A few months ago, I was eating lunch at a vegetarian restaurant in the I.D., and among my fellow diners were a large group of septuagenarians-and-above, all Caucasian, seated around a big round table for a celebratory lunch that I soon learned via eavesdropping was for one of the guest's 80th birthday.

I was delighted to have a group of loud-talking oldsters within earshot, certain I'd get some stealth insight into the idiosyncratic things old people talk about when they're together.

Instead, I was given a lesson in making assumptions, as the group of elders proceeded to discuss the exact same things I discuss with my friends. Specifically, how it's fun to watch Hoarders until it gets too depressing, and how a shared acquaintance of the group seemed to be making the shift from fun-kooky to crazy-kooky.

It was illuminating.

I was reminded of this event by another eavesdropping episode from last week, when I was at my favorite weird downtown underground sports bar the Tap House Grill and found myself seated next to a woman who entered the restaurant proclaiming that she must have a seat with a view of the entire room, as she had been in a restaurant that was bombed in Israel. She then proceeded to torture the waitstaff, eventually marching up to the manager to announce that she and her party had been seated and waiting for someone to take their order "for 25 minutes!" However, the email into which I'd typed her entrance-enhancing Israel proclamation was time-stamped, and revealed they'd only been seated nine minutes. (Which is still too long before a proper greeting, but far from 25 minutes, so I immediately found the manager's contact email on the venue's website and let him know the lady's memory of time was skewed, and not to take it out on the waiter.)

The end.