Scott Marks 7:42 p.m., July 28
Diary of a Diva
What Christmas tastes like
I cut in to mention that David is an avid amateur cook who loves to “bring it” for any culinary occasion, but that when one of our guests is a professional chef he pulls out the stops.
Snaggletoothed Barb gives Mom something to laugh at.
Mom’s place is where I’d want to be during the zombie apocalypse. We could survive for years on all those boxes with pictures of balanced meals on the front, along with the words, “Just add water and heat.”
Bloody mandoline. Dinner delayed.
“It’s a good thing it happened to that thumb. I mean, if you’d cut your right thumb? Buttoning your pants, holding things, writing? That would be the worst — you use your right thumb for a million things.”
Sadness at a gay wedding in Point Loma
“It’s sad for her dad. I feel bad for him. He’s the one being deprived today. Most parents just want their kids to be happy, and that’s enough. But this guy, he’s robbing himself of this moment.”
She explained how students bounced around, frequently switching partners. “It’s, like, ‘Hi, how are you? Here’s my chest,’ okay, boom, ‘Hi, how are you? Here’s my chest,’ over and over.”
Barb asks the flight attendant for rat poison.
“I wouldn’t usually mind if we were going to a vegetarian restaurant,” I said as David pulled into the lot. “But for the few days we’re here, I’m reluctant to order anything but beef.”
Barb and David, telepathic at last...sort of
“Enjoy it. Oh, and don’t be offended if you get lingering glances from some of the leather-clad men here tonight. On the contrary, take it as a compliment if they even notice you in those clothes.”
Barb chooses the wrong hat for the Del Mar racetrack.
Someone else, having overheard our conversation, piped in, “Most of these horses have stylists, massage therapists, and veterinarians constantly catering to their every need.”
Barb growls, snaps, and stands up for good literary porn.
“This is an actual quote from the book: ‘If this guy is over thirty, then I’m a monkey’s uncle.’ And, ‘My inner goddess is dancing.’ I mean, come on... It’s like she’s trying to make readers groan.”
Is the death of opera so terrible?
“When you talk about ‘classical music,’” he said, using air quotes, “you limit yourself to composers of a specific era. Why aren’t you exulting the genius of the ancient Greek composer Limenius?”
“You just bought me lunch,” I responded. “And I told you I could help. If I wasn’t available, I would have said no. And give me a little more credit — you know I don’t do things I don’t want to do.”
I found out later that, when the nominees were being announced, Mom had anxiously dug her nails into my sister Heather’s leg. “Yup, that’s gonna bruise,” Heather said.
Barb passes on the “camping reunion”
“Going to a reunion would be like seeing a stranger on the street and wanting to know what college they went to and how many kids they have. Sure, once upon a time I went to a class with you, but...”
“I don’t want to watch something I’ve never seen and am really excited to see, because with a crowd like this, there’s gonna be talking, and I don’t want to be the bitch who tells everyone to shut up.”
“I could sit and read all day, but then I won’t be able to pay my bills. And it’s not like I dread the work. It’s not like I have to scrub toilets. I enjoy doing all the things on my to-do list.”