Yes, a pedicab. That was my ride home last night. Crammed in the back
seat with two friends, and leaving a party far away from downtown, the pedicab,
peddled vigorously by a bearded mountain man named Declan, was our only chance
of getting back to home base (by the way, I’m now convinced that pedicabs
are the most expensive mode of transportation on earth).
We were a few miles away from downtown at a party given by MySpace which featured Nelly as the headlining performer. The crowd at all convention events always seems to be a mixed bag of ages and enthusiasm, which can make it hard to select a performer who resonates with everyone. I forgot, though, that every Nelly song has been in some sort of commercial and that as a result, even your grandmother knows at least one Nelly song (seriously, try it).
My husband’s last name is Einbinder. We’ve always assumed the German translation (one binder) meant that it was the moniker for the trade of bookbinding. It’s a rare name. In fact the only other person we’ve ever met with any connection to that name is the movie director Mike Binder. One day, years ago, at the Pumpkin Patch in our neighborhood, we struck up a conversation with him. Blank Man, a movie he directed, was absolutely the funniest movie that year. It still holds up. David Allen Grier kills in it. Of course, he always kills. It turned out that Mike’s last name was shortened from Einbinder. Since then, when we see him places, we exchange that twinkle of recognition of our ‘kinship’.