A few years back, I went out for a walk. The walk lasted nearly four months and covered something like 1,400 miles. This was in England.
I have contemporaries who describe themselves as “middle-aged.” This fascinates me. Either they have a stupendous ability to deny reality or an utterly unfounded faith in future medical advances. I, for one, do not expect to reach 100 or more years of age.
I don’t have one of those newfangled wide-screen televisions. That’s why, lately, you’ll find me sitting on a folding chair on the sidewalk on the south side of Bank Road, opposite Thriftway, taking in the entertainment (FREE!) from that snazzy, new, towering, gi-normous, active video display sign Island Lumber has thoughtfully situated for my viewing pleasure right at the edge of the road. I don’t think I’ve seen anything more spectacular since Cinerama came to my hometown when I was a kid, back in the mid-1800s.
“They just don’t get Northeast humor,” my friend and fellow New Yorker, Bad Michael, was saying. I’d been grumbling at the coffee stand about the starchiness of a couple of recent letters to the editor about my humor column — the one on road paving.
One of the first things you notice when you come to Vashon Island — especially if you’re tailing behind some native in the traffic crawling up the long hill from the ferry — is the car decal that warns: “Keep Vashon weird.”
You may have noticed that summer has arrived. This, of course, means three things.
The other day, on my way to what is euphemistically and antiseptically known hereabouts as “the transfer station,” I looked…
Ah, Progress! You know those brand new gleaming strips of asphalt all along the Vashon Highway that were installed in the last couple of weeks (and snarled traffic for days)? Let me just ask you this question: Is it me, or is that new pavement way bumpier than what was there before?
The votes are in. Judging from the e-mails and comments I’ve received on the street, readers of this column are happier when I rant and rave than when I wax thoughtful.
My Burton Coffee Stand and morning walking companion, Bad Michael (to distinguish him from another coffee stand regular, Good Michael), understands that I am not, deep down, a nice person.
First, let me take a moment to thank all those folks who’ve stopped me in town to say how much they liked my seven-part series, “The Anatomy of Home.” Thank you. To both of you.
