I watched wordlessly as he skipped up to where we were sitting, flipped his empty drink bottle into a recycling can without pause, and skipped past. 

Stunned, I blinked at the woman across from me and asked, "Did you just see that?" She replied in similar tone of pleased wonder and without a note of sarcasm, "Yeah. He recycled!"

You Need SCOPE

I am in the backseat of my mom’s 65 Mustang with my brother Andy, pretending to take a trip to Arizona. We’re bouncing around on the tan seat, talking about what we see on the way. Sometimes we sit in the front seats, one of turning the wheel and leaning into the turn, the other one leaning along as we pass each roadrunner and saguaro cactus on our way to the exotic land of extended family, people we see only every couple of years, but with whom we instantly fall into comfortable synchronicity. These people always have Popsicles in their freezers.

But Andy and I have wearied of the front seat, and have decamped to the back, when we realize that this is the perfect vantage point from which to observe and critique the neighborhood. Conveniently, our neighbor across the street pulls up, parks and exits his car and stoops to reach in and remove items from his trunk. Andy, recognizing the possibilities of our anonymity, yells out the window,

“You need SCOPE in your BUTT!”

We fall to the floor of the car to hide, giggling madly at the wit, buoyed by the heady danger of saying such a shocking and hilarious thing to not only a grown-up, but a neighbor. We lie there for a long time after he has gone inside, laughing on those tan seats, pleased and proud.