Different elevator, no less horrifying: My friends and I were at a tourist attraction (they are hard to come by, here in Orlando, but we managed) with a parking garage. We were on maybe the fifth floor, and when we ran out of the forty-five worth of Fun Money we'd allotted ourselves, we headed for the elevator. Already congregated around the "up" button were a group of teenagers who had obviously been there for a while.

Since this was a high-traffic area, there was of course one elevator car which moved floor to floor at speeds of up to .0000000000001 micrometer per hour. We were about to start walking when it arrived, and as we piled in I pushed 5 and one of the teenagers hit... 2.

The car creaked upwards, the door closed behind them, and my girl Flipper said, "All right, who's going to be the first to say it?"


August 25, 2003

My grandfather and I watched the Travers Stakes together. He is dead, but he was there, because Pat Day won.

The horse I don't have particularly strong feelings for; it's Day I'm concerned with. Like most people of his generation, my grandfather followed horseracing quite closely, and he would always tell us, "When in doubt, take the horse under Pat Day."

The year he died, we did just that. My sister and dad had the opportunity to attend the Kentucky Derby in the GE box, where they put a wad of cash on the nose of Pat Day's mount. Back at River Downs in Cincinnati, I did the same, placing a racing bet for the first and only time in my entire life. (Everybody lost. I know.... that was almost such a cool story.)

It was a record crowd at Saratoga today. It was also a happy pair here in Florida.

August 24, 2003

I went rollerblading again, because I am a girl and a human disaster and enjoy inviting injury. I could have stayed out longer, but came in when the batteries ran down on the music player, God's way of announcing "YOU ARE OVERDOING IT AGAIN, YOU STUPID, STUPID GIRL."

I have new blades; it was time. I didn't realize it was time until last week, when I discovered that the old ones had worked a gash into my left leg where the boot cuts into my calf. The wheels were completely worn down on the inside. I was taken aback; these were brand new skates.

Then I did the math. They were brand new when I was a freshman in college.... nine years ago.

When I was able to speak and move again, I hit up WalMart. These new blades were an absolute joy to break in, mostly for everybody driving past. The boots are tremendously stiff and one of the straps doesn't buckle properly, and plus it's one of those hideously semi-cloudy Florida days, when it's not sunny enough for sunglasses but too glarey without them. So round and round I went, sweating and squinting, clapping my skates against the asphalt in galactically uneven strides.

You are welcome, world.

August 23, 2003

If you enjoy the writing here, kindly support this independent artist to keep the site ad-free.

The price of coffee is fine. Necessary, even. Thank you.

Mary Beth is an introvert.

She is eager to communicate but prefers doing so via email, a giant stage, or intense conversation about Important Things.

© 2023 by Train of Thoughts. Proudly created with