Pamela Purse yelled, "Ladies first,"
Pushing in front of the ice cream line.
Pamela Purse yelled, "Ladies first,"
Grabbing the ketchup at dinnertime.
Climbing on the morning bus
She'd shove right by all of us
And there'd be a tiff or a fight or a fuss
When Pamela Purse yelled, "Ladies first."
Pamela Purse screamed, "Ladies first,"
When we went off on our jungle trip.
Pamela Purse said her thirst was worse
And guzzled our water, every sip.
And when we got grabbed by that wild savage band,
Who tied us together and made us all stand
In a long line in front of the King of the land-
A cannibal known as Fry-'Em-Up Dan,
Who sat on his throne in a bib so grand
With a lick of his lips and a fork in his hand,
As he tried to decide who'd be first in the pan-
From back of the line, in that shrill voice of hers,
Pamela Purse yelled, "Ladies first."
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Good night, America, how are you? Don't you know me, I'm your native son, I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans...
I am so sad for New Orleans. I love the city; if there were only one American city I could spend vacations in, it’d be New Orleans. It’s mysterious and magical and sexy and welcoming, and I adore the place. I’ve been there several times and each time was a blast. The food is amazing, the houses are lovely to look at, the people are mostly incredibly engaging, and the music is beyond belief. It’s a city with the most incredible energy. Checking the news this morning and seeing the devastation wrought by Katrina hurt my heart. (And I hope my bloggie pals who live down South are all ok.) I am going to go figure out which organizations I am going to donate to now. Red Cross is always a good bet, but Joke has a list at his blog you may want to check, with contact info and all that good stuff.
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Today is Simon’s last day at his daycare. Next Wednesday he starts at preschool down the street. I wanted him to get accustomed to getting going in the mornings several days a week since next year he will be in kindergarten and the schools here are full-day, five-day-a-week kindergartens. It’s the end of an era, a bittersweet transition made slightly easier for me by the fact that Jude and then, soon, the new baby, will still go to the old daycare.
But Si wanted to mark the occasion somehow, so I baked cupcakes for his class. At ten o’clock last night. From a mix. I am so not together. Then this morning I dropped the boys off at daycare and swung by the grocery store to pick up two tubs of frosting – hey, they’re four, they don’t care about homemade frosting! I also got them two jars of sprinkles to decorate the cupcakes, and it turns out frosting and decorating and then eating the cupcakes will be one of the afternoon activities. Which made me happy because it meant I didn’t have to frost the cupcakes on the back tailgate of my car.
Si also asked me to get something to put on the cupcakes, so his friends had something to take home. He recently was at a party where he got a dinosaur ring in the icing on his cupcake. I couldn’t come up with rings on such short notice but I bought a little bag of plastic jungle animals for the kids in his class to divvy up. He seemed really happy with that. He only asked for them about six times, so I figured that while I thought it was sort of silly, he thought it was pretty darn important. I guess he wants his friends to remember him. Like I said – sort of bittersweet.
Then Dan and I decided we should get some little memento for his teacher, who is the director of the daycare and a wonderful, sweet woman who makes the experience there joyful and exciting and educational all at once. Miss Rebecca’s a gem and she loves Si, and he loves her. They really bonded big-time over the Frog and Toad books, so I bought a hardcover copy of Frog and Toad are Friends and Simon wants to sign it before we wrap it up and give it to her. I think she’ll like it; I know if it were me, I would treasure such a gift.
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While at Joseph-Beth (lovely store but man are they pricey!), I scored FiveStar hazelnut bars. Gina and I have tried all the other flavors but Whole Foods never seems to carry the hazelnut ones. We’ll report back and let you know what we think.
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Today is Simon’s last day at his daycare. Next Wednesday he starts at preschool down the street. I wanted him to get accustomed to getting going in the mornings several days a week since next year he will be in kindergarten and the schools here are full-day, five-day-a-week kindergartens. It’s the end of an era, a bittersweet transition made slightly easier for me by the fact that Jude and then, soon, the new baby, will still go to the old daycare.
But Si wanted to mark the occasion somehow, so I baked cupcakes for his class. At ten o’clock last night. From a mix. I am so not together. Then this morning I dropped the boys off at daycare and swung by the grocery store to pick up two tubs of frosting – hey, they’re four, they don’t care about homemade frosting! I also got them two jars of sprinkles to decorate the cupcakes, and it turns out frosting and decorating and then eating the cupcakes will be one of the afternoon activities. Which made me happy because it meant I didn’t have to frost the cupcakes on the back tailgate of my car.
Si also asked me to get something to put on the cupcakes, so his friends had something to take home. He recently was at a party where he got a dinosaur ring in the icing on his cupcake. I couldn’t come up with rings on such short notice but I bought a little bag of plastic jungle animals for the kids in his class to divvy up. He seemed really happy with that. He only asked for them about six times, so I figured that while I thought it was sort of silly, he thought it was pretty darn important. I guess he wants his friends to remember him. Like I said – sort of bittersweet.
Then Dan and I decided we should get some little memento for his teacher, who is the director of the daycare and a wonderful, sweet woman who makes the experience there joyful and exciting and educational all at once. Miss Rebecca’s a gem and she loves Si, and he loves her. They really bonded big-time over the Frog and Toad books, so I bought a hardcover copy of Frog and Toad are Friends and Simon wants to sign it before we wrap it up and give it to her. I think she’ll like it; I know if it were me, I would treasure such a gift.
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While at Joseph-Beth (lovely store but man are they pricey!), I scored FiveStar hazelnut bars. Gina and I have tried all the other flavors but Whole Foods never seems to carry the hazelnut ones. We’ll report back and let you know what we think.
Third Grade Angels
First grade babies, second grade snots, third grade angels, fourth grade dots. Fifth grade peaches, sixth grade plums, and all the rest are dirty bums.
I find it hard to believe that Teddy started third grade today, I guess because I have so many very clear memories of my own third grade year. I was in Darcey Tomko’s third grade class at St. Pius X, and I loved school. Things I remember about third grade:
Mrs. Tomko lit a candle in the classroom when John Lennon was killed.
We sang a lot, and competed in a singing competition called Adjudications at one of the local Catholic high schools. One song involved playing bells—the kind that are like individual notes from a xylophone—and I was thrilled. We didn’t win, but I still know all the words to the songs we sang.
Two boys liked me a lot. One sat next to me for a while, and dropped his pencil so he could lean down and bite me on the ankle. He’s a doctor now, I think. The other made me mix tapes featuring songs by Rush and Styx. He became quite the stoner lothario, and now does something involving computers.
I was in love with an eighth-grader named Patrick, and he was so nice to me! It strikes me as odd now that a boy that age could be kind to a dorky little girl.
I got my first pair of glasses, complete with a Holly Hobby glasses case. I will never forget the feeling of having to lunge on and off the curbs and stairs, as my depth perception went nuts for a while.
I had my first instance of cockiness getting in the way of doing good work: I breezily misspelled “bicycle” on a spelling test, and was positively red with shame when the test was returned with a less-than-perfect score. B-Y-C-I-C-L-E, indeed! I could spell “rhododendron”, dammit!
Our Religion teacher was a nun, Sister Robert Mary, and she told us that someday “they” (I’m assuming the Communists?) would drop a bomb that would kill all the people but leave all the structures standing. I don’t think I’ve ever been more haunted by an image. This was also the year we learned a song, “All Through the Night”, that our teacher told us was written for the mass funeral of a school-full of kids who were killed in an avalanche. Nice, huh?
I could go on, but I’ll spare you. How can I have a kid old enough to be in third grade, when it really feels like I was just there myself?!?!?
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Happy Birthday to my sister. She’s 31. She looks like a monkey, and she smells like one too.
I find it hard to believe that Teddy started third grade today, I guess because I have so many very clear memories of my own third grade year. I was in Darcey Tomko’s third grade class at St. Pius X, and I loved school. Things I remember about third grade:
I could go on, but I’ll spare you. How can I have a kid old enough to be in third grade, when it really feels like I was just there myself?!?!?
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Happy Birthday to my sister. She’s 31. She looks like a monkey, and she smells like one too.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Bye bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry...
I have been reading Pascale de Draoulec’s American Pie: Slices of Life (and Pie) from America’s Back Roads. Now I am more pie-obsessed than ever. I love pie, in pretty much any form, any flavor. If it’s good pie, I’ll eat any type. Pie is not, however, like pizza: if pie is bad, it can be very, very bad indeed. (And store-bought crusts can ruin a perfectly nice filling. If you must use store-bought, for God’s sake, spring for the Pillsbury ones in the refrigerator case, not the pre-panned ones in the freezer section. You might as well use cardboard.)
I started thinking about pie last night while lying in bed trying to get me and the fetus comfortable enough to sleep. What I really wanted to do was get up and bake some pie. Sense prevailed. I had to work today. But I had a perfectly delectable piece of coconut cream pie at lunch today. My co-worker came back from lunch raving about the pie in the faculty dining room. So I girded up my courage, made sure I had my staff ID, and went and bought a slice of fluffy, creamy, crunchy coconut cream pie for a dollar and a quarter.
I make a good apple pie; it’s such an easy pie to make, and it’s good with almost any kind of apple. I also learned to make a pretty kickass blueberry pie this summer: with Jersey blueberries it’s hard to go wrong. I have also tried my hand at pecan pie, Toll House pie (pecan and chocolate), pumpkin chiffon pie (what my mom always made for Thanksgiving), coconut custard (easy as – yes, pie, you make it in the blender, but since I am one of only three people I know who love it, I very rarely make it) and once even mincemeat pie, for a boy I loved -- who loved mincemeat pie (I often wonder if my mincemeat pie was what prompted him to propose?). I have found the pretty-much-perfect pie crust recipe, cobbled together after experiments with Fanny Farmer’s recipe (she is the authority on how to BAKE pie, and yes, it matters!), James Beard’s recipe, and a clipping from the newspaper so old it’s yellow and falling apart (finally the perfect proportion of Crisco to butter). If not for my food processor, I still would be struggling with pie crust but my trusty KitchenAid makes my pie crust life much simpler. Also, the purchase of a long, tapered French rolling pin, instead of one of those ones with the roll-y handles, helped immensely. I even confess to occasionally using one of those plastic circles with the zipper closure to get nice, even circles.
I once tried to duplicate a pie - billed as a Mounds-bar type pie - I’d had in a restaurant that is among one of the most decadent things I have ever eaten. It was the only time in my life when I asked to speak to the chef; I wanted his recipe. He wouldn’t give it to me but he did give me several tips including using coconut milk instead of straight milk in the mousse. My duplicate started with homemade crust, a coconut macaroon layer topped with chocolate mousse, and whipped cream with more coconut on top. It wasn’t bad – not quite as good as the restaurant version but pretty darn passable.
At the old house we had a sour cherry tree. Besides the almond-cherry tart and pickling them in vodka, I used to throw together cherry pies and put them in the freezer. They were nice to have on hand for funerals and for gifts – has anyone ever turned their noses up at homemade cherry pie?
However, on that note: The first Thanksgiving I spent with my now-husband’s family, I baked an apple pie to take as a hostess gift. Not only did I get called by the ex-girlfriend’s name all night, but no one ate my pie because they were eating Dan’s sister’s fiance’s mother’s store-bought apple pie, “to be polite and welcoming,” Dan said. Yeah well, so much for welcoming me; should’ve tipped me off then. Any family that declines homemade apple pie truly does not deserve me and my pies in it : )
Famous pie passages in books I have read and loved:
The country fair scene in Farmer Boy in which Almanzo Wilder seems to eat his weight in pie of all sorts.
The scene in Karen Stolz’s World of Pie when Roxanne’s mother teaches her to make pie crust.
The chapter in Michael Lee West’s glorious Consuming Passions on funeral food, including the appropriate pies to take to the grieving.
The Apple Pie chapter in John Thorne’s Simple Cooking, in which he suggests grating cheddar cheese over apple pie for a hearty breakfast (anyone who eats pie for breakfast deserves admiration; my next-door neighbor says her favorite breakfast is cold blueberry pie).
Pie snippets:
My husband and I, pre-children, used to road trip to camping sites for vacation and we’d stop at any little dive-y roadside café to try pie. He prefers fruit pie, especially blackberry; I’ll try whatever tickles my fancy. I am partial to anything coconut, and I am admittedly in love with lemon meringue. I am not crazed about peach pie or strawberry pie, and I’ve never had raisin or rhubarb pie, but I’d be willing to give them a shot.
I have been known to eat and enjoy TastyKake lemon pies, the little rectangular ones that come in cardboard sleeves. My dad liked the Dutch apple ones with icing, but we both found the thought of the pineapple ones positively revolting. Somehow, even in such processed excess, they manage to make a nice, flaky, if a bit greasy, crust.
I used to go to Max and Erma’s just for their version of Derby pie; warmed up with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, it was bliss and often served as dinner.
The boy who used to eat Derby pie with me also once accosted the caterer on a movie set for her sweet potato pie recipe. He promptly handed it over to me to try to make, but the Chantilly cream topping defeated me.
There’s a little bakery in Squirrel Hill that makes lovely, tart, creamy, lemon and lime mini-pies.
My mother rarely baked pie, except for Thanksgiving. But sometimes she’d buy a Pet-Ritz chocolate pudding pie. They were good. Especially still frozen. Sometimes we’d have those for our birthdays instead of cake.
National Pie Day is celebrated on January 23. The best lemon meringue pie I’ve had was baked by a friend who joined with me to provide the office with pie on this happy holiday. She was distraught because the meringue had slid off the lemon filling but I managed to choke it down anyway. It was delicious, if messy.
And just read this list of pies from the winners of the American Pie Council’s 2005 National Pie Championships. Is your mouth watering yet?
“Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy boy, Billy boy? Can she bake a cherry pie, charming Billy? She can bake a cherry pie Quick as a cat can wink its eye. She’s a young thing and cannot leave her mother.”
I started thinking about pie last night while lying in bed trying to get me and the fetus comfortable enough to sleep. What I really wanted to do was get up and bake some pie. Sense prevailed. I had to work today. But I had a perfectly delectable piece of coconut cream pie at lunch today. My co-worker came back from lunch raving about the pie in the faculty dining room. So I girded up my courage, made sure I had my staff ID, and went and bought a slice of fluffy, creamy, crunchy coconut cream pie for a dollar and a quarter.
I make a good apple pie; it’s such an easy pie to make, and it’s good with almost any kind of apple. I also learned to make a pretty kickass blueberry pie this summer: with Jersey blueberries it’s hard to go wrong. I have also tried my hand at pecan pie, Toll House pie (pecan and chocolate), pumpkin chiffon pie (what my mom always made for Thanksgiving), coconut custard (easy as – yes, pie, you make it in the blender, but since I am one of only three people I know who love it, I very rarely make it) and once even mincemeat pie, for a boy I loved -- who loved mincemeat pie (I often wonder if my mincemeat pie was what prompted him to propose?). I have found the pretty-much-perfect pie crust recipe, cobbled together after experiments with Fanny Farmer’s recipe (she is the authority on how to BAKE pie, and yes, it matters!), James Beard’s recipe, and a clipping from the newspaper so old it’s yellow and falling apart (finally the perfect proportion of Crisco to butter). If not for my food processor, I still would be struggling with pie crust but my trusty KitchenAid makes my pie crust life much simpler. Also, the purchase of a long, tapered French rolling pin, instead of one of those ones with the roll-y handles, helped immensely. I even confess to occasionally using one of those plastic circles with the zipper closure to get nice, even circles.
I once tried to duplicate a pie - billed as a Mounds-bar type pie - I’d had in a restaurant that is among one of the most decadent things I have ever eaten. It was the only time in my life when I asked to speak to the chef; I wanted his recipe. He wouldn’t give it to me but he did give me several tips including using coconut milk instead of straight milk in the mousse. My duplicate started with homemade crust, a coconut macaroon layer topped with chocolate mousse, and whipped cream with more coconut on top. It wasn’t bad – not quite as good as the restaurant version but pretty darn passable.
At the old house we had a sour cherry tree. Besides the almond-cherry tart and pickling them in vodka, I used to throw together cherry pies and put them in the freezer. They were nice to have on hand for funerals and for gifts – has anyone ever turned their noses up at homemade cherry pie?
However, on that note: The first Thanksgiving I spent with my now-husband’s family, I baked an apple pie to take as a hostess gift. Not only did I get called by the ex-girlfriend’s name all night, but no one ate my pie because they were eating Dan’s sister’s fiance’s mother’s store-bought apple pie, “to be polite and welcoming,” Dan said. Yeah well, so much for welcoming me; should’ve tipped me off then. Any family that declines homemade apple pie truly does not deserve me and my pies in it : )
Famous pie passages in books I have read and loved:
The country fair scene in Farmer Boy in which Almanzo Wilder seems to eat his weight in pie of all sorts.
The scene in Karen Stolz’s World of Pie when Roxanne’s mother teaches her to make pie crust.
The chapter in Michael Lee West’s glorious Consuming Passions on funeral food, including the appropriate pies to take to the grieving.
The Apple Pie chapter in John Thorne’s Simple Cooking, in which he suggests grating cheddar cheese over apple pie for a hearty breakfast (anyone who eats pie for breakfast deserves admiration; my next-door neighbor says her favorite breakfast is cold blueberry pie).
Pie snippets:
My husband and I, pre-children, used to road trip to camping sites for vacation and we’d stop at any little dive-y roadside café to try pie. He prefers fruit pie, especially blackberry; I’ll try whatever tickles my fancy. I am partial to anything coconut, and I am admittedly in love with lemon meringue. I am not crazed about peach pie or strawberry pie, and I’ve never had raisin or rhubarb pie, but I’d be willing to give them a shot.
I have been known to eat and enjoy TastyKake lemon pies, the little rectangular ones that come in cardboard sleeves. My dad liked the Dutch apple ones with icing, but we both found the thought of the pineapple ones positively revolting. Somehow, even in such processed excess, they manage to make a nice, flaky, if a bit greasy, crust.
I used to go to Max and Erma’s just for their version of Derby pie; warmed up with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, it was bliss and often served as dinner.
The boy who used to eat Derby pie with me also once accosted the caterer on a movie set for her sweet potato pie recipe. He promptly handed it over to me to try to make, but the Chantilly cream topping defeated me.
There’s a little bakery in Squirrel Hill that makes lovely, tart, creamy, lemon and lime mini-pies.
My mother rarely baked pie, except for Thanksgiving. But sometimes she’d buy a Pet-Ritz chocolate pudding pie. They were good. Especially still frozen. Sometimes we’d have those for our birthdays instead of cake.
National Pie Day is celebrated on January 23. The best lemon meringue pie I’ve had was baked by a friend who joined with me to provide the office with pie on this happy holiday. She was distraught because the meringue had slid off the lemon filling but I managed to choke it down anyway. It was delicious, if messy.
And just read this list of pies from the winners of the American Pie Council’s 2005 National Pie Championships. Is your mouth watering yet?
“Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy boy, Billy boy? Can she bake a cherry pie, charming Billy? She can bake a cherry pie Quick as a cat can wink its eye. She’s a young thing and cannot leave her mother.”
The Magic of Photoshop (Beware if you're at work: Bikinis are involved.)
This link came from my friend Kate. If you click on Portfolio, you get a series of pics that have been retouched, and which you can roll your mouse over to see the original image. On the one hand, this frustrates me because I'm reminded of just how impossible the standards for women are. On the other hand, though, it was kind of empowering to see that even these beautiful women are lumpy and flawed. You know? I wish more people could see this. I showed it to Teddy, and he was amazed. It was a lovely lesson of "Don't believe everything you see," among other things.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Every Party Needs a Pooper
This may be profane and/or blasphemous, but I have to say it anyway: I hate Disneyworld. I do. I hate it. I hate the Magic Kingdom. I hate Epcot. I hate MGM and the Animal Kingdom. Call me a spoilsport. Call me un-American. I really hope I never have to go back to that sweltering pit of noise and excess.
There certainly were cool things to see in each of those places (I liked “Tower of Terror”, “Mickey’s Philharmagic”, and the safari in the Animal Kingdom, and there was a great water park) and I am happy that Teddy and my mom had such a good time—it’s always fun to see the joy and excitement of people you love, even if you can’t really share it—but if it weren’t for their sakes, I would have either left early, spent the entire week in the hotel room, or carried on like a bored, annoyed, sweaty, tired baby.
I can see how children would be thrilled with the place, especially if they care for particular movies or characters. Teddy loves to ride, and he’s still young enough that he didn’t notice how lame most of the rides are. (Aside from MGM’s “Tower of Terror”, which is a freight elevator version of Kennywood’s “Pitfall” and Cedar Point’s “Demon Drop”, I’ve ridden cooler rides in other parks.) Honestly, though, I think Teddy's favorite things were the little gecko things that ran rampant around our resort, and the Lego store in Downtown Disney. There was a whole family walking dogs with this Lego kid!
I can even understand why my mom was so thrilled with the place—she’s 55 and has wanted to go to Disneyland since its inception when she was a little kid. It took her fifty years, but she finally got there, and with the added bonus of sharing it with one of her grandsons. I’ll forgive her enthusiasm.
I can’t understand why adults would go there without kids, though. For the love of God, WHY would (many) people honeymoon there?!?!?!? I don’t get it.
It seems to me that Disneyworld is nothing more than an enormous mall filled with photo-ops. Most of the rides aren’t even real rides—they’re simulators. And don’t get me started on Epcot’s “World Showcase”. It’s like Disney is saying, “Don’t bother to live life or experience anything for yourself. We’ll bring our version of everything right here to you, sanitized for your protection. Why would you go to France when you can talk to someone with a Parisian accent right here by this lovely fountain where you can be photographed eating a baguette?” Although I *do* love this picture of Fez Boy in "Morocco".
I can’t express how happy I am to be home.
In other news, school starts this week, and Ted is thrilled with the prospect of third grade. I’m pleased to be starting back too, especially since one of my classes is Resources for Children. The reading list ranges from Mother Goose to Harry Potter, and I’m thrilled. I just read The Giver and am about half way through Because of Winn-Dixie. I have to get through these quickly since they’re for class, but I’m happy to have more books to share with Ted. Hooray for school!
There certainly were cool things to see in each of those places (I liked “Tower of Terror”, “Mickey’s Philharmagic”, and the safari in the Animal Kingdom, and there was a great water park) and I am happy that Teddy and my mom had such a good time—it’s always fun to see the joy and excitement of people you love, even if you can’t really share it—but if it weren’t for their sakes, I would have either left early, spent the entire week in the hotel room, or carried on like a bored, annoyed, sweaty, tired baby.
I can see how children would be thrilled with the place, especially if they care for particular movies or characters. Teddy loves to ride, and he’s still young enough that he didn’t notice how lame most of the rides are. (Aside from MGM’s “Tower of Terror”, which is a freight elevator version of Kennywood’s “Pitfall” and Cedar Point’s “Demon Drop”, I’ve ridden cooler rides in other parks.) Honestly, though, I think Teddy's favorite things were the little gecko things that ran rampant around our resort, and the Lego store in Downtown Disney. There was a whole family walking dogs with this Lego kid!
I can even understand why my mom was so thrilled with the place—she’s 55 and has wanted to go to Disneyland since its inception when she was a little kid. It took her fifty years, but she finally got there, and with the added bonus of sharing it with one of her grandsons. I’ll forgive her enthusiasm.
I can’t understand why adults would go there without kids, though. For the love of God, WHY would (many) people honeymoon there?!?!?!? I don’t get it.
It seems to me that Disneyworld is nothing more than an enormous mall filled with photo-ops. Most of the rides aren’t even real rides—they’re simulators. And don’t get me started on Epcot’s “World Showcase”. It’s like Disney is saying, “Don’t bother to live life or experience anything for yourself. We’ll bring our version of everything right here to you, sanitized for your protection. Why would you go to France when you can talk to someone with a Parisian accent right here by this lovely fountain where you can be photographed eating a baguette?” Although I *do* love this picture of Fez Boy in "Morocco".
I can’t express how happy I am to be home.
In other news, school starts this week, and Ted is thrilled with the prospect of third grade. I’m pleased to be starting back too, especially since one of my classes is Resources for Children. The reading list ranges from Mother Goose to Harry Potter, and I’m thrilled. I just read The Giver and am about half way through Because of Winn-Dixie. I have to get through these quickly since they’re for class, but I’m happy to have more books to share with Ted. Hooray for school!
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Wah hoo hey, I’m combing my hair today/It's our tradition to control, like Erich Honecker and Helmut Kohl…
The Wiggles are in town today for two shows. I drove by the arena this morning (it IS on the way to work - it IS! I swear!) hoping for a glimpse of any one of them (although Anthony is the preferred one). Alas, they were not strolling down to the 7-11 for coffee, or to the mini-mart for Krispy Kremes. Damn those Wiggles, and that silly dinosaur they hang around with, too! (My next door neighbor is taking her kids, but I decided against taking the boys. Let’s face it, Jude’s two, he wouldn’t even remember it. And no idea how much tix are, but if they even approach twenty bucks – and I am sure they do - no point. And I would have had to take the day off.)
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This, then this.
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I bought Jonathan Harr’s A Civil Action Wednesday and started reading it last night. I almost always have two books going at once and at this point in my pregnancy, it’s almost required because I can’t go trucking upstairs to retrieve a book to read. So one on each floor is useful : ) At any rate, it’s a nonfiction book about an environmental law case involving children with leukemia and big bad industry. It was made into a movie starring John Travolta, and featuring an excellent cast (2 years before “Erin Brockovich” made such a splash with the environment/lawyer theme). The book is good. It reads like fiction – kind of the way World War 3.0 and In Cold Blood read – fast-paced, good character development, driving plot, but then you realize it’s all true. Which makes it even more interesting. I can’t quite see Travolta as Jan Schlictmann, but I could probably get past that.
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Tootsie Rolls are the new crack. (Or the new black....whatever.)
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From Salon.com’s The Fix: Coldplay singer Chris Martin, whose wife Gwyneth Paltrow once dated Brad Pitt, on trying to be cool: "Being voted the world's sexiest vegetarian is about as cool as it gets. It's not quite as cool as Brad Pitt, but it'll do. Those have been the two biggest challenges of my life: trying to follow Radiohead, and trying to follow Brad Pitt."
Oh honey, you can’t even approach Thom Yorke, even if you are married to Gwyneth and named your child Apple, so just give it up now. (That last sentence reminds me disturbingly of Hedwig. Which I have been listening to in my car obsessively for the past week. Come on, Sugar Daddy, bring it home!
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This, then this.
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I bought Jonathan Harr’s A Civil Action Wednesday and started reading it last night. I almost always have two books going at once and at this point in my pregnancy, it’s almost required because I can’t go trucking upstairs to retrieve a book to read. So one on each floor is useful : ) At any rate, it’s a nonfiction book about an environmental law case involving children with leukemia and big bad industry. It was made into a movie starring John Travolta, and featuring an excellent cast (2 years before “Erin Brockovich” made such a splash with the environment/lawyer theme). The book is good. It reads like fiction – kind of the way World War 3.0 and In Cold Blood read – fast-paced, good character development, driving plot, but then you realize it’s all true. Which makes it even more interesting. I can’t quite see Travolta as Jan Schlictmann, but I could probably get past that.
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Tootsie Rolls are the new crack. (Or the new black....whatever.)
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From Salon.com’s The Fix: Coldplay singer Chris Martin, whose wife Gwyneth Paltrow once dated Brad Pitt, on trying to be cool: "Being voted the world's sexiest vegetarian is about as cool as it gets. It's not quite as cool as Brad Pitt, but it'll do. Those have been the two biggest challenges of my life: trying to follow Radiohead, and trying to follow Brad Pitt."
Oh honey, you can’t even approach Thom Yorke, even if you are married to Gwyneth and named your child Apple, so just give it up now. (That last sentence reminds me disturbingly of Hedwig. Which I have been listening to in my car obsessively for the past week. Come on, Sugar Daddy, bring it home!
Friday, August 26, 2005
Turn yight on, Dyman. Turn yight on, Dyman. Turn yight on, Dyman. Turn yight on, Dyman. Turn yight on, Dyman.
Happy dance, happy dance! Gina's home from Disney hell...ummm...I mean...no, that's pretty much what I meant.
I missed you, and I am glad you survived. You didn't go and get a Mickey tat or anything crazy, did you?
******************
See this article on Salon about digitizing libraries, and then go read Nicholson Baker’s Doublefold. Baker may be a bit of an extremist but I am mostly with him. (See this review of Doublefold which I had to write for a library school class, if you like.)
***********************
Suffice it to say at the moment that this quote from Anneli Rufus’ excerpt from her book The Farewell Chronicles [How we really respond to death] hit the proverbial nail smackdab on the head: What you did not expect, and what Hallmark never hints about, is all those other ways you feel when people die. Weird, messy, nasty, sticky, scary feelings that slop over the rim of sorrow, or poison it, or take its place. Hooboy. Sometimes that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you read something so completely true?…got it.
*************************
I was doing some research on cited reference searching at work last night and came across a discussion of Picasso's “Guernica.” It reminded me of two insipid things which I will share with you for no particular reason whatsoever, other than my boys have done nothing wildly amusing in the past twelve hours, and Corelli’s Mandolin is all right but not riveting.
1) On “Ally McBeal,” which I shamefacedly confess to loving for the first few seasons, there was an ancient judge who referred to Picasso as “Pick-a-sew.” He just loved “old Pick-a-sew’s paintings.” At the time I thought it was funny.
2) I remember reading somewhere once that you should not hang prints of “Guernica” in the bedroom as it was very likely to disturb your sleep. Apparently the painting was a hot one for college dorm rooms and yuppie apartments for a while. Perhaps then the would-be art appreciators looked up the history of the subject of the painting and what Picasso was trying to say and do with his work. Even without knowing these facts, I was never tempted by the painting; I’ve never been a Picasso fan.
My tastes tend to run towards more illustrator/painterly types like Maxfield Parrish. (I do have several Parrish prints hanging throughout my house, and one in the bedroom. His use of light is exquisite, and very restful.) In fact, other than the Annenberg collection tour, a retrospective of Parrish’s work is the only art show I have deliberately travelled to a museum to see. I drove to Philly to see the show and dragged my long-suffering brothers throughout the whole museum. They were very bored. But considering the alternative was hanging out in the hospital room with my dying mother, I understand why Parrish won, even for a few hours.
******************
Must...take...boys...to...grocery....store......I SOOO can *not* get my shit together this morning. This will perk me up: I call it "Carrie Donovan meets Jiminy Glick."
I missed you, and I am glad you survived. You didn't go and get a Mickey tat or anything crazy, did you?
******************
See this article on Salon about digitizing libraries, and then go read Nicholson Baker’s Doublefold. Baker may be a bit of an extremist but I am mostly with him. (See this review of Doublefold which I had to write for a library school class, if you like.)
***********************
Suffice it to say at the moment that this quote from Anneli Rufus’ excerpt from her book The Farewell Chronicles [How we really respond to death] hit the proverbial nail smackdab on the head: What you did not expect, and what Hallmark never hints about, is all those other ways you feel when people die. Weird, messy, nasty, sticky, scary feelings that slop over the rim of sorrow, or poison it, or take its place. Hooboy. Sometimes that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you read something so completely true?…got it.
*************************
I was doing some research on cited reference searching at work last night and came across a discussion of Picasso's “Guernica.” It reminded me of two insipid things which I will share with you for no particular reason whatsoever, other than my boys have done nothing wildly amusing in the past twelve hours, and Corelli’s Mandolin is all right but not riveting.
1) On “Ally McBeal,” which I shamefacedly confess to loving for the first few seasons, there was an ancient judge who referred to Picasso as “Pick-a-sew.” He just loved “old Pick-a-sew’s paintings.” At the time I thought it was funny.
2) I remember reading somewhere once that you should not hang prints of “Guernica” in the bedroom as it was very likely to disturb your sleep. Apparently the painting was a hot one for college dorm rooms and yuppie apartments for a while. Perhaps then the would-be art appreciators looked up the history of the subject of the painting and what Picasso was trying to say and do with his work. Even without knowing these facts, I was never tempted by the painting; I’ve never been a Picasso fan.
My tastes tend to run towards more illustrator/painterly types like Maxfield Parrish. (I do have several Parrish prints hanging throughout my house, and one in the bedroom. His use of light is exquisite, and very restful.) In fact, other than the Annenberg collection tour, a retrospective of Parrish’s work is the only art show I have deliberately travelled to a museum to see. I drove to Philly to see the show and dragged my long-suffering brothers throughout the whole museum. They were very bored. But considering the alternative was hanging out in the hospital room with my dying mother, I understand why Parrish won, even for a few hours.
******************
Must...take...boys...to...grocery....store......I SOOO can *not* get my shit together this morning. This will perk me up: I call it "Carrie Donovan meets Jiminy Glick."
Thursday, August 25, 2005
admin - FYI
Guys - I can't remove spam comments due to my computer's limitations with cookies; have to wait for Gina to get back for that. But I have instituted the word recognition feature of comments; I know it takes an few extra seconds but we have been getting hit with spam pretty badly. Thanks.
-bb
-bb
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
With fronds like these, who needs anemones?
I went to Half Price Books this morning. On Wednesdays the boys are in daycare and I am meant to be working on the house. Today, however, I needed to go buy the sequel to The Sparrow so I had it to take on vacation. Not only did I find the sequel, but I bought a copy of The Sparrow for two bucks. I also scored The Rule of Four; I’ve heard a lot about this and for three dollars, I was willing to take a flyer on it. My little brother liked it well enough, and he’s one of the smartest people I know, so…it’ll probably go on vacation with me. Hmmm, what else, what else? I bought Jonathan Harr’s A Civil Action. Why? Other than the fact that it was 2 bucks and I vaguely remember someone saying it was good, no good reason. To add to my shark lit collection, I picked up Richard Fernicola’s Twelve Days of Terror; I think it came out the same summer as Close to Shore, it tells the same story, so I thought it should be in the collection. I got an Anne Roiphe called Married: A Fine Predicament and I really don’t know why because her books pretty much bore me. But I am navel-gazing a lot lately (kinda hard to miss, sticking out like that and all), especially about the state of my marriage and the impending baby, so maybe I thought it could offer some insight. In the travel section I found Off the Rails in Phnom Penh: Into the Dark Heart of Guns, Girls, and Ganja. The author, Amit Gilboa, is the older brother of the husband (whom I like very much) of an old and dear friend, and I’ve met Amit, so what the heck, I’ll read it. Maybe I’ll even ask him to sign it, if I like it : )
Lastly (for me) I got a food book I’ve been keeping an eye out for, American Pie: Slices of life (and pie) from America’s back roads by Pascale Le Draoulec. Pie is one of my favorite foods, and no, it pretty much doesn’t matter what flavor. I don’t know if I have ever met a piece of homemade pie that I did not like. Pie for me is sorta like that old aphorism about pizza and sex: When it’s good, it’s very very good, and even when it’s bad, it’s still ok.
I did discover at the bookstore that I picked up many books and said, “Ooooh, that looks interesting,” only to realize that I already own it. So maybe I should just go shopping in my own library next time?
I picked up some clearance books for my boys: Richard Scarry’s Mother Goose, the first in the Magic Treehouse series, which I think Si will be ready for within the year; an anthology volume of Frog and Toad, and another Arnold Lobel, Owl at Home. I kid myself that it’s the beginning of my Christmas shopping, but I’ll probably cave way before December.
****************
Snippets:
None of Salon’s summer reads strike my fancy except possibly Philippa Stockley’s A Factory of Cunning.
This book, Hunger’s Brides, looks interesting. And heavy. (Speaking of heavy, I once tried to read Vikram Seth’s A Suitable Boy but lugging it around proved too much for me.)
The Atlantic is moving. No, not the ocean, the magazine. And I am with Jessa Crispin of Bookslut on this one: if they lose William Langewiesche (along with reportedly 90% of the rest of the staff), they are losing me.
My soapbox (ahem):
Pat Robertson is an idiot. Even if he backtracked and apologized. He’s still a huge moron. Our fundamentalists can be just as dangerous in their way as the Islamic extremists. And just because they *think* God is on their side does not make it true.
*****************************
There’s an article in this week’s Newsweek about making children’s books “more interactive.” Hello? Am I missing something? Books are fairly interactive already, I think. But what do I know? I just have to listen to endless re-tellings of stories I’ve read to the boys; all about the new characters the boys have created to go into the stories (Bob the Builder now has a trash truck named Stinky); all the new stories they’ve made up to go with their favorite characters (Pooh is a big favorite here); and never-ending requests to define or explain words and terms they encounter in their books. As far as I am concerned, a normal book is exponentially more interactive than even the most “interactive” video or TV show. Or even a book with a sound chip or accompanying DVD. Although I do admit to buying those books that come with the story on tape; my guys really enjoy hearing another person read to them occasionally and it takes a bit of pressure off me. There are many activities I refuse occasionally to do without a single qualm (how many games of Monopoly Junior can *you* play?), but Si and Jude know they can almost always guilt me into reading to them, no matter how busy or engrossed I am in something else.
******************
RockStar INXS update. Dan will get home from band practice and discover that his wife is a moron: I could not get the VCR channel to change to CBS, so I think I recorded the ballroom dancing show on Fox instead. Oops. How a computer engineer and a librarian cannot figure out how to tape one program a week, I do not know and am sad and embarrassed to admit. I probably should’ve just asked Simon to set it up. Dan will have to say, “I’m sorry, you’re just not right for my family.” It’s not as catchy as “You’re fired!” but it seems to work for INXS.
Now having said that, Jordis sucked big time last night and still managed to avoid the bottom three. She’s still charmed. JD was the only one I voted for; he’s a jerk but he’d be a great INXS frontman. He’s also the only one who even approaches any sort of sex appeal. Ty BORED me, as usual, and I love that eventually, they finally admitted that he “cowrote” Deanna’s song. Marty did a good impression of Tim Burton meets Kurt Cobain, with a dash of David Bowie thrown in. The size of the man’s mouth and teeth continue to astound me. Suzie’s cute and all but she’s not going to make the cut. And thank heavens Swiss Miss is gone, back to her geriatric nursing home, one presumes. Thank God. I couldn’t watch her saggy boobs and wrinkled brow one more week.
Lastly (for me) I got a food book I’ve been keeping an eye out for, American Pie: Slices of life (and pie) from America’s back roads by Pascale Le Draoulec. Pie is one of my favorite foods, and no, it pretty much doesn’t matter what flavor. I don’t know if I have ever met a piece of homemade pie that I did not like. Pie for me is sorta like that old aphorism about pizza and sex: When it’s good, it’s very very good, and even when it’s bad, it’s still ok.
I did discover at the bookstore that I picked up many books and said, “Ooooh, that looks interesting,” only to realize that I already own it. So maybe I should just go shopping in my own library next time?
I picked up some clearance books for my boys: Richard Scarry’s Mother Goose, the first in the Magic Treehouse series, which I think Si will be ready for within the year; an anthology volume of Frog and Toad, and another Arnold Lobel, Owl at Home. I kid myself that it’s the beginning of my Christmas shopping, but I’ll probably cave way before December.
****************
Snippets:
None of Salon’s summer reads strike my fancy except possibly Philippa Stockley’s A Factory of Cunning.
This book, Hunger’s Brides, looks interesting. And heavy. (Speaking of heavy, I once tried to read Vikram Seth’s A Suitable Boy but lugging it around proved too much for me.)
The Atlantic is moving. No, not the ocean, the magazine. And I am with Jessa Crispin of Bookslut on this one: if they lose William Langewiesche (along with reportedly 90% of the rest of the staff), they are losing me.
My soapbox (ahem):
Pat Robertson is an idiot. Even if he backtracked and apologized. He’s still a huge moron. Our fundamentalists can be just as dangerous in their way as the Islamic extremists. And just because they *think* God is on their side does not make it true.
*****************************
There’s an article in this week’s Newsweek about making children’s books “more interactive.” Hello? Am I missing something? Books are fairly interactive already, I think. But what do I know? I just have to listen to endless re-tellings of stories I’ve read to the boys; all about the new characters the boys have created to go into the stories (Bob the Builder now has a trash truck named Stinky); all the new stories they’ve made up to go with their favorite characters (Pooh is a big favorite here); and never-ending requests to define or explain words and terms they encounter in their books. As far as I am concerned, a normal book is exponentially more interactive than even the most “interactive” video or TV show. Or even a book with a sound chip or accompanying DVD. Although I do admit to buying those books that come with the story on tape; my guys really enjoy hearing another person read to them occasionally and it takes a bit of pressure off me. There are many activities I refuse occasionally to do without a single qualm (how many games of Monopoly Junior can *you* play?), but Si and Jude know they can almost always guilt me into reading to them, no matter how busy or engrossed I am in something else.
******************
RockStar INXS update. Dan will get home from band practice and discover that his wife is a moron: I could not get the VCR channel to change to CBS, so I think I recorded the ballroom dancing show on Fox instead. Oops. How a computer engineer and a librarian cannot figure out how to tape one program a week, I do not know and am sad and embarrassed to admit. I probably should’ve just asked Simon to set it up. Dan will have to say, “I’m sorry, you’re just not right for my family.” It’s not as catchy as “You’re fired!” but it seems to work for INXS.
Now having said that, Jordis sucked big time last night and still managed to avoid the bottom three. She’s still charmed. JD was the only one I voted for; he’s a jerk but he’d be a great INXS frontman. He’s also the only one who even approaches any sort of sex appeal. Ty BORED me, as usual, and I love that eventually, they finally admitted that he “cowrote” Deanna’s song. Marty did a good impression of Tim Burton meets Kurt Cobain, with a dash of David Bowie thrown in. The size of the man’s mouth and teeth continue to astound me. Suzie’s cute and all but she’s not going to make the cut. And thank heavens Swiss Miss is gone, back to her geriatric nursing home, one presumes. Thank God. I couldn’t watch her saggy boobs and wrinkled brow one more week.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Okay, class. Optical orbits up front, and remember, we keep our subesophageal ganglia to ourselves.
Governments keep war hidden because it is hideous. To allow citizens to see its reality -- the shattered bodies, the wounded children, the incomprehensible mayhem -- is to risk eroding popular support for it. - Gary Kamiya on Salon.com
I did not want to look at this photo gallery now, at work. I know I will cry, and I also don’t want to offend or upset anyone who might be watching or walking behind my computer. But I think it’s important that we Americans know the true toll and devastation of this war, just as I thought it was important that we not be too shielded from the true horror of September 11’s events. We cannot make our decisions for our political stances and lifestyle choices without facing up to the consequences of said decisions, and the events those actions may inspire or cause. You can’t – or at least shouldn’t - be antiwar without knowing why, and conversely, you can not - or should not - be pro-war without being fully cognizant of what the war entails for our soldiers/our citizens.
*********************
Myla Goldberg (Bee Season) has a new book out; it’s called Wickett’s Remedy. Bee Season (NOT to be confused with The Secret Life of Bees) was an uneven but ultimately engaging book, with a surprising ending. Her character of Eliza Naumann is awkward and average - and at times thoroughly unlikeable - but eventually inspires intense empathy and probably makes every mother feel as if she just wants to protect the poor girl, from herself and her bonkers family. I’m not all that nuts about the whole Irish theme of the new book, but I’ll read it.
******************
Go, Mark Kurlansky! And in that same vein, maybe the British are NOT inherently smarter than we are… Although I am far more likely and willing to believe that the British MPs are reading Dan Brown than I am that George Bush is reading social and/or Russian history.
**********************
I am considering buying this book for my Republican, capitalist little brother…or at least for his new child. Since I know the boy won’t be reading the Commie-leaning Rainbow Fish anytime soon.
***********************
The Crimson Petal and the White is all right but it’s just not grabbing me. So I started (for the umpteenth time) Captain Corelli’s Mandolin; this time it might stick, as I am enjoying it except for the boring The Duce sections, but I guess the political machinations are part of what fuels the novel’s plot. We shall see.
************************
A couple books that have crossed my radar, that I want to look into: Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks. I think I mentioned this a few months ago, and worried it was likened to The French Lieutenant’s Woman. But it looks worthy of checking into. I was also interested to discover that Faulks wrote On Green Dolphin Street. Anna Quindlen mentions OGDS as one of the books that her mother read over and over again; Quindlen’s book of this sort was The Forsyte Saga. I am always curious about other people’s “comfort” books.
And for Gina : ), Not a Games Person – Julie Myerson. For some reason, this looks like a book you might dig, Gina.
***********************
Yesterday was the first day of classes for the fall semester. The library is considerably busier than it’s been since I started here. And I have only one thing to say: how on earth did some of these students even manage to get INTO college? Good Lord.
***********************
On the way to daycare this morning, we saw a little grey dead cat in the middle of the other side of the road. With my boys in the car, I hesitated to pull over and move the cat out of the road, but I did call Animal Control so the poor thing wouldn’t keep getting run over. Simon of course heard the whole conversation and proceeded to query me about the cat.
Si: Do cats get run over a lot?
Me: Well, no, not especially, but that one did.
Si: What about mouses?
Me: Um, sure. They’re small but probably sometimes…
Si: Chipmunks?
Me: Um, sure. Although they’re pretty small and fast too.
Si: Badgers?
Me: Um, I’d say no on that one, Si.
A few moments of silence while he considers, and then,
Si (joyfully and triumphantly): Well, I KNOW *people* can get run over!
I did not want to look at this photo gallery now, at work. I know I will cry, and I also don’t want to offend or upset anyone who might be watching or walking behind my computer. But I think it’s important that we Americans know the true toll and devastation of this war, just as I thought it was important that we not be too shielded from the true horror of September 11’s events. We cannot make our decisions for our political stances and lifestyle choices without facing up to the consequences of said decisions, and the events those actions may inspire or cause. You can’t – or at least shouldn’t - be antiwar without knowing why, and conversely, you can not - or should not - be pro-war without being fully cognizant of what the war entails for our soldiers/our citizens.
*********************
Myla Goldberg (Bee Season) has a new book out; it’s called Wickett’s Remedy. Bee Season (NOT to be confused with The Secret Life of Bees) was an uneven but ultimately engaging book, with a surprising ending. Her character of Eliza Naumann is awkward and average - and at times thoroughly unlikeable - but eventually inspires intense empathy and probably makes every mother feel as if she just wants to protect the poor girl, from herself and her bonkers family. I’m not all that nuts about the whole Irish theme of the new book, but I’ll read it.
******************
Go, Mark Kurlansky! And in that same vein, maybe the British are NOT inherently smarter than we are… Although I am far more likely and willing to believe that the British MPs are reading Dan Brown than I am that George Bush is reading social and/or Russian history.
**********************
I am considering buying this book for my Republican, capitalist little brother…or at least for his new child. Since I know the boy won’t be reading the Commie-leaning Rainbow Fish anytime soon.
***********************
The Crimson Petal and the White is all right but it’s just not grabbing me. So I started (for the umpteenth time) Captain Corelli’s Mandolin; this time it might stick, as I am enjoying it except for the boring The Duce sections, but I guess the political machinations are part of what fuels the novel’s plot. We shall see.
************************
A couple books that have crossed my radar, that I want to look into: Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks. I think I mentioned this a few months ago, and worried it was likened to The French Lieutenant’s Woman. But it looks worthy of checking into. I was also interested to discover that Faulks wrote On Green Dolphin Street. Anna Quindlen mentions OGDS as one of the books that her mother read over and over again; Quindlen’s book of this sort was The Forsyte Saga. I am always curious about other people’s “comfort” books.
And for Gina : ), Not a Games Person – Julie Myerson. For some reason, this looks like a book you might dig, Gina.
***********************
Yesterday was the first day of classes for the fall semester. The library is considerably busier than it’s been since I started here. And I have only one thing to say: how on earth did some of these students even manage to get INTO college? Good Lord.
***********************
On the way to daycare this morning, we saw a little grey dead cat in the middle of the other side of the road. With my boys in the car, I hesitated to pull over and move the cat out of the road, but I did call Animal Control so the poor thing wouldn’t keep getting run over. Simon of course heard the whole conversation and proceeded to query me about the cat.
Si: Do cats get run over a lot?
Me: Well, no, not especially, but that one did.
Si: What about mouses?
Me: Um, sure. They’re small but probably sometimes…
Si: Chipmunks?
Me: Um, sure. Although they’re pretty small and fast too.
Si: Badgers?
Me: Um, I’d say no on that one, Si.
A few moments of silence while he considers, and then,
Si (joyfully and triumphantly): Well, I KNOW *people* can get run over!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.
My little brother is…gack…THIRTY-TWO today. How can he be that old? That makes me ancient! Happy birthday, Drew (not that anyone in my family has this blog URL).
************************
At Nadav’s birthday party yesterday morning, Jude wanted to go down into the yard to play, but to do so, he had to pass the dog enclosure. He came back up, planted himself in my lap, and said, “Dogs eat me, no!” Whereupon Deb’s dad pointed out that as they were Jewish dogs, they wouldn’t eat him because he was trayf. Jude didn’t much benefit but I thought it was hilarious.
************************
Often I feel very out of place at Deb’s parties because usually I am 1) the only non-physician, and while I am very satisfied with my librarian career, it can be a bit intimidating, and I often feel dismissed (most likely just a product of my natural inferiority complex, not a comment on Deb’s friends) and 2) I am often the only Gentile, and since I don’t speak Hebrew I feel that much more out of the loop. Deb and I have been friends forever and she knows things about me I hope she never reveals, and I adore Deb and her husband -- but it can be weird. Yesterday was the exception, maybe it’s because her family and other friends are starting to know me. Noam’s mom was so sweet, and I must say, I have MIL envy. I know everyone has their own issues with their in-laws and I would not presume to understand or get in the middle, but all other things being equal, I wonder if Arlyn would adopt me? I understand that much of my MIL longing is caused by the fact that my mom is gone and has been for years, but I do seem to wistfully wish to be adopted by various other moms an awful lot. My brother’s MIL is a gem and while she’s fond enough of me, I suppose, she does have five children of her own. Alas, Arlyn has three children of her own and very nice grandchildren to boot. The only one I would have hope to love me the way my mom did would be my MIL and it’s obvious after ten years of marriage that that will never be the case. Despite the fact that my MIL has a heart of mostly gold, she and I are simply not simpatico. And I do want to be loved like someone’s daughter, and that just doesn’t happen when these wonderful women have wonderful kids of their own, you know? I might be loved but not the way my poor little orphaned soul desires : ) Anyhoo, enough pathetic-ness.
I had a lovely conversation about books with Arlyn, and Deb’s dad and stepmom. Arlyn has read The Sparrow and I was so excited to have someone to discuss it with! She had even met the author while in Seattle a few years ago and she confirmed my thoughts that Mary Doria Russell seems to be a very down-to-earth and interesting, intelligent woman. I do love talking books. What a great morning.
The other bonus is that Deb’s is the only place I ever get to eat all the smoked salmon I want. Bagels, cream cheese, smoked salmon, and red onions – another perfect breakfast, topped off with hot coffee and delicious chocolate cake from Whole Foods.
*************
David and Marisa’s party was lovely. The chocolate fondue was quite the hit and I think I ate all their pineapple. And I love the new dining room set, it’s gorgeous. I meet the funniest and strangest people at their house, too – it’s nice to ease back into that theatre culture for an evening. No one looks at me twice if I swear a lot, and I forget how blunt and vulgar theatre people can be after my daily sojourn among academic librarians. I miss it sometimes.
I think I should probably tone down the mostly-pseudo ex-professor bitterness around David’s university colleagues however; it’s a good riff but I think some of them took me seriously. I had one prof who I hated (and trust me, the feeling was sooooo mutual). But that was fifteen years ago, and now it’s just amusing. I don’t want anyone thinking I actually even still care (although at the time, I did, desperately), so the Cletus riff has to go, alas. But really, what sort of grown man in a position of authority tells a twenty-one-year-old that she has the emotions of a fence post, and that the only reason she’s graduating is because they don’t want her around next year? (Note: for my own pride, I must point out that I graduated with college and university honors, and a 3.5 GPA. So it was *not* my grades.) OK, maybe it still bothers me a little; what can I say, I was scarred : )
**************************
I am lining up vacation books. I will be away a week, so I need to bring at least five. Here’s what I am considering at the moment (bold ones are definites):
Vanity Fair - Thackeray
In Harm’s Way – Douglas Stanton (I *know* what I said about shark books at the shore…)
The Game – Laurie King
Son of the Circus – John Irving
Green Darkness
Children of God
Whatever magazine issues I get in the mail the week before we leave
I just started Michel Faber’s The Crimson Petal and the White so if I am still working on that, that will go too.
It’s the BabelBabe Fresh Air Fund for Books.
**********************
Gina, I miss you.
We’re thinking of you, see?
And maybe you'll find a nice man while you're there (although I think you'd hesitate to date any single man who was at Disney...)
********************
My new life motto:
Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore? - Henry Ward Beecher
************************
At Nadav’s birthday party yesterday morning, Jude wanted to go down into the yard to play, but to do so, he had to pass the dog enclosure. He came back up, planted himself in my lap, and said, “Dogs eat me, no!” Whereupon Deb’s dad pointed out that as they were Jewish dogs, they wouldn’t eat him because he was trayf. Jude didn’t much benefit but I thought it was hilarious.
************************
Often I feel very out of place at Deb’s parties because usually I am 1) the only non-physician, and while I am very satisfied with my librarian career, it can be a bit intimidating, and I often feel dismissed (most likely just a product of my natural inferiority complex, not a comment on Deb’s friends) and 2) I am often the only Gentile, and since I don’t speak Hebrew I feel that much more out of the loop. Deb and I have been friends forever and she knows things about me I hope she never reveals, and I adore Deb and her husband -- but it can be weird. Yesterday was the exception, maybe it’s because her family and other friends are starting to know me. Noam’s mom was so sweet, and I must say, I have MIL envy. I know everyone has their own issues with their in-laws and I would not presume to understand or get in the middle, but all other things being equal, I wonder if Arlyn would adopt me? I understand that much of my MIL longing is caused by the fact that my mom is gone and has been for years, but I do seem to wistfully wish to be adopted by various other moms an awful lot. My brother’s MIL is a gem and while she’s fond enough of me, I suppose, she does have five children of her own. Alas, Arlyn has three children of her own and very nice grandchildren to boot. The only one I would have hope to love me the way my mom did would be my MIL and it’s obvious after ten years of marriage that that will never be the case. Despite the fact that my MIL has a heart of mostly gold, she and I are simply not simpatico. And I do want to be loved like someone’s daughter, and that just doesn’t happen when these wonderful women have wonderful kids of their own, you know? I might be loved but not the way my poor little orphaned soul desires : ) Anyhoo, enough pathetic-ness.
I had a lovely conversation about books with Arlyn, and Deb’s dad and stepmom. Arlyn has read The Sparrow and I was so excited to have someone to discuss it with! She had even met the author while in Seattle a few years ago and she confirmed my thoughts that Mary Doria Russell seems to be a very down-to-earth and interesting, intelligent woman. I do love talking books. What a great morning.
The other bonus is that Deb’s is the only place I ever get to eat all the smoked salmon I want. Bagels, cream cheese, smoked salmon, and red onions – another perfect breakfast, topped off with hot coffee and delicious chocolate cake from Whole Foods.
*************
David and Marisa’s party was lovely. The chocolate fondue was quite the hit and I think I ate all their pineapple. And I love the new dining room set, it’s gorgeous. I meet the funniest and strangest people at their house, too – it’s nice to ease back into that theatre culture for an evening. No one looks at me twice if I swear a lot, and I forget how blunt and vulgar theatre people can be after my daily sojourn among academic librarians. I miss it sometimes.
I think I should probably tone down the mostly-pseudo ex-professor bitterness around David’s university colleagues however; it’s a good riff but I think some of them took me seriously. I had one prof who I hated (and trust me, the feeling was sooooo mutual). But that was fifteen years ago, and now it’s just amusing. I don’t want anyone thinking I actually even still care (although at the time, I did, desperately), so the Cletus riff has to go, alas. But really, what sort of grown man in a position of authority tells a twenty-one-year-old that she has the emotions of a fence post, and that the only reason she’s graduating is because they don’t want her around next year? (Note: for my own pride, I must point out that I graduated with college and university honors, and a 3.5 GPA. So it was *not* my grades.) OK, maybe it still bothers me a little; what can I say, I was scarred : )
**************************
I am lining up vacation books. I will be away a week, so I need to bring at least five. Here’s what I am considering at the moment (bold ones are definites):
Vanity Fair - Thackeray
In Harm’s Way – Douglas Stanton (I *know* what I said about shark books at the shore…)
The Game – Laurie King
Son of the Circus – John Irving
Green Darkness
Children of God
Whatever magazine issues I get in the mail the week before we leave
I just started Michel Faber’s The Crimson Petal and the White so if I am still working on that, that will go too.
It’s the BabelBabe Fresh Air Fund for Books.
**********************
Gina, I miss you.
We’re thinking of you, see?
And maybe you'll find a nice man while you're there (although I think you'd hesitate to date any single man who was at Disney...)
********************
My new life motto:
Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore? - Henry Ward Beecher
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Humans are the only animals that have children on purpose with the exception of guppies, who like to eat theirs.
I love Anne Fadiman. Her two equally engrossing and completely different books, Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader and The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down are books I had to own and will not give away or lend out. So I am keeping an eye out for the forthcoming collection of essays she edited, Rereadings: Seventeen writers revisit books they love.
*************
I was browsing around the library catalog in the Zs (Books (general). Writing. Paleography. Book industries and trade. Libraries. Bibliography.) and came across some interesting titles. They made me think of Simon, who was recently reading a birthday card someone had sent me. He had no trouble with the joke, printed as it was in capital letters. But then he squinted and frowned and said, "Mom, I can't read the fancy stuff." The "fancy stuff" would be the signature, in cursive. Remember before you could read or write cursive handwriting? I do. I
remember feeling like I had cracked the grown-up code of the ages when I could finally read cursive handwriting. But it's been so long since I couldn't that his confusion took me by surprise.
***********
Also in that section I ran across a couple books that reminded me of Simon Singh's The Code Book which I read on vacation one year. I don't do a whole lot of non-fiction but I enjoyed this book very much. And I felt so much smarter when I finished it : )
*******************
In the Acknowledgements of The Sparrow Mary Doria Russell says, "Dorothy Dunnett may consider The Sparrow one long thank-you note for her splendid Lymond series." So of course I had to check out the Lymond series. The Game of Kings is the first, and I will read it sometime, but it is way too similar in setting to Outlander for me to want to tackle it now.
Also, in the Reader's Notes section, which I never look at normally because I think book group guides are smarmy and bogus, I read Russell's bio. Before venturing into fiction, Russell wrote "technical manuals for medical equipment like ... magnetic resonance scanners". Hey, guess what? So did I! Before I too got "fed up with academia and quit" to become...a librarian? Well, you certainly didn't think I was going to write an award-winning novel, did you? And she lives in Cleveland! Do you think if I asked her to lunch, she'd go? I'd *love* to meet her. She seems like such a cosmopolitan person.
**********************
This is wicked cool.
Sarah Louise, forgive me. But even if they are a bit over the top, number four nails it. Bergdorf Blondes was *beyond* unreadable.
*************
I was browsing around the library catalog in the Zs (Books (general). Writing. Paleography. Book industries and trade. Libraries. Bibliography.) and came across some interesting titles. They made me think of Simon, who was recently reading a birthday card someone had sent me. He had no trouble with the joke, printed as it was in capital letters. But then he squinted and frowned and said, "Mom, I can't read the fancy stuff." The "fancy stuff" would be the signature, in cursive. Remember before you could read or write cursive handwriting? I do. I
remember feeling like I had cracked the grown-up code of the ages when I could finally read cursive handwriting. But it's been so long since I couldn't that his confusion took me by surprise.
***********
Also in that section I ran across a couple books that reminded me of Simon Singh's The Code Book which I read on vacation one year. I don't do a whole lot of non-fiction but I enjoyed this book very much. And I felt so much smarter when I finished it : )
*******************
In the Acknowledgements of The Sparrow Mary Doria Russell says, "Dorothy Dunnett may consider The Sparrow one long thank-you note for her splendid Lymond series." So of course I had to check out the Lymond series. The Game of Kings is the first, and I will read it sometime, but it is way too similar in setting to Outlander for me to want to tackle it now.
Also, in the Reader's Notes section, which I never look at normally because I think book group guides are smarmy and bogus, I read Russell's bio. Before venturing into fiction, Russell wrote "technical manuals for medical equipment like ... magnetic resonance scanners". Hey, guess what? So did I! Before I too got "fed up with academia and quit" to become...a librarian? Well, you certainly didn't think I was going to write an award-winning novel, did you? And she lives in Cleveland! Do you think if I asked her to lunch, she'd go? I'd *love* to meet her. She seems like such a cosmopolitan person.
**********************
This is wicked cool.
Sarah Louise, forgive me. But even if they are a bit over the top, number four nails it. Bergdorf Blondes was *beyond* unreadable.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
It is hard enough to remember my opinions, without also remembering my reasons for them! - Friedrich Nietzche
From Salon’s poetry contest; I think I love this woman:
My hair is gray upon my head
(for that is where it grows)
and yet, the TV surgeon said,
I still could fix my nose,
Botox the wrinkles from my brow
and plump my thinning lips
(both on my face and down below)
and lipo tum and hips.
'Twould send my self-esteem sky high,
he said, to have this look.
I cut myself a piece of pie
and went back to my book.
- Katha Pollitt, New York, N.Y.
***************************
10 years ago: August 1995. Dan and I had been married for 6 months. Still no bloodshed. We were looking for houses.
5 years ago: August 2000. 5 months pregnant with Simon. Just back from a vacation at the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania.
1 year ago: August 2004. God knows. My short-term memory is shot to hell. Best as I can recall, just back from a long weekend in SH with Liane and her boy; preparing for another SH vacation in September.
Yesterday: Children’s museum with boys and friend and her daughter. Lunch there. Nap in afternoon. Clambake/birthday surprise party for Dan’s cousin in evening. (I ate three dozen clams. Disgraceful!)
Today: Grocery shopping at 7, hang out with the boys and be silly for a while, work 10 till 6. Go home, have leftovers for dinner. Maybe watch a movie. Go to bed early.
Tomorrow: Birthday party for Nadav in morning, David and Marisa’s in evening. Schlump around with the boys in between. Maybe plant some cheap, half-dead plants I bought at Home Depot a week ago.
5 snacks I enjoy: Tomatoes sliced up on crackers with salt and cheese; Goldenberg Peanut Chews; Jif pb on Ritz crackers; sharp cheddar and pretzels; cheese
5 bands/singers that I know the lyrics of MOST of their songs: Dar Williams, Chris Smither, Rusted Root, Bruce Springsteen, the Wiggles
Things I would do with $100,000,000: Invest for retirement, hire a contractor to fix/replace windows on our ancient falling-down house, put away cash for boys’ school. Buy Dan a Prius. Give away, to relatives, charity, etc. Especially to my new nephew, because my brother has been so generous with my boys, it’d be a joy to give him a wad o’ cash. .
5 locations I'd like to run away to: the shore (preferably SH); Antigua; Paris; Florence; Prague
5 bad habits I have: nail biting; short temper; not shaving my legs; obsessive email checking; yelling
5 things I like doing: blogging, reading, running, quilting, baking
5 things I would never wear: appliqué; sequins; ruffles; Disney characterized clothing; pleated pants
5 TV shows I like: ER; Family Guy; Curb Your Enthusiasm; Rock Star INXS; C-SPAN’s broadcasts of British parliament
5 movies I like: Moonstruck, Love Actually, The Wedding Singer, 101 Dalmatians, The Godfather
5 famous people I'd like to meet: John Cusack; Colin Firth; Jane Austen; Barbara Kingsolver; Laura Bush
5 biggest joys at the moment: Jude, Simon, my/Gina’s blog, anticipating my vacation, anticipating not being pregnant anymore!
5 favorite toys: my food processor, my new mitre box, the new ceiling fan remote, sewing machine, CD burner on my computer
5 bloggers tagged (if they made it this far & if you feel like it): Carolyn, Badger, Sara Louise, Katya, Gina
***********************************88
The boys and I went to the Children’s Museum yesterday, mostly because I can set them loose in the third-floor water area and sit on one of those groovy surfboard benches and rest for an hour or so. And because I can set them loose in the Mr Rogers’ exhibit and I can sit on the comfy plaid couch for an hour and monitor them from there. And because it’s air-conditioned and the zoo decidedly is not. The last thing they wanted to do before we left for home was climb the Habitrail-like apparatus on the ground floor. It’s similar to all those climbing thingeys at McDonald’s Playlands across America, and it makes me intensely claustrophobic just thinking about getting into it. (Which I have had to do once or twice in the past when Si got stuck.) Judeman climbed up and down the entire two-story structure twice, only needing help with a butt-boost from an older kid once. Simon got two-thirds of the way up and panicked. His feet were dangling off the platform above, he was two inches from the bottom platform he needed to land on, and he would *not* drop. I sent his little friend Sarah up to help him but he wouldn’t release his death clutch on the wire surrounding the climbing things. Repeated injunctions for Sarah to “just give his legs a good yank” did not endear me to the parenting gods, I am sure. God help me, I sent his little brother up to help him but Jude wasn’t interested – maybe he hoped if he left Si in there we’d get to just leave him there for good? After twenty minutes of cajoling, explaining, offering other kids’ help, I finally just snapped, “Simon, I CANNOT fit in there so you have to figure out how to get out yourself,” and went to sit down on the bench at the end of the hall. Crying, whining, and lots of bleating “Mama….Mmmmaaammmmaaaaaa”s ensued. Eventually I yelled at him to let Sarah help him down, to let go of the cage, and over and over again, “I cannot go in there to help you, Si. I simply will not fit!” How did I go, in twenty short minutes, from being cool mama who takes her kids somewhere fun and lets them run around to shrieking shrew of a mama who is clearly humongous with child, having to yell for the entire population of the Children’s Museum that I am TOO FAT to fit in the Habitrail?! Life is so not fair. I was angry because I couldn’t go in to get him; I was angry because not one single employee offered to help me; I was angry because Si really was perfectly capable of getting out of the damn thing himself, it was at that point a power-struggle to get ME to come help him. I was really angry because I had to pee and instead had to stand there and argue with my stubborn four-year-old. Finally an older child physically lifted Si off the platform and dropped him onto the next one and chivvied him the rest of the way down. Darling gap-toothed eight-year-old boy who was there with your grandma, I will be forever grateful.
**********************************************
I am almost done The Sparrow (and am gratified to learn that there is a sequel, which will most definitely be accompanying me on my trip to the shore later this month). In many ways the writing style and references to God and theology remind me of Madeleine L’Engle’s books. The same air of tentativeness and exploration of spirituality are there. The structure of The Sparrow is intricate, and can be confusing, told as it is in large chunks of flashbacks with intertwining plotlines. The plot doesn’t emerge in surprises, but as slowly- and naturally-unfolding revelations of events and knowledge. The main character, Father Emilio Sandoz, is enigmatic, romantic, and sympathetic. The tension and interaction among the other characters is meaningful and nicely drawn, and like most “scholarly” novels, background information (this novel utilizes everything from Biblical stories to Mel brooks films) is essential to grasping all the nuances of the plot and characterization. The Sparrow is a beautiful and haunting book essentially about one man’s quest for God.
********************************
Gina is, poor soul, in Disney World for the next five days with her son and parents. My thoughts are with you, Gina : )
My hair is gray upon my head
(for that is where it grows)
and yet, the TV surgeon said,
I still could fix my nose,
Botox the wrinkles from my brow
and plump my thinning lips
(both on my face and down below)
and lipo tum and hips.
'Twould send my self-esteem sky high,
he said, to have this look.
I cut myself a piece of pie
and went back to my book.
- Katha Pollitt, New York, N.Y.
***************************
10 years ago: August 1995. Dan and I had been married for 6 months. Still no bloodshed. We were looking for houses.
5 years ago: August 2000. 5 months pregnant with Simon. Just back from a vacation at the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania.
1 year ago: August 2004. God knows. My short-term memory is shot to hell. Best as I can recall, just back from a long weekend in SH with Liane and her boy; preparing for another SH vacation in September.
Yesterday: Children’s museum with boys and friend and her daughter. Lunch there. Nap in afternoon. Clambake/birthday surprise party for Dan’s cousin in evening. (I ate three dozen clams. Disgraceful!)
Today: Grocery shopping at 7, hang out with the boys and be silly for a while, work 10 till 6. Go home, have leftovers for dinner. Maybe watch a movie. Go to bed early.
Tomorrow: Birthday party for Nadav in morning, David and Marisa’s in evening. Schlump around with the boys in between. Maybe plant some cheap, half-dead plants I bought at Home Depot a week ago.
5 snacks I enjoy: Tomatoes sliced up on crackers with salt and cheese; Goldenberg Peanut Chews; Jif pb on Ritz crackers; sharp cheddar and pretzels; cheese
5 bands/singers that I know the lyrics of MOST of their songs: Dar Williams, Chris Smither, Rusted Root, Bruce Springsteen, the Wiggles
Things I would do with $100,000,000: Invest for retirement, hire a contractor to fix/replace windows on our ancient falling-down house, put away cash for boys’ school. Buy Dan a Prius. Give away, to relatives, charity, etc. Especially to my new nephew, because my brother has been so generous with my boys, it’d be a joy to give him a wad o’ cash. .
5 locations I'd like to run away to: the shore (preferably SH); Antigua; Paris; Florence; Prague
5 bad habits I have: nail biting; short temper; not shaving my legs; obsessive email checking; yelling
5 things I like doing: blogging, reading, running, quilting, baking
5 things I would never wear: appliqué; sequins; ruffles; Disney characterized clothing; pleated pants
5 TV shows I like: ER; Family Guy; Curb Your Enthusiasm; Rock Star INXS; C-SPAN’s broadcasts of British parliament
5 movies I like: Moonstruck, Love Actually, The Wedding Singer, 101 Dalmatians, The Godfather
5 famous people I'd like to meet: John Cusack; Colin Firth; Jane Austen; Barbara Kingsolver; Laura Bush
5 biggest joys at the moment: Jude, Simon, my/Gina’s blog, anticipating my vacation, anticipating not being pregnant anymore!
5 favorite toys: my food processor, my new mitre box, the new ceiling fan remote, sewing machine, CD burner on my computer
5 bloggers tagged (if they made it this far & if you feel like it): Carolyn, Badger, Sara Louise, Katya, Gina
***********************************88
The boys and I went to the Children’s Museum yesterday, mostly because I can set them loose in the third-floor water area and sit on one of those groovy surfboard benches and rest for an hour or so. And because I can set them loose in the Mr Rogers’ exhibit and I can sit on the comfy plaid couch for an hour and monitor them from there. And because it’s air-conditioned and the zoo decidedly is not. The last thing they wanted to do before we left for home was climb the Habitrail-like apparatus on the ground floor. It’s similar to all those climbing thingeys at McDonald’s Playlands across America, and it makes me intensely claustrophobic just thinking about getting into it. (Which I have had to do once or twice in the past when Si got stuck.) Judeman climbed up and down the entire two-story structure twice, only needing help with a butt-boost from an older kid once. Simon got two-thirds of the way up and panicked. His feet were dangling off the platform above, he was two inches from the bottom platform he needed to land on, and he would *not* drop. I sent his little friend Sarah up to help him but he wouldn’t release his death clutch on the wire surrounding the climbing things. Repeated injunctions for Sarah to “just give his legs a good yank” did not endear me to the parenting gods, I am sure. God help me, I sent his little brother up to help him but Jude wasn’t interested – maybe he hoped if he left Si in there we’d get to just leave him there for good? After twenty minutes of cajoling, explaining, offering other kids’ help, I finally just snapped, “Simon, I CANNOT fit in there so you have to figure out how to get out yourself,” and went to sit down on the bench at the end of the hall. Crying, whining, and lots of bleating “Mama….Mmmmaaammmmaaaaaa”s ensued. Eventually I yelled at him to let Sarah help him down, to let go of the cage, and over and over again, “I cannot go in there to help you, Si. I simply will not fit!” How did I go, in twenty short minutes, from being cool mama who takes her kids somewhere fun and lets them run around to shrieking shrew of a mama who is clearly humongous with child, having to yell for the entire population of the Children’s Museum that I am TOO FAT to fit in the Habitrail?! Life is so not fair. I was angry because I couldn’t go in to get him; I was angry because not one single employee offered to help me; I was angry because Si really was perfectly capable of getting out of the damn thing himself, it was at that point a power-struggle to get ME to come help him. I was really angry because I had to pee and instead had to stand there and argue with my stubborn four-year-old. Finally an older child physically lifted Si off the platform and dropped him onto the next one and chivvied him the rest of the way down. Darling gap-toothed eight-year-old boy who was there with your grandma, I will be forever grateful.
**********************************************
I am almost done The Sparrow (and am gratified to learn that there is a sequel, which will most definitely be accompanying me on my trip to the shore later this month). In many ways the writing style and references to God and theology remind me of Madeleine L’Engle’s books. The same air of tentativeness and exploration of spirituality are there. The structure of The Sparrow is intricate, and can be confusing, told as it is in large chunks of flashbacks with intertwining plotlines. The plot doesn’t emerge in surprises, but as slowly- and naturally-unfolding revelations of events and knowledge. The main character, Father Emilio Sandoz, is enigmatic, romantic, and sympathetic. The tension and interaction among the other characters is meaningful and nicely drawn, and like most “scholarly” novels, background information (this novel utilizes everything from Biblical stories to Mel brooks films) is essential to grasping all the nuances of the plot and characterization. The Sparrow is a beautiful and haunting book essentially about one man’s quest for God.
********************************
Gina is, poor soul, in Disney World for the next five days with her son and parents. My thoughts are with you, Gina : )
Thursday, August 18, 2005
A Fat Girl Book I Can Sink My Teeth Into
I just this afternoon picked up I'm Not the New Me at the library. I can't remember where I got the recommendation for this, but if you look at the link and look closely at the cover, you will see those pics from those 70s Weight Watcher's recipe cards Val found! Imagine my surprise when I figured out why they looked so familiar!
I've only read a few pages, as I'm now back at work, but so far, so good.
I've only read a few pages, as I'm now back at work, but so far, so good.
Accustomed to the veneer of noise, to the shibboleths of promotion, PR, & market research, society is suspicious of those who value silence.
OK here it is noon, and I feel like I am holding it together pretty well today, for me, considering the following (again taking into consideration the source…):
I woke up this morning with Jude in my bed (feet in my face) and Si sleeping on my floor. WTF? Would it be just wrong to lock my bedroom door?
The duplex next door to us is for sale. The owner had a good offer on it but during the inspection they found a rusted support beam. The buyer withdrew his offer. We were seriously bummed, as the ideal situation (for us the neighbors) would be to have the owner living in one side while renting the other, which was the buyer-to-be’s plan. So the owner, instead of funneling a ton of cash into fixing the real problem, the deal-breaking problem, is apparently fixing that by propping it up and instead spending thousands on landscaping. Yessirree, who cares if your house is falling down if you have green grass and pretty shrubs? The guys who are doing the work have been running the chainsaw and rototiller nonstop since eight this morning. I am going nuts. My Zoloft dose is just not high enough to cope with this constant assault on my ears.
We went to story time at the local library today. I find their children’s librarian a tad cloying and patronizing, but the kids seem to like her and I give her credit just for being a children’s librarian. (There’s good reason why I actively sought out collegiate surroundings for my library career…) At any rate we read a few stories, sang a few songs – well, “we” might be a misstatement. All the other children did this. My boys stubbornly sat on the floor while the others shook their sillies out, yawned their sleepies out, clapped their crazies out (I wonder if that would work for me?). Simon threw a fit during the Marching Around the Alphabet song and sulked in a chair while the rest of us pointed out letters and marched in circles. I don’t really know why I care – Si was actively participating in the story reading and question-and-answers; he just didn’t want to dance and sing. (And really, who does?) But I felt very self-conscious that my kids were the only ones not participating – and it made me feel like I had to haul my ass up off the floor where I was very comfortable, thank you very much, and participate, to try to convince them to do so. Otherwise I’d happily have sat and read my book. But noooooo…..
We picked up yet more library books – mostly Arthur Lobel, Mouse Soup in particular. At the visit to the ped yesterday, Si discovered this book and fell in love. He tried to convince me to go to the bookstore to buy it, “so I can have it forever,” but I held him off for a library copy. I have to have something to buy the kid for Christmas, for Pete’s sake. I also tried to find Kage Baker’s In the Garden of Iden but the library copy appears to have disappeared.
I am a third of the way through The Sparrow and I like it. It’s sci-fi without being so sci-fi as to be off-putting; the characters are intriguing, the plot is curious, and I like the set-up of the timeline of the book. (David, I think you would really enjoy it. If my opinion changes after I finish it, I’ll let you know. )
We had to go to the ped because Si’s, ahem, member hurts. I think it is due to all the pulling and tugging the thing’s undergoing lately, but Dan was worrying and once again second-guessing the circumcision decision, so I obligingly hauled him (Si, not Dan) off to the doc. (Although that second option appeals for many reasons as well.) Fret not, everything is fine. Trying to get a four-year-old to give a decent urine specimen might just have been the highlight of my day. The ped’s diagnosis, and I quote: it “could be sore due to all the yanking around.” I do the best I can but how many times a day do I really have to repeat, “Si, get your hands out of your pants.” It’s replaced boogey-mining as the favored hand activity. Last winter Dan worried himself sick about the chin-licking (don’t ask); this summer it’s penis-pulling and nose-picking. We would definitely have a gold medal contender in the Disgusting Bodily Habits Olympics, were such a thing to exist.
I feel as if I should comment on Rock Star INXS, but with the only singer left that I simply hate being Swiss Miss, what’s the point? Who wants to comment if you can’t be snarky? Although I will say this: she appears older every week. That saggy-boobed dress on Tuesday clinched the age thing for me: she’s got to be close to fifty by now.
I woke up this morning with Jude in my bed (feet in my face) and Si sleeping on my floor. WTF? Would it be just wrong to lock my bedroom door?
The duplex next door to us is for sale. The owner had a good offer on it but during the inspection they found a rusted support beam. The buyer withdrew his offer. We were seriously bummed, as the ideal situation (for us the neighbors) would be to have the owner living in one side while renting the other, which was the buyer-to-be’s plan. So the owner, instead of funneling a ton of cash into fixing the real problem, the deal-breaking problem, is apparently fixing that by propping it up and instead spending thousands on landscaping. Yessirree, who cares if your house is falling down if you have green grass and pretty shrubs? The guys who are doing the work have been running the chainsaw and rototiller nonstop since eight this morning. I am going nuts. My Zoloft dose is just not high enough to cope with this constant assault on my ears.
We went to story time at the local library today. I find their children’s librarian a tad cloying and patronizing, but the kids seem to like her and I give her credit just for being a children’s librarian. (There’s good reason why I actively sought out collegiate surroundings for my library career…) At any rate we read a few stories, sang a few songs – well, “we” might be a misstatement. All the other children did this. My boys stubbornly sat on the floor while the others shook their sillies out, yawned their sleepies out, clapped their crazies out (I wonder if that would work for me?). Simon threw a fit during the Marching Around the Alphabet song and sulked in a chair while the rest of us pointed out letters and marched in circles. I don’t really know why I care – Si was actively participating in the story reading and question-and-answers; he just didn’t want to dance and sing. (And really, who does?) But I felt very self-conscious that my kids were the only ones not participating – and it made me feel like I had to haul my ass up off the floor where I was very comfortable, thank you very much, and participate, to try to convince them to do so. Otherwise I’d happily have sat and read my book. But noooooo…..
We picked up yet more library books – mostly Arthur Lobel, Mouse Soup in particular. At the visit to the ped yesterday, Si discovered this book and fell in love. He tried to convince me to go to the bookstore to buy it, “so I can have it forever,” but I held him off for a library copy. I have to have something to buy the kid for Christmas, for Pete’s sake. I also tried to find Kage Baker’s In the Garden of Iden but the library copy appears to have disappeared.
I am a third of the way through The Sparrow and I like it. It’s sci-fi without being so sci-fi as to be off-putting; the characters are intriguing, the plot is curious, and I like the set-up of the timeline of the book. (David, I think you would really enjoy it. If my opinion changes after I finish it, I’ll let you know. )
We had to go to the ped because Si’s, ahem, member hurts. I think it is due to all the pulling and tugging the thing’s undergoing lately, but Dan was worrying and once again second-guessing the circumcision decision, so I obligingly hauled him (Si, not Dan) off to the doc. (Although that second option appeals for many reasons as well.) Fret not, everything is fine. Trying to get a four-year-old to give a decent urine specimen might just have been the highlight of my day. The ped’s diagnosis, and I quote: it “could be sore due to all the yanking around.” I do the best I can but how many times a day do I really have to repeat, “Si, get your hands out of your pants.” It’s replaced boogey-mining as the favored hand activity. Last winter Dan worried himself sick about the chin-licking (don’t ask); this summer it’s penis-pulling and nose-picking. We would definitely have a gold medal contender in the Disgusting Bodily Habits Olympics, were such a thing to exist.
I feel as if I should comment on Rock Star INXS, but with the only singer left that I simply hate being Swiss Miss, what’s the point? Who wants to comment if you can’t be snarky? Although I will say this: she appears older every week. That saggy-boobed dress on Tuesday clinched the age thing for me: she’s got to be close to fifty by now.
“… in which barely clad models dry-hump near a commode while rolls of toilet paper look on, unmoved, as though they’ve seen it all.”
That may be the best sentence fragment I have ever read. Have a look at this luxury toilet paper, which hasn’t yet made a move to the US. I’m as much a sucker for little luxuries as the next girl, but I’m not at all tempted by this—and I care a great deal about bathroom comfort.
I saw monogrammed toilet paper in a catalogue of overpriced home accents once, and thought of how mob families might enjoy wiping their asses with paper featuring their enemies’ initials scrawled in gold, but who else would want that? And what company would want that? Why would Louis Vuitton create something that invites people to smear fecal matter on their logo?
I just don’t get it.
I saw monogrammed toilet paper in a catalogue of overpriced home accents once, and thought of how mob families might enjoy wiping their asses with paper featuring their enemies’ initials scrawled in gold, but who else would want that? And what company would want that? Why would Louis Vuitton create something that invites people to smear fecal matter on their logo?
I just don’t get it.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Yankee Pot Roast
I used to read YPR every day, and then I forgot all about it. Thanks to Bookslut for the link.
PS--Is this aimed specifically at Richard Russo's Empire Falls, do you think?
PS--Is this aimed specifically at Richard Russo's Empire Falls, do you think?
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