Weeknight Netflix: International Edition

Christoph and I, having eaten our weight in deep dish pizza, sit down to watch Master of None on his laptop.  Dev is not alone. We all have a lot of questions.

Two minutes into the show.

Aziz Ansari:  I didn't want you to think I was being stingy with the Ubers.
Christoph reaches over and pauses the show.
C: Stingy?
Me: It's like miserly. Cheap. You don't want to spend your money.
C goes to get a notebook from another room. He returns, neatly makes a new column in the notebook, and writes "stingy."
C: Wait. What's that word you said?  Mi....
Typing into a handheld translator
Me: Miserly.  Miser. It means exactly the same thing.  You know, like that play by Molière. In English we call it "The Miser." I don't remember the title in French.  What's the title in French?
C: I don't know this play.
Me: Well, look it up.
C: I can't. This is just a translator. It's not connected to the internet.
Me: ...
C picks up laptop, does a search in German Wikipedia
C:  L'Avar
Me: (completely incredulous) l'Avar?  Like avarice? But that doesn't mean the same thing at all. Avarice is greed.
C: No.
Me: Yes. Avarice is greed, wanting more and more; miserliness is cheapness, not wanting to spend what you have.  Look up "miser."
C:  "A person who hoards money. Often living in wretched circumstances to save money."
Me: (excited) Yes!  That's what The Miser or [sneeringly] l'Avar, is about.  This rich man who lives in shambles because he won't spend a penny.  But avarice is different. Avarice is greed.
C: No.
Me:  Stop saying no.  It is a fact. Avarice means greed.  Wait. Am I crazy?  Does avarice not mean greed?  Look up "avarice."
C:  Greed.
Me:  Okay then.  Not the same thing.
C: Right. In German we would say _________ or _____________.  Maybe the French don't differentiate these ideas? [pause]  Isn't avarice one of the seven deadly sins?
Me: Yes. I think so. Yes.
C looks up seven deadly sins
C: Yes. Okay. It's here. Avarice. [pause]. But how is this different from gluttony?
Me: Avarice is money. Gluttony is food. Like how I'm about to eat a cookie even though I just ate half a pizza.
C:  Ah. Okay. [pause] I didn't know you could say a person was cheap.
Me:  Yeah.
C puts laptop back on table. Fifteen minutes have elapsed. Hits play. We proceed to minute three of the show.
 

Weather report

photo: DH Textures

"Tomorrow, a cool, unstable front will be coming into the area."

-NPR newscaster

All the girls are totally into this front. He's a smoker with super meaningful tattoos. He's got good hair. He's, like, really into his art. He makes these paintings? And they're all of storms, but they're not just like, storms, you know?  They're totally a metaphor. It's like, you look at these wild landscapes that are just being, like, attacked by the elements and you know you're looking at his soul. He has no fixed address. He never texts anyone back. He's probably bipolar.  He's totally hot.

He'll be moving on by Friday.

The savage beast, c'est moi

photo: Damon WInter NYT

It is not as easy to drive here as it used to be. There are a great many more obstacles, some of them stationary: construction sites!  So, so many construction sites; road work (which sometimes is something else, like, say, sewer work, that nevertheless requires the road be reduced to rubble for months at a time); road narrowing, which is kind of like road work only it is permanent and much stupider (why did they decide Castro should be one lane instead of two?  It is a double-parking impassable catastrophe) and some [editors's note: 1. there is no editor. 2. we have found ourselves in a quagmire of bad punctuation, for which the staff humbly apologizes] all too mobile: ten million Ubers and Lyfts, the most distracted and unpredictable of all city drivers; miscellaneous jay walkers; buses, Google and otherwise; cyclists; and [expletive frickety-fracking expletive] skateboarders who mistakenly believe that standing on a plank of wood grants them immortality.

Deep breath.

I am probably not a masterful driver. I err on the side of caution.  In fact, this will very likely be my epitaph.

KARI KIERNAN
She erred on the side of caution

Nevertheless, the moment I get into my car, I am assured that I am the only one in the whole of the metropolis who is exhibiting any sense whatsoever. Resultingly, I am filled with rage almost instantly. It is not "road rage" in the typical sense where I am sideswiping Priuses or spewing vitriol out the window. I keep the windows closed and just marinate in the vitriol instead. For me, urban driving is defined by a simmering fury complete with below-the-window-line obscene gestures and accompanied by a snide monologue that I wouldn't want an impressionable child to hear. Fortunately for everyone, my commute is so short as to hardly warrant the name.

Typically, on my way home. I listen to NPR. In the 5:00 hour, there is some programming about diverse topics of potential interest, but there are also repeated reports of the day's news. Or, to put it another way, a tally of who has most recently been murdered while going to school, a concert, the market, the mosque, vacation, a holiday party, being Black, etc.

Recently, I changed the station.

I do not typically listen to nor am I the least bit educated about classical music. Nevertheless, when I tuned into Classical KDFC, calm filled the rage mobile. It felt like a storybook enchantment. My breathing slowed. My grip loosened. My shoulders descended. Even the monologue tapered off. The DJs at the classical station speak in soothing tones; they offer no news updates. The station is member-supported, so no reverie is interrupted by five minutes of bellowing Christmas capitalism. What's more, those fine radio professionals know what's going on at that hour of the day, so they keep the rousing marches to a minimum. Let us be calm and civilized, they say. Here is some Chopin.

I was telling a friend about this life-changing discovery.  "Right at 5:00," I told her, "they play something especially meditative.  I think they call it the 'musical oasis.' It's great."

I was close.  I laughed when I heard the actual name.

Island of Sanity.

Join me, fellow travelers. It's a spacious island. There's room for all of us. Even you, skateboarders, even you.

Eek

My neck, some years ago, post spider bite.  The face, you'll note, is only a few steps north.

Things I'm Afraid Of (an incomplete list)

1. Cats
   Why are not more people afraid of cats?  They are sneaky and full of claws. They want nothing more than to leap upon you when you're not paying attention.  There is nothing else that people would be all "yeah, that's cool" if it jumped on you regularly when you weren't paying attention. Nothing. So why do cats get this weird free pass?  Well, not with me they don't.
2. Escalators
   Stairs should not move. That is all.
3. "Fun" things in which you don't really have control of your feet
   *Skiing
   *Skating
   *Sliding whimsically across wooden floors in socks
   *Descending a trail that has skittery rocks and/or slippery mud on it
4. Random or enormous dogs
   I don't want to deal with the dogs of strangers because, quite obviously, they might bite me. Or jump on me (see cats). Or just, like, bark at me, which freaks me out. What?  You're just walking down the street and someone starts suddenly yelling at you in a language you don't speak and you're saying that wouldn't freak you out?  You, sir, are a liar.
   Look. I don't know you or your dog.  So, why don't you reel that leash in?  Theeeeerrree you go. (Really, these leashes that allow you to be about a block away from your dog?  Those are not reassuring to me.)
   Even if you are my best friend and you have a Great Dane or a St. Bernard or a Rotweiller or something, I am always going to be afraid of your dog. Sorry.  Have you considered a border collie?  They're nice. Also, thank you for not having a cat.
5. Spiders biting my face
   This may seem like a concern so remote as to merit none of my time. Ha. Shows how much you know.
6. Being very old.
   The alternative is to die before being very old. Also not great.
7. Things that involve hurling yourself from one place to another. I have never done these things. Obviously.
   *Skydiving
   *Para-anything
   *Bungee jumping
8. Aligators. Actually, you know what? Animals of almost any kind.
   That will make the list considerably shorter.
9. Never getting married.
10. Getting married only to find I totally hate having another person in my house.
11. Scuba diving.
    I have never done this, but I once had a major freak out while snorkeling quite close to the beach, so I assume being leagues under the sea where I am not naturally equipped to breathe would be, um, not my favorite thing.
12. Piranhas
    I like swimming. And you just never know.
13. Rope bridges
    Well, not in theory. of course. I'm all for people finding a way to connect one side of a howling crevasse to another if they need to. This side of the crevasse seems pretty nice. though. Should I just wait for you here?  Also, if I have to cross it, because my side is crawling with cats or something, you know the guy behind me will be one of those jumping up and down guys for whom just making it alive across a bridge is not sufficiently exciting (see Ferris Wheel).
14. Being raped and/or murdered
    I don't spend a lot of time thinking about this, because I'm occupied with the ridiculous number of escalators that are all over the damn place, but still.  If you are reading this, please do not rape and/or murder me.
15. Roller coasters.
    This surprises no one.
16. Also Ferris Wheels if you are with some jerk who has to rock the carriage back and forth.
    We are already high off the ground. Let that be enough. If you want to rock back and forth, there are chairs for that. Down on the ground.
17. Trivial Pursuit
    I am really, really bad at Trivial Pursuit, but I think I seem like maybe I wouldn't be? I'd rather people just assume I know lots of things. Like where countries are located and when major wars occurred.
18. People throwing things at me.
    So, basically 90% of "fun" games to be played outdoors.
19. Having no friends because I made this list.
    You're all, "Jesus. I knew she was lame, but I didn't realize how lame. Let's never invite her to anything ever again.  Oh, hey. That reminds me. Are you guys going to that para-scuba cat-rescue party later? You know that field on the edge of the cliff right over the rope bridge?  There's gonna be a sweet frisbee game there first."
    Shit.

A Sunday

Photo: Joshua Longbrake

Last night I ate the last of the food.  Three eggs and a piece of toast.  Now there is nothing but a handful of walnuts and half a quart of beef broth.  When I went to bed, it was in the full knowledge that breakfast was going to be a problem. To be overcome while hungry. Sometimes present you looks after future you and sometimes present you says, "Look. I hate grocery shopping. Tomorrow's your problem, pal."

Today's obligations: return some misguided purchases downtown and be at a theatre at 1:30pm. That's it

I woke late and after a full hour of pro and conning, I decided that it made most sense to go directly downtown, divest myself of awkward box stuffed with coats, and then eat.

Snapshots.

1. On the J Church, there are four couples whom I perceive to be college students home for break, until I realize that every last one of them is wearing a wedding ring. Question: am I a hundred years old? They are discussing air mattresses. All of them own air mattresses. One guy laughingly admits to "cheaping out" and buying the hand pump instead of the electric pump even though there was only about a five-dollar difference between them. He describes the fruitless pumping and pumping and wonders why the hand pump is even an available option.  "I didn't say ONE WORD," his wife says. 
    
2. I exit the subway into the mall where I walk purposefully straight to the bank of Direct-to-Nordstrom elevators, only to find myself circling about visibly disoriented between a mini Chipotle and a Jamba Juice.  Newsflash:  the Nordstrom elevator no longer exists. It has probably been gone for years.
    
3. I return my coats to a nice lady at Nordstrom while we are assailed by the Beach Boys' "Little Saint Nick." I ask her if she's okay.  "It came so soon," she says.
    
4. I return some "oh I guess I forgot what my actual body looks like when I purchased these" underwear at Bloomingdales. "Oh!  I like your bag!" one saleslady says.  I am holding a yellow plastic bag that I snatched from my kitchen to transport the unmentionables safely through the rain. It happens to be a bag that originated from a sandwich shop in Switzerland (reduce, reuse, recycle), but other than its international pedigree, it is unremarkable.  It takes longer than it should to realize she is complimenting my purse. I explain that I bought it because it was small, but that I just keep stuffing things into it anyway. I tell her that the strap once broke. She tells me that her own mother once accidentally hit her in the head with a purse.  "I was like, "Mama. You do not need that big ol' bag.'"
    
5. It is now noon and I might faint from hunger. I refuse to eat in a food court because eating alone in a food court on a rainy Sunday afternoon seems like something from a commercial about depression. I try to go to some place in the Tenderloin that is currently a big deal (which is a surprising sentence), but am told the wait will be an hour. There are a great many empty tables, so I pretty much don't believe this, but I leave anyway.
    
6. I pass two white-haired men on the sidewalk. One is leaning slightly forward in a posture I interpret as, "We are a little lost and would like to ask you for directions, but don't really want to stop you." I slow slightly as the man takes one lurching step toward me, the forward-leaning posture actually conveying, "I am very drunk and am trying to gather all the available forces of equilibrium in order to master forward motion."  "Are you really that beautiful?" he asks.  He does not indicate anything that I should be using for comparison, so I just say, "Yes, I am. Isn't it extraordinary?" and continue on my way.
    
7. In the end, I wind up at Sears Fine Foods, a place I've never been, although, according to a sign on the door, it's been there for 77 years. The knowledge that they are famous for their little Swedish pancakes has somehow filtered into my consciousness, and I struggle mightily in deciding whether I would be foolish not to have them. I am now so hungry, decision-making is a little beyond my reach. Finally, I determine that the menu offers no evidence that they have real, as opposed to artificial, syrup. This, vis à vis famous little pancakes, concerns me. I order a hamburger. It's good. There's quite a lot of pepper on it, which is both novel and an excellent idea. 
    
8. Two women sit beside me at the counter. They are there to watch "the game."  (I am seated in a corner where I cannot see the television.) They are in high spirits. They talk too loud and say "go! go! go!" and discuss at length what this game means for "us" and whether "we" are likely to go to the Superbowl.  They drink two Bloody Marys each. I feel like I have never had less in common with anyone, but that's probably not true.
    
9. When you get your check, Sears gives you a shiny gold token about the size of a 50 cent piece.  It's got a pleasing weight to it, making it seem full of possibility. As you exit, you feed this fairy-tale golden coin into a slot machine and give the arm a good yank. I did not win a free meal, but I could have. Now we know, if you want your restaurant to thrive for 77 years, the secret to success is three-pronged:  pepper on your hamburgers, diminutive pancakes, and prize-promising slot machine.  Make a note.
    
10. I go to a play. It's good.  At one point, a man in a very stilted 1930s drama is obliged to do a romantic ballroom-type dance on crutches, which is funnier than I might have guessed.
     
11. Later, standing at Church and Duboce waiting for the J Church, two people walk the length of the platform, staring at their phones. I think, as I always think at this moment, "Arrrrrghhh. Cell phones have made everyone so BORING." Just then, one of them looked up and said, surprised, "Oh. Hey" to the other one. He looked up, took a minute to place her, and then they hugged. I felt vindicated. 
    
    In the sky to the north a flock of small black birds arced and dived in perfect formation. Half veiled by a rain cloud they looked not quite real, their wings in flight like an effect of a strobe light instead of their actual beating: fast, fast, fast.
    
    Look up.