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Saturday, May 21, 2005

Susan's green house

Green House

Ever since my unwise reference to the Leung mansion not being green as *I* understand the color (and Julie's prompt correction), I've been keeping my head down.

Thanks to Anita's report on the Seattle Weblogger's May meet - such a plethora of photos! - I've discovered Susan's eminently lineable Habanero blog, and with it a fine example of what I myself look for when someone directs me to a "green house". Good. I'm glad *that's* settled.

Also in her blog, Susan describes the all-too common nightmare of being trapped by a cellphone chatterbox. That resonated firmly with me, as it must do with so many others. It's my belief that the planet is heading for some Mt St Helens-style phone rage eruption that will so stun authorities with its Columbine devastation that bye-laws will be drafted and official etiquettes agreed on to avoid further boilings.

The woman in Sue's story countered with some feeble excuse that she had a child who was dying. What I want to know is, why is it that every single anti-social wretch one challenges is able to reel off some unlikely sob-hoo story as if to excuse or explain their boorish behavior?

As Sue points out, having an expiring kid seemed not to dampen the lady's ardor to drive everyone else to an early grave of boredom *or* place herself in danger of preceding the sprog by being throttled there and then by the assorted throng.

I crusade loudly against these types on the Bainbridge ferry and, no matter *what* dreary gossip or domestic fallout they've been yammering on about during the call, as soon as the bellowing is over they invariably produce some cock-and-bull lament - never actually mentioned during the call.

The last time he was over, my brother - who does not suffer from my excruciating politeness - suggested to the offender that, under the tragic domestic circumstances, should she not be huddled in a softly sobbing heap before us with the two of us exchanging alarmed glances in whispered debate about how to comfort her? Instead, it's *us* reduced to tears by her loud and unseemly heartiness.

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