I tend not to throw around the word "epic" lightly. Its usage has changed in the last five years. For some people, it's a word used to describe the number of paper towels you've just bought, or the intensity of people's farts. Even respected film critics use it to describe 90-minute chamber indie dramas. For me, "epic" refers to ancient Greek poetry. It refers to films that approach three hours in length, or books like Zhivago and The Brothers Karamazov. But as many linguists will tell you, language, an ever-changing entity, is defined by how it is used, not by what those high-falutin' types think the rules are. In that spirit, I'm telling you now that I'm working on an epic, massive, gargantuan behemoth of a post (posts plural, actually) exploring what trolleys are. I've discovered that not nearly enough folks know about these lovely vehicles we're lucky enough to have in this city. I hope to put those monstrosities up later this week. For now, let's hear what these two oldsters have to say:
Two older Asian men give me very unexpected responses to my greetings: the first is a fellow at Rainier and Forest.
"Hi!" That's me, greeting him.
"How are you?"
"Good how're you?" he says in a thick accent.
"You're very handsome," he says harshly, in a tone of dictatorial approval, without missing a beat. I laugh.
The second is a senior at Dearborn. I'm not expecting him to speak English. I greet him anyways, so he feels comfortable. I greet everybody. Tone of voice carries as much meaning as the words themselves. "Good afternoon," I say, expecting silence.
"Whassup my brudder!" he replies.