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Table Talk: Posts of the Week

Jason Errett - 12:42 pm PDT - Aug 9, 2000 �-�#73 of 115
Pizza delivery! If we expand the concept of "restaurant experiences" to include pizza delivery, I've got some good ones.

I worked for a few months in college as a pizza delivery guy in a really, really bad part of town. This part of town is referred to by the local police as "the war zone".

I delivered pizza to hookers who'd ask me if I'd take a blow job instead of cash for the pizza, I delivered pizza to junkies who'd answer the door with their rig in their hand, and then procede to crawl around through the shin deep trash on the floor looking for money to pay me, I delivered pizza to a crack house while it was being busted, and I finally delivered pizza to a dead man, "30 minutes or it's free", and he ended up waiting the rest of his life for his pizza to arrive.

Imagination On The Eighth Day, Mooks Drank
Simone K. - 07:47 pm PDT - Aug 9, 2000 �-�#2703 of 2912
On a possibly new topic, sometimes I think I'm the luckiest girl in the world. I love the subway. I love standing there as this wind blows through my hair, and this train comes really fast and noisy. It's all I can do not to throw my head back and my arms out, but somehow I don't think the other commuters would understand and I'd probably be locked up, all the time babbling about finding the sublime in the mundane.... Writing the poetics of objects and space
Jean Parquette - 02:04 pm PDT - Aug 6, 2000 �-�#2723 of 2737
A phenomenon of which I was not aware. Middle America packs up its kids and dogs and bikes into and onto a winnibago type monstrosity, or into a mobile home hauled by a monster truck, trailers its big hooting motorboat and a few jetskis for the kids on the back and travels frenetically to a lakeside site and camps -- and I use that term loosely -- lakeside for a few days to a few weeks.

like Dune worms, nosing this way and that, finally pausing at a suitably reserved site. Each then digs itself in, backing and forthing until it is comfortable, then falls asleep, its rumble quiet. People tumble out and hang electric blue tarps all around to protect their privacy. They go to bed early. At 7 in the morning a lone and graceful waterskier, pulled by a classy classic boat, a black lab standing with forefeet on deck sniffing the air ahead, makes a circle of the lakes through the rising fog and against a brilliant rising sun. And then the mayhem starts, culminating at sunset with half a dozen or eight teenaged and pre-teen jetskiers congregating out in the middle of the lake, yelling back and forth and playing patterns and chicken. At 9pm the ice cream truck comes through. A voice -- a chiding one of a father to a daughter -- "MacKenzie...." At ten a bugle sounds. Soft yoohoos echo across the lake and back and forth.

It was pretty fascinating.

I prefer islands where the dogs can run loose and I can get naked if I want in the cool dark air and we can take a midnight paddle when the lake is smooth as glass and the trees tower up at the edges and their reflections dig deep into the mirror lake. Where I can smoke a bowl without the parents next door thinking I'm corrupting their children...


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