Big and fuzzy

Big and fuzzy

When I got a sandwich this afternoon, I was thrilled with the clerk. She was a large black woman who rattled off the options with the focus and directness of an airline pilot reading a pre-flight checklist. When she got to the “name” part, she said: “Thanks Mr. Jeff, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Mr. Jeff, I kind of like that. I’ve been dreading the idea of students calling me Mr. Ward, because Mr. Ward is either my father, or me when I get into trouble. When people call me Mr., it’s never a good thing. So I think I’ll put that on the syllabus for my classes: Jeff, or Mr. Jeff, not Mr. Ward, unless you’re pissed at me for some reason.

Tracking down a light dimmer, it suddenly struck me just how weird this place is. Virtually everyone talks to each other, and you can’t go shopping without having at least a few conversations in the stores. For a Californian, this is just plain weird. In California, people mind their own business and don’t nice each other to death. But it does make it seem warmer here, even when it’s cold.

But the real day-maker was the stop at a convienence store where a tall man with a strong resemblance to Michael Jordan was wearing and enormous white fuzzy fez. It actually looked quite wonderful on him, even if he might resemble a flattened black-stemmed Q-Tip.

Ah, it’s much better in here now. Dimmers also lower the color temperature of the light and the room is warm, friendly and comfortable. Now, I’ve got to get to work!