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Three word Wednesday on Tuesday night: snow, red, curb; a fiction exercise

December 5, 2006 By pia

On Sunday there will be impeachment rallies across America. Our government consists of a bunch of fanatics who seem to think that they’re above and better than the people.

I will be posting on Mondays and Wednesdays until the end of the year, and maybe beyond. As always I reserve the right to change my mind.

Yesterday I went into a bit of a funk, posted about it, buried it after a “more” and would love to thank Neva and MizzyB for their wonderful comments. Still am in a I hate December except for Christmas music funk. For some reason really like that most Christmas music that isn’t “I saw mommy kissing Santa,” songs about or by chipmunks and reindeer.

I’m no good at widgets and other things that seem to be integral to blogging now. I can waste half the day trying to put in a button, and it is a waste, because all I want to do is write. And take too much time from my real life. I hate not being proficient at the technical stuff but that’s a reality. I have just officially wasted a morning trying to get a button into the sidebar. That’s the reason I haven’t updated my photoblog. Yet the bells and whistles appear to be more important than the writing. Don’t people read anymore? Maybe that is a real problem.

About comments, Elvira Black left a comment on my post at Blog Critics and she’s a Jewish baby boomer from the same basic area of Queens I lived in until my parents uprooted us and moved to real Long Island. If you don’t know her you will want to as she’s a very good writer who actually loves living in New York.

Oh I must mention Bone who supplies the words from his source. Only Bone would say that, and for a second I confused it with an informant or something else.

I’m feeling better because Boston Legal is on tonight. “James Spader” is my top Google search. I really didn’t like “James Spader” “gay,” as he has long been the only actor who enters my dreams.
************************************************************************************
The friendship divorce
New York, 1990’s
Who says that it can’t snow in July? Dinah shakes the globe and is transfixed by the snow flakes, some small and some large that cover a village in the Alps. Snow globes from every place she has traveled cover four shelves along with sea shells that sprout pig families, strange alarm clocks with animals, and other truly tacky objects. Her boyfriend refuses to move into her apartment until she gets rid of the collection, and she refuses to move into his apartment until he gets rid of the life size cardboard cut ups of Dylan, Donovan and Ginger Baker.

Obviously he is deeply troubled. All her girlfriends agree that his choice of cardboard figures are worrisome. Dylan, okay. But to live with a crumpled Dylan? Who has listened to Donovan since the 60’s? There’s nothing worth saying about Ginger Baker.

Dinah can’t shake the feeling that she and her best friend Camilla had their final fight. They were supposed to move to the nursing home together in 60 years. Their friendship has outlasted five marriages, and three live in relationships. How will they see their friends? Who gets the first Tuesday reading group? The weekly writing workshop? They won’t be able to go to each others houses when its their turn to host the Sunday salons. Poco and Bovary, their dogs loved their seven AM and PM walks in the Riverside Park Dog run. They won’t take anymore long walks and end up at a cute ethnic restaurant or a diner. Saturday night at the movies with the girls.

This was worse than any of their divorces or failed relationships. This was their lives, and had been since freshman year at college. They had been the nasty girls who seemed so nice to the girls who sat in the dorms all week and weekend. They only used it to change clothes though the college had a curfew for freshman girls.

Dinah turned red when she thought about how much fun she and Camilla had made of the girls. It would come back to haunt them. The phone rang:
“Camilla, of course I’ll meet you at Patzo’s.

She quickly changed into a sleeveless slip dress, went out onto the street, and fell, head first, onto the curb.

Filed Under: Fiction

« Steam Heat
Courting Destiny photoblog: Good bye schedule, and uh panic in my mind »

Comments

  1. jacob says

    December 6, 2006 at 11:28 am

    I like your Wednesday writings.
    I’m determined not to introduce the Chipmunk variations to my son.

  2. EsotericWombat says

    December 6, 2006 at 11:30 am

    “There is nothing worth saying about Ginger Baker”

    Ouch 🙁

    Nicely done though. And don’t worry. The brainless alpha-male type will label guys like Spader as gay with the hopes that women will believe it.

  3. Bone says

    December 6, 2006 at 11:32 am

    “Obviously he is deeply troubled.”

    LOL You tell such wonderful stories, Pia. I do love snow globes, however 🙂

    Like the title.

  4. Marinade Dave says

    December 6, 2006 at 4:29 pm

    Actually, I’ve never liked “Frosty the Snowman”, amongst others.

    Boy, I’d love to see Christmas in New York. It’s been a long, long time.

  5. Doug says

    December 6, 2006 at 5:56 pm

    That was a really good piece, Pia.

    I heard James Ingram today singing “White Christmas.” The further I go, the more at home I feel.

  6. actonbell says

    December 6, 2006 at 8:34 pm

    First off, I am so with you on not enjoying most of what happens in December.

    That’s a great fiction piece too! I love the ending.

  7. Lexa Rosean says

    December 7, 2006 at 2:41 am

    I’m down with the IMPEACHMENT rallies. why don’t you come and dance some Tango in December? Much better than christmas music and it takes away the blues. 🙂

  8. cooper says

    December 7, 2006 at 3:15 am

    Love these wednesday things you are doing.

    Donovan and Poco, titles from old dusty vinyls in the basement of our old house. Your writings liven them up just for them being a tiny piece among all the rest.

    I Love me some widgets. I think you would like them.

  9. steve says

    December 7, 2006 at 3:33 am

    If I die, I want to be reincarnated as James Spader…

  10. Elvira Black says

    December 7, 2006 at 12:42 pm

    Pia, thanks so much for the link! Really liked your fictional vignette too.

    I hear you about the blog buttons. One of the many things I love about my b/f is that he’s a true “goy”–he’s able to fearlessly tackle a lot of technical things nice Jewish girls like me have trouble with. I come from a long line of relatives who hardly know how to operate a stereo and have a terrible sense of direction to boot.

    I saw Wall Street the other night and thought of you–James Spader had a nice little part as a skittish lawyer. I just caught a bit of Boston Legal for the first time the other night–I had no idea that James Spader AND William Shatner starred–what a gem of a show!

    Anyway, hope this finds you feeling better…

  11. G says

    December 8, 2006 at 10:45 am

    Pia, now I have to find out what a widget is! Oy on the technical side of blogging. I still hold out for a young technie to come wave a wand over me and I’ll just know what to do.

    Loved this piece – quirky and fun and made me think of my best friend since childhood, all good things.

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About Me

I live in the South, not South Florida, a few blocks from the ocean, and two blocks from the main street. It's called Main Street. Amazes me too.

I'm from New York. I mostly lived in the Mid-Upper East Side, and the heart of the Upper West Side. It amazes me when people talk about how scared they were of Times Square in the 1970's and 1980's.

As my mother said: "know the streets, look out and you'll be fine."

What was scary was the invasion of the crack dens into "good buildings in good 'hoods." And the greedy landlords who did everything they could to get good tenants out of buildings.

I'm a Long Island girl, and proud of it now.
Then I hated everything about the suburbs. Yet somehow I lived in a few great Long Island Sound towns after high school.

Go to archives "August 2004" if you want to begin with the first posts.

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