Before I start kvetching, one quick upbeat note. My friend, John, has passed his exams, which I've forgotten the name of. But it's sort of the South African equivalent of being board-certified. If I understand this correctly, that means he is now completely qualified to anesthetize anybody.
I'm writing this before Game 4 of the American League Championship Series, but I am almost afraid to watch. I taped most of Game 1, but got home (from a storytelling event) in time to watch the end of it, in which the Sox got my hopes up, but still lost. Game 2 was a more normal letdown, but last night was simply a disaster. What was Manny Ramirez thinking when he ran for third in the first inning? And a balk? Not to mention the complete and total inability of anybody on the team to pitch competently. In high school we used to chant, "we want a pitcher, not a glass of water." Last night I'd have settled for the glass of water.
Then there was my personal fiasco of the week. In a moment of exceptional clumsiness on Tuesday morning, I tripped and went sprawling on the sidewalk. No real injuries - just a couple of scrapes - but my jaw is bruised and, while I like purple, I prefer it on fabric versus skin. The worst part was that I broke the eyeglasses I like. I did have my spare ones with me, so it wasn't a complete disaster. And it did get me to go for an (overdue) eye exam. You would think that in this modern day and age of customized everything, there should be customized eyeglass frames, where you can specify the shape and color and have exactly what you want. But that isn't the case and I had to do some shopping around to find something tolerable. This was made worse by unhelpful clerks who kept showing me things that were brown and squarish versus blue and roundish. And did you know that there is not a single pair of green eyeglass frames to be found in the Commonwealth of Virginia?
I also took advantage of having a party to go to at the Ritz Carlton to attempt a bit of retail therapy at the Pentagon City mall on Friday evening. Aside from not seeing anything I liked at either of the two optical stores there, I have now seen the world's ugliest pair of boots. Clunky, pink, shaggy fake fur - who the hell would wear something like that? And the clothing this season was about as good. Pink everywhere. Pink Chanel suits. Pink tweed. And what wasn't pink was brown.
Sometimes it's really hard being the last person left in North American with any taste.
Copyright 2004 Miriam H. Nadel