Vincent Farnsworth 8:30 a.m., May 3
Diary of a Diva
Social media train-wreck
Watching someone have a meltdown or witnessing a drama unfold by way of updates or comments is just as popcorn-chomping engaging as watching train-wreck reality television.
Why had they come? Why had we not been warned? We’d been sharing dishes, tasting drinks; they were laughing and spitting and double-dipping. What the hell?
Twelve hours, three epics, and eight meals later
“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” Even wannabe geeks like me can raise a glass of the Elven-made miruvor to that.
Brian insisted I download another game called Geometry Dash. I did as he requested, and he excitedly gave me a tutorial. Cool Aunt Level: Unlocked.
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.”