By Lee Sandlin
Originally appeared in the Chicago Reader
March 7 and March 14, 1997.
[Aside: All last weekend i kept having this one recurring thought: That there are a group of men sitting in a room (or a tent maybe) figuring out ways to kill Americans. And then there are another group of men in a room figuring out ways to kill Arabs. Occasionally heated conversation turns to shouts, and then dies back down again. Someone asks, "Could you pass the water, please?". A cigeratte is lit. Notes are written. Each person has his expertise. Someone asks another's opinion. Someone else ignores it. These are the way killings are planned. Aren't they? I just sit and picture these meetings going on simultaneously. On a stage, separated by white curtain, like an avant-garde play maybe.]
More from everyday life. I have developed an addiction to listening to episodes of This American Life. I have also been reading fark a bit too obsessively. The comments on Strom Thurmond are hilarious, like pee-in-your-pants funny. I know they’re in terrible taste. But we all left taste at the door when opened our browsers, okaaaay?!
Next, my mom’s on her way from LA to Paris and called me from LAX. She went way early cause you’re supposed to do that now, and had nothin much to do. She told me how pleasant it was in the airport with no people in it.. hmm.
Also the Tax Relief for America’s Workers check found it’s way to my office in Paris today. It promptly slipped out of my hand in front in the elevator by accident. And then a few hours later someone found it and out on my desk. Tax Relief’s gonna get to me no matter what.
Okay, let’s get down to everyday life again. I’ve got a problem. A big problem. Something very odd is happening in my pipes. Whenever i wash dishes in the sink, a bit later a good 25% of the stuff reappears in my bathtub. It is so revolting. Last night i had spinach. This morning there was spinach in my tub. Spinach! In my tub! Can you imagine anything grosser?! I don’t cook all that much so it ends up being mostly coffee grounds. But think.. coffee grounds in your tub. Blech!
And it gets worse. Somehow i need to explain this situation to my landlord over the telephone, in french. In french! Fuck! This is torture. I keep thinking of that Seinfeld episode where Kramer installs the garbage disposal in his shower so he can bathe and cook at the same time. For some reason, that doesn’t seem nearly as gross. A little gross yes, but not this gross. This is grosser than gross.
This week’s favorite news site is Fark.com. The comments section is the icing.
Recently Enjoyed Pointers:
+ NYC firemen are getting all the sex they could want
+ Ebay: TRI JET Turbine Powered Toyota MR2. What the hell is this?
And Not Particularly Enjoyed:
“The State Department has issued a “worldwide caution” to U.S. citizens traveling abroad amid growing fears that American tourists and businesspeople in Europe could be targeted by terrorists for assassination or kidnapping.”
Thanks to Ftrain’s American Military Operation Name Generating Device, I’ve decided to name the never-ending redesign of nil by mouth: Operation Ceaseless Peach. I am so darn close to done, but something is keeping me from finishing. I know it’s psychological. But it didn’t have a name before. Now I’ve got a name and i feel like that might help.
The brief rundown on Bretagne. It was beautiful. Friday night started with immediate partying at the bar. It was dub night. There seems to be a lot of dub in these parts, i may have to investigate a bit. Anyway lotsa a dreaded hip young things. Many headwraps. Afterwards went to the town’s Club up in a mountain somewhere, and by that point i certainly wasn’t paying any attention to the road (No i wasn’t driving). The music there was err.. well, let’s just say it’s a small town. Then in the wee wee hours, 7 or 8 of us standing around the parking lot, walk over the teeny hill and are standing on the beach futzing around, smoking things, and ending our evening quite serenely.
Saturday was sunny and hot, and we were tired and maybe a bit burnt. Lunch at the restaurant where Audrey’s family knows everyone. And i mean everyone. Each person walking down the street chatted for a minute. The cars that drove by slowed down and waved. After the Brochettes St Jacques (translation: yummiest scallops ever), went to the beach, laid around, collected rocks. Let’s just say Fantastic. Of course, i forgot my camera during all the scenic moments.
Saturday night, amazing dinner at the bar. One would think frenchies can’t do BBQ pork, but oh is that a fallacy. Best BBQ pork i ever had. Then many drinks and some very long games of pool. Lovely.
Every so often burning skyscrapers found their way into my head, but i suppose that ain’t gonna go away anytime soon.
New Angeles Monthly, June 2008
Weekend America, March 30, 2008
Los Angeles Times, March 13, 2008
Los Angeles Times, March 6, 2008
Nil by Mouth is written by Neille Ilel. Neille is a writer, reporter and user interface specialist in Los Angeles. If you think that's a lot, she's also got a host of meandering sidelines including improv comedy, tennis, cooking, drawing and thinking about learning to play the guitar.
Nil is her given name. It's a long story.
E-mail her here:
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