Calling All Holmeses

Turns out I am still the bemused owner of a jar of Nayonaise, so I brought it home again. Maybe I’ll add it to the spaghetti sauce when I have pasta.

I gave the non-stick Revere skillet to a single mother who is just moving into a new apartment with her teenaged daughter. She seemed really nice and said the skillet was greatly appreciated, so I gave her the other Revere pots I got via the warranty replacement, and a couple of other kitchen items I no longer use.

I didn’t get an effusive thank-you after the second phase of gift-giving and I can’t blame her—those pots are really crappy. As I was packing them up to take back to work, I noticed the lids did not seat even remotely properly. Before the recipient came to get them, I warned her via email that they weren’t very nice, but that I hoped they’d do until she could get something better.

My father—I mean, Santa—went through phases of sending knives, things you can sharpen knives with, and garlic presses, so I have been rich in those things. Each year at Christmas there was a note saying something like, “Santa thought last year’s garlic press was the best possible, but since then he has discovered … ” He sent me a couple of knives I’m very fond of, so I passed on one I’d bought for myself.

For knife-sharpening, I now exclusively use the same thing my father uses, which is a Diamond Steel, which is a steel and a sharpener in one. (A steel does not actually sharpen a knife; it uncurls the edge.)

It had been a source of mild humiliation that I could not get the hang of using a sharpening stone—not only did the knives not end up sharp, but I often scratched the sides of them, which was annoying. But the Diamond Steel is easy to use and it works absolutely perfectly and apparently will last forever. Now my knives are extremely sharp. I highly recommend this item.

Yesterday I took the bus to my dentist’s office from work and home afterwards. On the return bus, I sat in the back amid several silent teenagers. I was doing my “I’m a bumbling white person in a dorky hat; don’t mind me” impression, at which I don’t have to work very hard. One young fellow got up and approached another young fellow sitting in front of me and starting calling him names: “Bitch, do you want to start something? Nigger-ass bitch.” It sounded kind of like certain Korn songs. The guy in front of me was a lot smaller than the aggressor and he somewhat inaudibly indicated that he didn’t want to fight. The larger guy took a half-hearted swing at the smaller guy. Then he said, “Are you calling your homeys?”

The littler guy said, “Naw, naw, I’m just on the phone.” I thought, well, now that you mention it, I hope he isn't calling his homeys. The other teenagers nearby didn’t react one way or the other, which was good. That is to say, they didn’t rush the smaller guy and start kicking him. I hadn’t expected them to jump up and defend the victim, saying, “We’re nonplussed by your ungentlemanly behavior.”

Next the bigger guy made a perfunctory attempt to steal the smaller guy’s cell phone, and then he got off the bus. It seemed kind of horrible to me, the plight of the smaller fellow, and yet maybe that kind of thing happens constantly. Maybe it’s equivalent to teenagers saying, “What’s new?” to each other in the 1970s.

What would I have done if a knife or gun had appeared? Scratch that; that one’s easy: flee the bus in a panic. What if the younger fellow had been kicked or punched or set upon by the whole group? What then should I have done?

Note to Ben: Were you ever to employ the word “homie,” as I now find necessary, would you spell it “homey” or “homie”? Google has ample instances of both. I guess I'm leaning toward “homey” now that I see them more or less side by side.

Response from Ben: Given the literacy rate of the individuals that employ such terms, I think you are safe with just about any spelling.

How about the old school "holmes" instead?

Response from me: That's a good idea, but I have to use it in the plural. "You're not calling your holmeses, are you?"

Today I read a news account of a man in his 20s who was shot and killed this morning in San Francisco by assailants who were wearing ski masks and haven’t yet been identified. That made me think of the guys on the bus.