Traffic was light, I was remarking to Gamma when this woman just zoomed onto the traffic circle thing in front of me, necessitating a braking maneuver, which involved a little braking and more honking. I was still bitching about her to Gamma when she stopped suddenly at the intersection instead of going on through and swerved a little and I noticed an old lady on the sidewalk teetering on her bike, trying to hold something and then gesturing at it in the street.
There was a hat in the street. Did she drop a hat?
Some young people were talking to the lady. Then I noticed the old guy attached to the hat, the other people were helping him up. I started to get out of the car but they had it under control, it looked. He was gesturing pretty good, it looked as if he was telling them he had gone off the curb and lost his balance, and toppled right over, like a tree.
He got off his bike and the woman did and they walked off, a little dazzled.
An old guy I know had a flat in front of my house. We got home, and there his car was, with a flat. He started walking to the gas station to get a pump to fill it back up. Come on, geeze, let me drive you, I said.
It wasn’t a bad idea, the way he parks in front of our house he manages to block anyone else from parking there, so it’s totally possible someone got tired of him doing that and let the air out. Or the little boys who scribble graffitti on our mail box let the air out, or something.
When he filled the tire, he left the valve cap in the street. Then I took him home to get his other car. We had to go twice, because the first time he thought he had forgotten his house keys, discovering when looking for them that he had not, in fact.
The next day he picked up his other car, the one with the flat. The tire appeared fine, but the valve caps were missing from all four tires. He figures someone stole them, we figure he mislaid them. He gets so excited when things happen, practically anything.
The other day, I had to google free-associated phrases to find the name of a band I couldn’t remember, one of my favorite bands.
Not, you know, those other guys, from Finland.
With the cellos.
A different band.
There was a time, about twenty years ago, when I could never remember Shirley MacLaine’s name, and the only way I could identify her to people was to say that she was Warren Beatty’s sister. Luckily I could always think of *his* name. Now I can remember Shirley MacLaine’s name just fine, although I rarely have occasion to do so.
Perhaps I should say that the reason I was trying to remember Shirley MacLaine’s name in the first place is that I couldn’t think of the name of the movie…
Those guys with the cellos from Finland were here again Friday night. :) I’d have said hi for you had I actually gotten to talk to any of them.
Mig: Just tap into the collective consciousness and give more info on the band. Someone will figure it out for you.
Embrace the hive-mind!
I’m trying to think what phrases would bring one to “Sigur Ros”.
“icelandic band” works