Her butt is sore because of Jane Austen

In a crowd, I don't know why strangers single me out to talk to. Last night, like many other people, I was waiting for a friend to arrive at the movie theater. I was standing in the lobby when people started meandering out from an earlier screening. A middle-aged lady who looked like a third-grade teacher came up to me slowly and said in a confidential tone, "I just saw Pride and Prejudice." I nodded slightly and my eyebrows went up. She said, "I didn't realize how long the movie would be. I'm kinda sore from sitting so long." My facial expression said, "I sympathize; that's too bad." She said, "It started more than two hours ago!" and she smiled. I said "Wow!" and she turned and made her way to the door.

The last time I saw Y, we had gone to Milwaukee Summerfest a few years ago. I don't even remember what band was on stage, but in the middle of the show I felt a punch on my left shoulder. It was from the guy next to me, and he gave a friendly smile and yelled over the music, "Dude, havin' a good time?" I smiled back "Sure!" and that was that.

Some big hairy guy once started talking to me in Water Tower Place and all I remember is what appeared to be a ramen noodle jiggling in his gray beard as he talked. The tap-dancing noodle looked like it could come loose at any moment, but it hung on.

These words are inadequate but all I've got at the moment

I can't believe Y is dead. We lived together for two years in the 1980s and we moved 100 miles to live in this city together. When it became clear that she would want kids eventually and I wouldn't, she made the right decision and moved out. After that she went on to succeed at almost everything she tried, and since she was a workaholic she accomplished a lot. She got married and had a daughter, now aged 10.

After she moved out we still kept in touch, recently via e-mail. She moved to Los Angeles with her kid a few years ago and continued her string of successes. This weekend I found out she apparently died of a disease she never told me about, which is why I'm still in shock.

I haven't found anyone else with the same combination of smarts and humor. Her intelligence and ambition are what shot her career far beyond that of her friends, but what I like to remember is how she could make me laugh when I didn't expect it, like calling out "Winky!" in a squeaky voice in the grocery store whenever we passed the Winky brand desserts. Seeing the rapper Vanilla Ice perform as he wore silver harem pants, she described him as a dancing baked potato. She loved to sing along way too loud to the "la la la" chorus of "Head Over Heels" by Tears for Fears, which always cracked me up.

You know how dead people are usually remembered as unbelievably perfect and positive? I can't stand that. I acknowledge that Y had her weaknesses, but I loved her all this time anyway, and many others did too.

I have enough happy memories to turn this post or this website into a lengthy (lengthier) memorial; that would be morbid and depressing. I'd already written about her here and here. If I share more funny stories about her later, I beg your indulgence.

Outside of my immediate family, she changed my life more than anyone else. I can't imagine how her daughter and the rest of her family are managing to get along now; my thoughts are with them now and in the future.

Michael Stipe commercial endorsements

Not everyone can carry the weight of the world...
Talk about the Paxil
Talk about the Paxil

This one goes out to the one I love
This one goes out to the one I left behind
A new eyedrop to relieve bloodshot eyes
This one goes out to the one I love

Ham in the place where you live
Now eat pork
Think about some bacon
Wonder why you haven't before

That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Eating Jello pudding

A strange and very amusing evening

If you had been living in London in early 1941 and the Germans had been bombing your city for months, killing thousands, how would it affect your behavior?

Here's how playwright and performer Noel Coward reacted:

Had a few drinks, then went to Savoy. Pretty bad blitz, but not so bad as Wednesday. A couple of bombs fell very near during dinner. Wall bulged a bit and door blew in. Orchestra went on playing, no one stopped eating or talking. Blitz continued. Carroll Gibbons played the piano, I sang, so did Judy Campbell and a couple of drunken Scots Canadians. On the whole, a strange and very amusing evening. People's behavior absolutely magnificent. Much better than gallant. Wish the whole of America could really see and understand it. Would not have missed this experience for anything.

This diary entry is part of an article ("The Last of England") by Charles Glass in the Nov. 2005 Harper's Magazine. Mr. Glass contrasts the Londoners of 1941 with some from 2005, who, Glass observed, shut down the night life and stayed home from work after the July 7 bus and train bombs.

There are at least a couple reasons for the difference, Glass asserts. In 1941, U.K. citizens knew even after two straight months of bombing that mass emotional breakdowns could've brought the Germans closer to winning the Battle of Britain. Glass also sees Tony Blair's anti-terrorism efforts as encouraging hysteria while decreasing civil liberties.

The Man Who Cares More Than Anyone Else

Seen on Michigan Avenue... A man carrying items for an outdoor display: two wooden four-foot-high pink looped "ribbons" resembling what you might see to promote awareness of breast cancer.