Last Friday I got into a heated debate about what type of jacket a parka is. A girl from Michigan and a girl from Kansas claimed it was some type of gortex windbreaker, while I insisted (correctly, of course) that it was a heavy winter coat, lined with fur, with a large hood, also lined with fur; a guy from Seattle and a guy from D.C. supported these claims. This took place in the kitchen area of my apartment – at least, at first it did, for it continued long into the night.
Saturday afternoon at around two I was woken by someone using a weed-whacker down the street – not because the noise was loud, but because it reminded my brain of the sound my cell phone used to make when it vibrated against the floor and I didn’t want to miss a call – and I stumbled into the kitchen to get water. Upon lifting my head from the faucet, I noticed the microwave resting on top of the refrigerator was named “
and I realized how absurd it had all been, how the whole time we could have
ended the argument if we had only thought to turn our heads and