(As opposed to the Friday Five.)
Spent much of yesterday at O’Hare. No one looks their best at the airport, but the religious have an advantage due to their professional costumes. Sighted: priests in full cassocks, Buddhist monks in robes, and nuns in habits. The nuns were buying popcorn.
Every time I’m in O’Hare, I crack up when I see this:
It just seems so incongruous. Why the graphic arts in particular, Chicago? I like to picture the graphic arts saluting back.
Read the New Yorker’s Summer Fiction issue, which includes this Talk of the Town piece about Steve Earle. In it we learn that he’ll be doing the theme for the final season of my only TV obsession, The Wire, which thrills me beyond measure, and also features my new favorite quote: “I need to be able to walk out of my door and see a same-sex biracial couple walking down the street holding hands. That makes me feel safe.”
Number of beloved tchotchkes broken by Snag in our absence: one.
Number of kittens delivered by Snag’s mom and sister in our absence: eight.
Number we might possibly consider adopting: one.
Number of spayings and neuterings we are likely to help pay for: more than one.
Number of days before I get on another airplane: twelve.