The sign painted on the side of the Vietnamese restaurant: “As for me, give me a bowl of pho and I am happy. Anthony Bordain.” And I wondered what he ate on that final day.
When my young friend turned around, I could not help but notice the shiner under his left eye. Some guys tried to rob him as he got out of his car. A scuffle ensued, with my friend adamantly maintaining that he got in some good blows, but clearly, he also took one. The would-be robbers ran off when a shopkeeper came out of his store, and my friend lost nothing. I commiserated with him and told him about various incidents involving me, the spouse, and the nonbinary progeny. I asked him if his girlfriend had been with him. “No,” he said, but he saw her the next day. He said that she had been very sympathetic. He hesitated for a moment. A slight grin appeared—his first smile of the evening. Then he said, “Sympathetic sex is very good.”
I read Habakkuk today. I found some beautiful poetry. I should read that Bible book more.
All those TV sports shows in addition to just interviewing college athletes about the game ought also to ask the athletes about their favorite professors and then produce clips of those teachers in the classrooms and interacting with the athletes outside of classes. (Or does that not happen?)
How did a woman in a hoop skirt get into, much less use, an outhouse? The spouse’s answer, “She didn’t.”
I am Donald J. Trump.
Although I shunned the draft,
Patriotism I thump.
It is my great craft
To tweet out “treason”
For those who have good reason
To question what I have done.
It gives me no pause
To label as traitor
Those who don’t cater
To my evident flaws.
I may not have served
(My feet were so spurred!)
But to my critics, I would take out a gun.
“The girl who can’t dance says the band can’t play.” Yiddish Proverb.
“This is America, where you are allowed to speak the truth as long as nothing changes.” Alexander Chee, How to Write an Autobiographical Novel.