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I have now eaten clementines in every season of the year.
Instead of bringing my lunch to work today, I walked over to one of the two reachable shopping centers, had a sandwich at a deli, and then went to the supermarket for fruit. I was thinking plums, peaches, maybe grapes. I got some plums, some of those little Italian prunes.
They had all of those. But as I was looking over the prunes, I saw crates of clementines. $8.99 for five pounds, which I would call high in December, but it's 14 September, not clementine season.
More precisely, not clementine season in this hemisphere: we usually get clementines from Morocco, Spain, maybe California. These are from South Africa. Fine, sweet, and juicy, and I'm glad to have them. I've only eaten three so far, in part because I had a hero for lunch and didn't even have room to finish it.
I stopped off on the way home from work to vote in a primary election. I literally interrupted the poll workers' knitting: that's how quiet it was. I "got on line" (there was no line), walked into the booth, slid the handle to the right, used the toggle switch to select my candidate, slid it back to the left, and was done. The poll worker commented on how fast it had been, and I pointed out that when there's only one position and three candidates, it doesn't take long.
I have never seen such a short/simple ballot on one of Mr. Edison's voting machines: in my district, the only primary is for Congress, for the Democratic nomination. The other incumbents have no primary challengers, and the other parties have no primaries. (I gather there are a few primaries elsewhere in the state that are seriously contested: I voted more because I was raised to do so than because I think Charlie Rangel has any chance of losing this primary--or the general election for that matter.) I was voter 25 in my election district; normally, I'd get number 21 at 8 a.m.
Instead of bringing my lunch to work today, I walked over to one of the two reachable shopping centers, had a sandwich at a deli, and then went to the supermarket for fruit. I was thinking plums, peaches, maybe grapes. I got some plums, some of those little Italian prunes.
They had all of those. But as I was looking over the prunes, I saw crates of clementines. $8.99 for five pounds, which I would call high in December, but it's 14 September, not clementine season.
More precisely, not clementine season in this hemisphere: we usually get clementines from Morocco, Spain, maybe California. These are from South Africa. Fine, sweet, and juicy, and I'm glad to have them. I've only eaten three so far, in part because I had a hero for lunch and didn't even have room to finish it.
I stopped off on the way home from work to vote in a primary election. I literally interrupted the poll workers' knitting: that's how quiet it was. I "got on line" (there was no line), walked into the booth, slid the handle to the right, used the toggle switch to select my candidate, slid it back to the left, and was done. The poll worker commented on how fast it had been, and I pointed out that when there's only one position and three candidates, it doesn't take long.
I have never seen such a short/simple ballot on one of Mr. Edison's voting machines: in my district, the only primary is for Congress, for the Democratic nomination. The other incumbents have no primary challengers, and the other parties have no primaries. (I gather there are a few primaries elsewhere in the state that are seriously contested: I voted more because I was raised to do so than because I think Charlie Rangel has any chance of losing this primary--or the general election for that matter.) I was voter 25 in my election district; normally, I'd get number 21 at 8 a.m.