Let It Be

I just got off a plane from Chicago. As I walked down the jet way and into the terminal, Paul Westerberg was the first person I saw. He was sitting on the floor, reading a book. An ancient bit of groupie inside of me flared up, but only for a second. I didn't have the energy to act on it, even mentally, and even though he still carried a lingering air of rock star, the weariness was apparent on him, too. The only urge that popped into my head was to actually look me in the eye and tell me, are you satisfied? All angst, teen-age torment, bitterness, regret, what-could've-been aside, I think we would've both taken a deep breath and hesitantly answered, "yes".

The "N" Word

Today I was walking back from lunch and crossed the train platform just outside my office. It's right in the middle of a bunch of sports bars, adult entertainment venues - just a general place where people spend the day hanging out.

As I walked by a group of black guys coming out of a bar, one of them shouted, "Hey nigguh!" No big deal...I hear this form of greeting between friends quite often and it really doesn't sound shocking anymore.

Except this time, the dude said it a couple more times in my direction causing me to look around and realize that there was no one around me, particularly no one who might fit that description. So he was talking to me.

As we passed and he and his friends saw the confused look on my face, they started to crack up. I laughed, too, mostly embarrassed, but also, just for a moment, feeling Just A Little Bit Hip. A little less like a middle-aged mom with taped up glasses, negative fashion sense and far removed from any street cred.

It felt kind of good, in an ironic way, that such a powerfully negative word could be spun around in such a way. Maybe I'll try it out on my friends at the PTA ice-cream social tonight. Then again, maybe not.