It’s Raining Chateaubriand

I. On Saturday afternoon, I walked home from the family store in twilight as golden as November twilight gets. The persistent honking of geese in formation caught my attention, and who knows why because after the age of six, we ignore such things. Honk! Honk! Honk! I looked up, and the flock was flying toward me from my left. I looked around for the sun and found it to my right. West was to my right, which meant the geese were flying north. A man I’ve never seen before was walking on the sidewalk across the street. “Look! The geese are flying the wrong way!”

Man: What? Are you crazy? Those geese are flying south.
Tata: That’s west, so that way is north.

He couldn’t really walk away from me fast enough.

II. The other day, I read a post on Sadly, No! that so filled me with Word Glee I promptly forgot where I’d seen it or what it was about even as I was skipping around my apartment, singing Gavin’s words. Last night, I found it again.

Alas, once you let yourself get behind in your Powerline reading, the stupidity starts piling up like a big, stupid closet full of stupefacting stupidness — such that when you finally open the door, it all crashes out on top of you like a roaring stupelanche.

A roaring stupelanche! The rest of the post makes Gavin my newest Heart’s Delight, and the footnote is keenly refrainy. When I get a minute, I will probably write him a breathless fan letter. I want to watch him use more words. Because I like those.

III. My co-worker Jennifer practices the fine art of good nutrition. This would not ordinarily require comment except half the office goes cross-eyed at 11:30 every morning when Jennifer digs her baby carrots out of the fridge for a snack. The crunching of every bite is mildly annoying. The loud, deliberate SNAP! of each bite is making the rest of us positively homicidal. Will my office see the world’s first vegetable-based mob violence? And does one use a salad fork or tongs?

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