Mac the Dog
Mac has had over a week now running his kidneys on nothing but water, KD dog food, and KD Dog treats. The constant drinking and peeing is down to … just .. a trickle. Unfortunately, we are so delighted with the formation and consistency of his bowel movements he thinks it’s a waste to put these King-Size Tootsie Rolls in the grass and presents them to us in the hallway, in the great room, or by the conga drums. Our reaction: “Mac! What are you doing! Stop that! Wait… Gary,come look at this poop.” “It’s good! Mac! What a good poop!” “It’s a great poop! Good boy!”
Dave the Brother
At the end of October, Albuquerque NM is hosting a Barenaked Ladies show just 2 miles from where my brother Dave lives. Of course, we won’t be staying with my brother; Gary can’t spend the night anywhere but his home or a hotel. I think it must be a control issue. Or else it’s hereditary. Or probably both. His parents can’t spend the night with Gary’s sister, even if there’s a power outage and their house is 28 degrees. Naturally none of them can use a space heater because all fires are caused by space heaters.
Gary the Impostor
II was explaining to Gary that I want to avoid jeans and sneakers in Paris, just to see if I could be impersonate a Parisian. With a glandular problem. Gary insisted he was still going to wear his jeans. “Rick Steves does!” And of course, we have to have Gary impersonate Rick Steves. I plan to make reservations under the name Rick Steves, and when Gary shows up they’ll think, damn, Rick Steves has gained a little weight, but we have to kiss his ass because he’s Rick Steves.
8 responses to “If It’s Disjointed, It Must be Sunday”
I hate to be the one to break this to you, but there are parts of the world where the phrase ‘Rick Steves’ has no meaning. Like here, for example. And there’s probably nowhere in the world where people would care less about this than France.
But good on you for breaking away from the tourist uniform. You know you can’t wear Crocs if you want to impersonate a Parisienne?
Two arguments for Gary:
1. Of the 60 gazillion images of Rick Steves online, in only one is he wearing jeans, and they’re not blue – they’re charcoal gray. Mostly he wears tan khakis, or black cotton.
2. Leg for leg, khaki weighs much less than denim, and takes up less space, a consideration for packing and carrying.
But you know, if I unfocus my eyes, maybe that Rick Steves thing could work. Might score you a complimentary bottle of champagne.
I have never heard of Rick Steves before now either.
I am sure though that that is just the tip of the iceberg of the things I have never heard of from pop culture….
I could never impersonate a Parisian. According to my friend, who grew up in Paris, none of her family would even think of going out the door unless they were perfectly made up, coifed and dressed nicely. She’s 20 and she’s constantly horrified by how Americans go out without makeup and in “lounge pants” and slippers.
When Freddie was in Germany, he started dressing like a German frat boy. He was all stubbly-faced and started wearing all these trendy Eurotrash clothes….? At one point, we couldn’t figure out the ticket machine for the metro in Munich and the train was pulling in, so he shoved his hat down on his head and pushed me onto the train and said, “Don’t talk. Just…look German.” Nobody asked to see our tickets. We stole a free ride on the German metro! …but it’s sort of their fault because their ticket machines are stupid.
Who the hell is Rick Steves? Also, thanks so much, I can never go to Paris now unless I contract a wasting disease that has the side effect of making you know how to dress. You should wear whatever you want, and just walk a little ways apart from Gary and act French and offended if he tries to talk to you.
I used to want to blend in. But somewhere along the way, I realized – I am a Tourist. It is perfectly legitimate for me to look like a tourist, because that’s what I am.
I’ll use my best manners and I’ll bone up on the local customs.
It did crack me up, though, when I was in England when all the American tourists came up to me and asked me for directions. And all the Irish thought I was one o’ them. Only place in the world I ever fit in.
And please, please, read the Paris Breakfasts blog. Carol (Millot? Gillot?) goes there several times a year and she knows quoi c’est quoi.
Big Dot – My arches are now too fragile and high for the Crocs, too high for the Clarks even. And, lots of people in Paris know Rick S, because all through his guidebook he emntions where you can get a free hors douvres etc if you mention HIS name. ~~Silk – I would probably wear the jeans, not pack them, then wear them on the flight back. Zayrina – I would never have heard of him except for the chorus of co-workers who said “Gary’s on PBS!”Amy_in_Stl – I draw the line at slippers. Well, flat slippers. I’m really considering wearing the orthotic slippers out of doors.Erin G – Internaional criminals!Allison – And when he bellows at me I can say, je non parlez Anglais.Becs – I started to read Paris Breakfasts, but hen realized I had years and YEARS of it to go through! I’ll try again.