Robin Whetstone

Soviet Cheese The man looked like trouble, with his long black coat and pinched face. I should have just kept walking. I had walked up to the metro station to buy bread from the back of what was not technically a bread truck. The man in the coat approached as I walked away from the cluster of customers, clutching my oval-shaped loaf of frozen brown bread. He blocked my way and opened one side of his trench coat, exactly the way they do in movies. Tied to the inside lining of his coat was a long tube of plastic-wrapped something. “Pssst, devushka,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes darting around nervously, “Hochesh seer?” "Hey girl. Do you want cheese?" That’s it? Cheese? Not drugs, or jewelry, or counterfeit money? How ignominious for this poor man, the first black-market cheese-pusher I had ever encountered. His children would never be able to grow up and write a memoir, or a country song. “Daddy Sold Black-Market Cheese” just didn’t grip the im...

From 2003 The man was going to talk to me, I could tell. I was sitting on a red girder railing outside the United terminal, smoking a cigarette. My back was to him, but when I saw him sit down out of the corner of my eye I could tell he wanted to talk to someone. And I don’t know why, but I knew it would be me. “You know what gets me?” The other smokers ignored him, but I shifted slightly to look at him. “What gets me is that there’s a whole stand in there selling cigarettes – cartons of cigarettes – but there’s nowhere to smoke but out here.” “Yeah,” I said, unsure of whether to commit myself to this conversation. “You can’t even smoke in New York anymore.” “That’s what I heard! Man, I’m from LA, and that shit just would not fly there. It’s another example of the government, trying to fuck us. ‘What can we do to fuck someone today?’ they say. ‘I know, no smoking.’” “Yep.” I didn’t want to discuss the various ways the government was trying to fuck us with this stranger. I...

Who among us, after spending a sweaty hour at the self-service car wash vacuuming and scrubbing the family roadster, does not look forward to cracking open a cool bag of fenugreek leaves and settling down to a steaming plate of Palak Paneer? It's a cherished summer ritual we all enjoy. But frustratingly, our options for accessing the flavors of Southeast Asia while washing our own cars were woefully limited in Athens. Until now. WTH? Athens, Car Wash Curry

From 2009 Farmer Jason Farmer Jason showed up at my house yesterday. Sadly, I was at work and did not get to meet him, but the reports are that he likes my chicken tractor. Those of you who don't have young kids may still know Farmer Jason if you know who Jason and the Scorchers are; namely, the shreddingist motherlovin' what-would-happen-if-you-put-Hank-Williams-and-Iggy-Pop-in-a-blender-with-a-half-cup-of-nitroglycerine-and-a-heapin'-spoonful-a-kick-ass band EVER. Well, one of them. I saw them in 1985 or 6 at UNF in Jax and my ears are STILL RINGING. Whoo! And what a treat to learn that Jason Ringenberg is as nice as he is talented. After my 3-year-old stopped staring at him in stunned, star-struck silence, he sang Sadie not one but two songs AND complimented her on her monkey blanket! Thank you for giving my kid one of the most awesome experiences of her young life, Farmer Jason. You are the best. FARMER JASON SINGS TO SADIE FARMER JASON IS COMING TO Y...

From 2007 “Ignore the girl in the mohair bikini,” I told myself, sitting down on the lounge chair and pulling the stack of vice presidents out of my purse. She was the only other person at the pool on this Tuesday afternoon, and she’d waved at me when I’d come out of the hotel onto the patio. She looked harmless enough in her hot-pink get-up and orangish spray tan, so I waved back. She continued to wave. “Just ignore her. You’ve got to study,” I thought as I rifled through the cards, but this became harder and harder to do as her gestures, which I could see out of the corner of my eye, began to look less like friendly how-dos and more like the kind of flailing a person does right before going under for the last time. Finally, I looked over at her. “Hey!” she yelled. “I’m glad to see somebody. Would you like some wine?” Would I like some wine…Well, yes, actually, I would like some wine. And what could it hurt, I thought. I’m sort of on vacation, and it is only 3:00....