I look at it this way: You can track pop culture through slavish devotion to, and reading of, NN.C.
Or you can wait for the Washington Post to catch up.
Sweet criminey, but the work just keeps on comin’. Not that this makes me a bad blogger — for you, I always have time — but it does make me a dull boy. Yesterday I finally looked up from my glowing screen, observed a beautiful day in progress outdoors, and made a run for the pool. I sat under an umbrella and read analog media while Kate swam.
A woman nearby was there with three young children. The whole family seemed a little overrevved; after a minor incident between the two little boys, the older boy had a toddler-style meltdown. (And he wasn’t a toddler.) He was actually jumping up and down in front of his mother, demanding justice for his little brother, which I suspect involved beheading or caning. She finally ended the tirade with a backhanded slap to the midsection and a few harsh words in a foreign tongue. The boy shrieked, “I’M NEVER COMING TO THE POOL AGAIN!” and went off to sulk.
After a bit, a man arrived, not dressed for the pool (black socks with Top-Siders — OMG!). He seemed thrilled to see the children, and the children were thrilled to see him. The mother sat as if turned to stone. I went back to my reading, and when I looked up again, he was gone, and mother was screaming at someone on her cell phone. I mean: Screaming. In another language, which I couldn’t identify, but it had many harsh fricatives. This went on at length; people were edging away from her. Finally she slammed the phone shut, sat up and wept for a while behind her sunglasses. In the midst of this, her youngest, a girl of about one, began to wail. She ignored the screaming baby for what seemed like hours. It was a grim, grim scene.
What are you supposed to do at times like these? I mean, if I had three kids under five and a presumably estranged husband, not to mention about 60 pounds of weight to lose, I’d feel like screaming and weeping myself. But to go over and offer her support would be an open acknowledgment that all this stuff is going on in public, which would be embarrassing, and…and…
I went back to my book. Her burden seemed too enormous, not only for her, but for me, too.
And now I have approximately…checking…2,500 words of copy to send singing out of the house by day’s end. Time to cry havoc and let slip.