Friday, September 7, 2007

blame it on nancy grace

Today I turned in my first two freelance articles. Hooray! One piece they liked and the other needs to be revised. I will live. The articles are a little fluffy. I have devoured and enjoyed plenty of Twinkies and marshmallows and other fluff in my life; I'm sure there is more to come. I'm okay with that.

I am at a coffee shop listening to two sixty-something men have a midday chat. I can't get over the things they are discussing and the rapid speed with which conversation shifts: An infomercial. A friend named Li-O-nel who they listen to on a call-in show on the radio. And now, "This ain't got nothing to do with race, this got to do with dogs." They are referring to a recent pit bull controversy in Baton Rouge. To outlaw, or not to outlaw? And now, "This country is run by a whole lotta conservatives, and for them, property is property. That's how it is." Now, "Three, four, five years ago I heard somethin' about this man who had a stock or a bond or something that was Dutch. 300-year-old bond. Those Dutch were traders."

The friend concurs, "Oh yeah, those Dutch were big traders." The conversation moves on to the French and how they take off every August. "Just like Bush. That man takes off every August, and now all them son-a-bitches are taking off every August."

I guess when you are a sixty-something man hanging out on the patio of a coffee shop with your friend, these are the things worth discussing at rapid fire.

"The woman I don't like on CNN is that woman Nancy Grace." Agreed. I KNEW I liked this man.

The other man is cracking up about someone who does an impersonation of her, "the bubble hair and all."

"And see, they wonder about why people have a lack of attention span and what's wiping it all out." Jumping again, "You know what, I'd like to tell her [Nancy Grace]? That everyone who gets accused of something is not guilty." Amen, brother.

One of them says, about Gary Sinise, "He looks like a frickin' alien if you look at him."

And finally, one endearingly refers to a check-out woman at Calandro's, a local grocery, as, "My little girlfriend at Calandro's." If you saw the women who work at Calandro's, that statement would not sit well with you.

The men are now discussing "the CSI effect." "You know there's gotta be, with all those guys sittin' on death row, a whole shitload of 'em who's innocent."

"Yeah, but it must pretty much even out."

The other spills his coffee, and comments, "'I was just thinkin', I don't very much like this coffee.'" I think, good attitude. Great attitude.

I'm about to leave, and it's taking every ounce not to say hello on my way out. I am turning into my dad. Wednesday, I was here at the same place, and a man was reading a book. He kept laughing out loud. LAUGHING, LAUGHING, LAUGHING. As I was leaving, I thought, "Hmm. I should ask him what he's reading. Maybe I can recommend it to book club." And I walked straight to him, turning sharply just as I arrived. Me turning into dad.

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