Thoughts while eating lunch alone at Elephant & Castle on Pennsylvania Ave
Nothing paralyzes a room like the crash of glassware. Not yelling, not a fight. The crash – and, in this case, subsequent sheepish looks of the server in question – halts conversation completely.
We’re probably all thinking one thing: it sure must suck to be that server right now.
Sometimes it feels like afternoon beers deliver us into a completely different state of being. I wish I knew why. Maybe it’s the idea of developing a buzz while you can still see the sun. Maybe it’s the idea that we’re going against convention. Maybe because we pair it with a clear view of our next steps.
For example, I plan to go to the National Museum of American History to see Julia Child’s kitchen. The idea that I’m going to this public place after two beers and a burger adds a sense of excitement and subversion.
At night, however, you’re never really sure where your next steps will lead. Sure, there’s excitement, but also uneasy uncertainty. And it’s not as much of a novelty, either.
Walking through the airport, I discovered that the rumpled look of travel is insanely attractive. Jeans, a long sleeve shirt, unkempt hair, weariness; add a backpack and the urgency of location and situation, and you’ve got a recipe for sneaky hotness.
The reasoning, I assume, has to do with a feeling of adventure and intellect. Travel brings out the mystery in everyone. What’s in the bag? Where are they going?
Phil Collins’ cover of “You Can’t Hurry Love” is abominable. Probably the greatest slap in the face of Motown ever conceived.