everything i know about working on anything
but
finished is better than perfect. — some lady on simply quilts
two coats, everywhere, no matter what. — julie
but
...well, you get the idea. — grandma
there. [satisfied tone] — paul
but
@$#^!*#^$! — dad
August 29, 2004
June 02, 2004
from the desk of a disgruntled customer
dear ann taylor,
why do you hate women?
why do you ignore the laws of nature?
see, ann, it's like this: women above size 6 have curves. some of us even have bulges, sad to say, bulges that we would prefer to de-emphasize.
you're not doing us any favors, you know.
why do you insist on foisting bias-cut skirts and dresses — flattering only on a sentient popsicle stick — on your lumpier, less willowy customers?
and why, why must you tailor the bustline of your dresses so that anyone with, you know, an actual rack looks like an eastern european wet nurse, and not in a good way?
oh, and why do you think it's a good idea for the world to see my (rather meaty, alas) upper arms? were you abused by a sleeve in your tender youth? it's the only explanation that makes sense — because in your stores, there is nary a true sleeve to be found. there are only those wispy caps, those fluttery gestures that hang limply and ineffectually at the top of the shoulder, offering no coverage at all, none at all.
it is because of your patent misogyny that i must regretfully tell you we're breaking up. it's time for me to see other people. i need my space. and i need my sleeves.
signed,
julie
March 29, 2004
all the news that's fit to print
a quick bulletin, dateline montpelier:
we have crocuses! (this is last year's picture, but you'll get the idea.) we also still have a thick crust of snow over the majority of the perennial bed, so I can't see whether the dozens of red tulips mom planted have begun to emerge. but today is sunny, with temperatures expected in the high fifties and low sixties, so maybe i'll have an answer for you later this afternoon.
the kitten is still cute. we clipped his claws, and he did not mind. he is now significantly less lethal.
we also have new light bulbs. listen, i realize that doesn't sound like breaking news, but it is. last night at the grocery store, paul found some three-way bulbs whose lowest light is 15 watts — perfect for the den, as i like a little light when we're watching tv. their low setting is low, but their high setting is the same as traditional three-way bulbs (150 watts, i believe), so they're still bright enough to read by. they're perfect.
it's not exactly news, i guess, that i am enough of a dork to get excited over new light bulbs.
i'm sewing the binding on one baby quilt, have pieced another, and will finish piecing yet another a little later today.
this morning i burned myself on the heating element of the toaster oven. there is a tiny patch of barbecue on my left index-finger knuckle. for the moment before i realized what was happening, the kitchen smelled delicious.
wednesday i go to louisiana for a week of grandparents, fried seafood po-boys, and untrammelled hilarity with betty and mom. i must unearth my short-sleeved t-shirts, which otherwise wouldn't see the light of day around here until, oh, mid-may.
that's the news, and i...am...outta here.
January 23, 2004
singalong (dirty lyrics provided)
over at terry's blog she talked about ann miller. my favorite ann miller movie bar none is kiss me, kate. let us all join in a lusty rendition of "brush up your shakespeare," shall we?
Brush up your Shakespeare.
Start quoting him now.
Brush up your Shakespeare.
And the women you will wow.
Start quoting him now.
Brush up your Shakespeare.
And the women you will wow.
Just declaim a few lines from Othella,
And they'll think you're a helluva fella.
If your blonde won't respond when you flatter 'er,
Tell her what Tony told Cleopaterer.
If she fights when her clothes you are mussing...
What are clothes? Much Ado About Nussing!
Brush up your Shakespeare,
And they'll all kowtow.
With the wife of the British ambessida,
Try a crack out of Troilus and Cressida.
If she says she won't buy it or tike it.
Make her tike it, what's more, As You Like It.
If she says your behavior is heinous,
Kick her right in the Coriolanus.
Brush up your Shakespeare,
And they'll all kowtow.
If you can't be a ham and do Hamlet,
They will not give a damn or a damnlet.
Just recite an occasional sonnet,
And your lap'll have honey upon it.
When your baby is pleading for pleasure,
Let her sample your Measure For Measure.
Brush up your Shakespeare.
And they'll all kowtow.
Better mention The Merchant Of Venice
When her sweet pound o' flesh you would menace.
If her virtue, at first, she defends — well,
Just remind her that All's Well That Ends Well!
And if still she won't give you a bonus,
You know what Venus got from Adonis!
Brush up your Shakespeare.
And they'll all kowtow.
January 17, 2004
the flat tire
so when i tell you that we had a flat tire yesterday, you might be inspired to gasp. after all, it was -12°, with a wind chill of -38°.
but, really, if you have to get a flat tire, it was the best possible flat you could get.
i noticed the car was riding funny just as we left the driveway. sure enough, the front passenger tire was visibly low. after a brief conversation about whether it was safe to drive on ("i don't know. what do you think?" "i don't know. might as well."), we went down the hill to the tire store and asked them to repair it. twenty minutes later, we were good to go — for free, since we'd bought the tire there.
i wasn't even annoyed, because i was well aware of the numerous ways it could have been worse.
we weren't stranded on the side of the road somewhere — i'd detected it before we got that far.
we weren't struggling in the arctic cold to change it ourselves — which i would have felt honor-bound to try, before inevitably giving up and calling aaa.
we didn't have to wait for days — the tire people had us in and out very quickly.
the tire wasn't even damaged — it had simply slipped off the rim when we hit a bit of leftover car from an accident on the highway.
and getting it fixed was free!
i'll tell you, that flat tire made me happy. even at the time i was thoroughly aware of how bad it could have been, aware that we got off easy.
hey, you take your happiness where you find it.
January 02, 2004
second verse, same as the first
i had hoped for a positive start to 2004, but certain things are unchanged from 2003 (a year so lousy that i was hard-pressed to stay awake to see the back of it).
lunch is still in bad shape. when we brought him back from the thyroid hospital, he seemed to be mostly all right, but within a few hours he was doing poorly — lethargic, weak, sensitive to light. obviously feeling crappy. we think he's suffering from radiation thyroiditis and hypothyroidism: the thyroid tissue that was destroyed during the treatment is decaying, causing him discomfort, and the healthy tissue that remains isn't performing as well as it should be. so more pills, more hand-feeding, more worry. this cat is working my nerves as well as my heartstrings.
there is still a gigantic tree tilted across our driveway. i called the tree man again today, and spoke to the man himself for the first time instead of his flunkies. he claims he'll be out today to look at it. ahahahaha, i love to laugh.
i am giving january until the 15th to shape up. otherwise i'm never speaking to it again.
December 13, 2003
where i am
inspired by terry's enumeration, i'll make a little list of my accomplishments and obligations.
accomplishments:
- all my presents are bought except for one. that one will be purchased this weekend — it requires a special trip.
- one present is still being made, but i'm in the home stretch, no rush necessary.
- presents are wrapped except for those i had shipped straight from the stores.
- yesterday we shipped packages to perrysburg and alexandria, to arrive wednesday and friday, respectively.
- my cookies are baked, unless i feel like making more. eight different kinds will do, for crying out loud.
- made it through this week, which was harder than it looked.
now the daunting part.
obligations:
- drop lunch off to board at the vet this morning.
- drive to burlington, board airplane, fly to new york.
- meet people for brunch on sunday. shop. walk. doctor's appointment.
- return late tuesday night (plane arrives at 11:30 pm).
- pick up cat early wednesday morning from boarding. drive to boston to drop cat off for radiation. drive back home from boston wednesday evening.
- finish christmas prep as necessary.
- drive back to boston friday evening. pick cat up early saturday. drive back to montpelier and pick up other cat. take both cats to board saturday before 1 pm.
- fly to perrysburg sunday morning.
i am tired just thinking about it.
December 09, 2003
why i love paul
the friends who came to dinner last night have been following the atkins diet. when i heard this, as we were putting dinner on the table, i said, "oh, well, the beef and the sauce are low-carb, and perhaps a bit of the asparagus...and i can leave the cheese plate on the table if you want..."
"no, no," one of them assured me, "we're doing modified atkins," and happily accepted potatoes and pie.
later, after they'd left, as he surveyed the carnage in the kitchen, paul said, "'yeah, we're doing modified atkins. we've modified it...by adding starch.'"
December 05, 2003
west pointed
November 16, 2003
louisiana redeems itself
louisiana has elected its first woman governor, democrat kathleen blanco. this is a big relief, because her opponent was a hard-right republican who opposed, among other things, abortion in all cases.
i imagine some of louisiana's more neanderthal voters were confused by the choice: elect either a white woman or a non-white man. (blanco's opponent is indian — "and not the cowboy kind," according to aunt betty.)
November 04, 2003
things fall apart
some things that have recently broken around here:
- the tivo.
the modem inside our tivo got fried in a big thunderstorm a couple of weeks ago. we decided against having it repaired for the second time. because i would sooner live without my right arm than tivo, we opted to buy a new one, a series 2 machine. truthfully, we'd been looking for an excuse to upgrade, but we can tell ourselves the new machine's wireless ethernet capabilities will protect us from future modem troubles, thereby justifying the purchase. (i can justify anything.)
- the car.
it's currently making a scary scraping noise when i apply the brakes or accelerate. since it's also due for its 50,000 mile routine maintenance, it's going into the shop early tomorrow morning. right now i am waiting for the rental car lady to pick me up so that we won't be entirely carless in its absence.
- my fingernail.
i got overenthusiastic this morning with the clippers and sheared off the nail on my right middle finger far below the quick. you don't realize how much you need your nails for protection until you lose a big hunk of one — even tying my shoes was agonizing.
October 27, 2003
bad sneakers
 | yesterday i admired a pair of green rubber clogs. i was told they were plogs — fully autoclavable, not to be mistaken for splogs, which i own in purple.
the conversation reminded me of my own rubber clogs, and in fact my entire assortment of funny shoes. won't you join me on a quick tour of the collection? |
October 22, 2003
creeping spackerism
so the other day i offered to go on a mission for my gimpy sweetheart, and asked him if he wanted anything special from the grocery store.
"yes, please," he said. "can you get some apples?"
"uh-huh."
"and some cranberry juice..."
"yep."
"...and..." (fumbling, inarticulate gesture) "...some..."
"yes?"
"you know...round, flat bread."
for the next two minutes we played $100,000 pyramid, as i named every kind of round, flat bread i could think of. there are more than you might think.
here is what he actually wanted. i didn't guess it until he gave me some very broad hints, still fumbling for the word itself.
¡caramba!
October 21, 2003
train in vain
as part of its fall foliage tour, the american orient express goes through montpelier. there was an article about it in the local paper that made me curious enough to check out their web site.
as a result, i am now dying to take one of their trips. unfortunately, it costs the very earth — for two of us, any of their tours would go for a cool $10k or so. (do you like how worldly that makes me sound? "a cool $10k"? you're just lucky i didn't call it "ten large.") if i put $5 a week into a mayonnaise jar, it would take me 2,000 weeks to save that — that's 38 years and change. if i put $50 a month into a mayonnaise jar, it would take me 16 years and change. god. that's an awful lot of mayonnaise.
we saw it stopped on the tracks the other day, long past peak leaf week. i later read in the paper that the stop was a great success — and that there had been an open house where locals could get on the train and have a look around. imagine my sadness at missing that.
October 14, 2003
so last night i was thinking about paste
last night i was thinking about paste. you know, the non-toxic sticky white stuff that came in a squat plastic barrel with a stick in the lid. the first time you opened it, it was all smooth and lovely, with the only blemish being the void where the stick had been. kind of a mineshaft in the motherlode of paste.
i always tried to keep the paste as pristine as i could, but i — being, after all, me — always ended up with a rocky lunar landscape inside my jar. big boulders of paste, semi-dried, that had enough adhesive power to cling to the back of construction paper but not enough moisture within to be smoothed by the ineffectual little paste-paddle. my creations were often lumpy.
inevitably, my jar of paste would dry out. the dried paste boulders inside would rattle a bit when i shook the jar. if i emptied the boulders, there was usually still a single puck of paste in the , dried and monolithic, with a few ominous cracks signaling its imminent disintegration.
i don't think kids get paste anymore, do they?
October 13, 2003
paul, not in hell
several years ago a journalist named katie hafner wrote a book about paul's family. a new edition is in the works in germany, and the publishers wanted a current photo of paul. he sent them one from our trip to hawaii, in which he is seated amid an arid plain of pahoehoe, but they didn't like it — said it looked like he was sitting in hell. so i took a new one in the backyard. (click to enlarge it.)
October 12, 2003
note to terry
i think you should send me a good picture of yourself, unless you like the one in the right-hand column.
October 02, 2003
easy as 1, 2, 3
these guys think they've found the secret to happiness, a threefold path. here are the conditions they say must be met for satisfaction to be possible:
- feeling you can make a difference;
- understanding what's going on around you; and
- having the chance to choose your own options.
- soft, clean sheets above 250 thread-count;
- caffeine-free diet pepsi chilled to 1° kelvin;
- pasta in embarrassing proportions;
- a good book, preferably with at least one gruesome murder in it;
- an idea of where my next vacation will be;
- appreciative (or at least dutiful) laughter at my every sally; and
- the time and ability to make things.
September 23, 2003
spacker
so this past weekend i painted the downstairs hallway and a couple of other walls that had gotten overlooked when i did the dining room. one of these walls was the one in the kitchen that includes the pantry door.
the pantry door has a pot lid rack on its inside — a very handy way to store them. it's full to the tune of about a dozen lids, glass and metal.
now, when i paint doors, i like to take them off the hinges to avoid drips. do you see where this is going?
that's right. i forgot to stow the lids before removing the door.
it rained many a clattering lid directly onto my empty, empty head.
August 28, 2003
in russia they lined up for bread
this is me if a waffle house ever opens nearby:
Anne Lewis and son Gregg Pullano sit near the Hot Light at the new Krispy Kreme Tuesday morning. Lewis and Pullano stood in line for 13 days waiting for the store to open. It was the longest anyone has waited for a store opening in the franchise's history.
August 27, 2003
did you ever know that you're my hero?
August 22, 2003
lord love a duck
so i was thinking i should get a duck.
last night paul and i saw winged migration, a beautiful movie composed of breathtaking footage of migratory birds in flight. lots of geese, many cranes, even some penguins...but only one duck, a mallard who accidentally wandered into a v of southbound greylags.
and it got me thinking about the ducks i've known and loved. there are many fine ducks at the lakefront in burlington, mostly female mallards; we admired them and their chicks this summer. then there are the ducks we watched at leamington, sheltering themselves snugly under docks and in the recesses of the boat hulls just under the engines. (why leamington encourages kids to blow them out of the water, i'm sure i don't know.) and then there are the ducks at the peabody in memphis — maybe one day, if i work very hard, i, too, could become a duckmasterTM.
by far, the duck i love the most is jim dodge's fup, a hilarious little fable about a twenty-pound flightless mallard. (fup duck...get it?) please read it if you haven't.
so, back to my plan. we're getting a duck (just one, i think). i don't really foresee any major problems caring for our duck, particularly since she will earn her keep eating slugs and snails — after all, "it literally costs only pennies per day to feed a duck or goose"! and they can even be diapered. what's not to like?
if nothing else, it'll give lunch something to herd.
August 18, 2003
make tonight a wonderful thing
next monday paul and i are going to see steely dan at mohegan sun in connecticut.
i think it'll be a good concert. this guy liked the concert okay. this guy loved it. (this guy doesn't seem to agree, but perhaps he can be written off as a dangerous crackpot.)
but then i'm bound to like it. i'm a fan...though these people (and these, and these) seem to like steely dan a lot more than even i do.
August 17, 2003
keeper
here's how i know paul loves me: he paid my library fines for me.
my new personal mantra
August 13, 2003
the art of losing
here are some things i cannot find. do you know where they are?
- my letter opener. when i paid bills this morning i was reduced to using a steak knife to slice open the envelopes. and my finger. won't you please help?
- a pint of mushroom duxelles. shallots, mushrooms, butter, parsley, salt, and pepper. i made them in early june and tossed the container into the freezer...or so i thought. i have tossed both freezers thoroughly, but my mushrooms appear to have vanished without a trace. did you eat them?
- one tablespoon. i do not keep my measuring spoons on a ring — if you love something, set it free. one of them has abused my trust and made good its escape. if you see it, please call the police. it could be armed and dangerous.
August 06, 2003
July 17, 2003
julie at 13
you should know that the highlight of my teen years was my thirteenth birthday, when my dad took me to see duran duran in baton rouge.
July 14, 2003
and i quote...
yesterday i went with paul to the annual meeting of the nwu vermont local. it was billed as a cookout (country music! swimming! free barbecue!) as well as a meeting. little did we know that the meeting part would take five hours and the cookout a mere fifteen minutes. i was left to my own devices during the meeting, so sat out on the deck overlooking acres of beautiful gardens, a frog-clogged pond, and the distant mountains.
as i sat, a woman came out and joined me. her name was phyllis. phyllis is a raving madwoman. here, now, i will tell you what phyllis said.
i had to come outside. it was very strange in there. i have chemical sensitivities so i needed some fresh air.
[julie nods and murmurs, trying to be polite without drawing phyllis into further conversation]
[phyllis shakes the clear contents of a jam jar vigorously, unscrews the top, and drinks deeply]
i was going to go swimming. i even brought a bathing suit. but i don't know how deep the water is and there could be chemicals in it.
[julie considers a mild contradiction, believing that no frogs could survive in the pond if it were doctored with chemicals, but ultimately decides she doesn't care whether phyllis goes swimming or not. instead julie nods and murmurs — see above.]
[a few others venture outside, including a woman with long, spidery black hair who introduces herself as the daughter of a poet who won a national book award: "we're a family of writers."]
i had to come outside because of my chemical sensitivities.
[spider-woman asks, "what are chemical sensitivities?"]
did you know that since world war two there have been fifty thousand new chemicals pumped into the environment?
[julie tunes out for a while. hum de dum, look at that bird. i think i'll plant some globe thistle in my garden next year. i wonder when the burgers will be ready.]
i write poems. i haven't had any published in a while but i have two in a college anthology.
[she quotes the title of the anthology...and the names of the editors...and the publication date...and the name of the publisher. spider-woman mentions again that her mother won the national book award for poetry.]
my first chapbook came out in 1972. it was the first time my publisher published a book by a woman. they were going to publish some poems by a woman that the publisher was fucking, but i saw the poems and said, "my poems are better than that! why won't you publish mine?!" he said, "we will!" and they did!
[emphasis on "fucking" is hers, not mine. please note that an eight-year-old girl sits three feet to the left of their little group, avidly following the conversation.]
then when my book came out, there was an event to showcase it and two other books by women poets. the small books editor of the washington post was there.
[julie wonders whether it was the books that were small or the editor.]
everybody expected him to write about one of the other books, because he was fucking the writer, but he didn't! and he was fucking the other writer, too. but he talked about my book. everybody said he must be fucking me!
[julie makes a mental note to the effect that if anyone had ever fucked phyllis, it must have been many moons ago indeed.]
here's what he said about my book:
[phyllis quotes at length from the thirty-year-old review. julie tunes out, filtering in only words like "luminous," "trenchant," and "poignant."]
[spider-woman, in a flurry of oh-would-you-look-at-the-time, makes to go inside again.]
before you go, may i recite a poem for you?
[julie almost laughs aloud, delighted. spider-woman frantically considers bolting, but capitulates.]
young zionism
[as an aside, phyllis asks spider-woman if she's jewish. spider-woman declines to say.]
when we were 15
they told us
no drinking, smoking, or screwing
until we reached israel
no wonder
they called it
the promised land.
and then they all went inside.
later we hightailed it out of there with indecent speed so that phyllis could not request a ride home from us. if she'd asked, i was all set to lie and say i'd worn perfume.
July 04, 2003
i'm just saying.
percentage of women at last night's july 4th fete who seriously needed a better bra:
July 03, 2003
it's all about you.
i spend so much time yammering about myself that i thought i'd talk about someone else today. specifically, some of you. here are some interesting tidbits for you to consider.
when we were remodeling the bathroom in new york and had been toiletless for a few days, cori took pity on me and invited me over for dinner. she and josh made delicious fried chicken, treated me like an honored guest, and generally made me forget the horribleness that waited for me back at the apartment. she might not have known at the time what a kindness she did me, but i was deeply grateful. she also once said "fuck" in front of my mother, and had the best wedding i've ever been to.
when i worked at suranet back in the pre-.com days, ed and i used to walk down to a nearby 7-11 every day for a big gulp. we consumed buckets and buckets of coke. ed's wife is an accountant, so from january to mid-april she spent most of her waking hours preparing taxes. when she wasn't available, ed would sometimes take me to orioles games so as not to waste their season tickets. and he would often come over and watch welcome back, kotter with me on friday nights. he was my very best pal in maryland.
i don't even know where to start with harold. through alphabetical chance, he and i sat next to each other in patsy musgrove's twelfth-grade ap english class, world literature. we spent three months studying the bible. harold and i entertained each other by drawing flip-book cartoons in the margins of our bibles — a stick figure robbing another at gunpoint. a stick figure being flattened by a falling safe. a stick figure dying, decomposing into the ground, and a cross rising in its place (which was then promptly flattened by aforementioned falling safe, in an uncredited cameo). harold wore the same pair of jeans every day one semester, just to see if anyone would notice. no one did.
June 30, 2003
every word is true. i swear it.
i probably never told y'all about this date i had in college.
i was working in the computer lab, which i did for about three years, keeping an eye on the machines, making sure the printers didn't go haywire, swapping tapes for backups, and venting my natural sadism upon first-year statistics students. ("sorry, closing time." "...but the project's due tomorrow!" "and yet...strangely...it's still closing time.")
every three years miami had what they called charter day ball — basically an excuse for people to get dolled up in formal clothing, drink themselves into a stupor, and attempt to waltz. they even had waltzing classes beforehand. (in keeping with my general college practice, i skipped class and figured i'd fake it.)
this one guy named eric, who'd spent countless hours in the computer lab, sent me e-mail asking me to the ball. i hadn't ever spoken to him — i suppose he'd seen me working behind the desk and was taken with my charming manner. either he was awfully hard up or he liked his women crabby.
at the of his e-mail, he signed his name, "eric (bloodaxe)."
that's right. i went to the ball with a guy who liked to be called bloodaxe.
he was about five feet tall and four feet wide, with long, straggly hair, a mangy-looking beard and mustache, and aviator glasses. but he was also a very nice, gentle-seeming fellow, and i saw no reason not to go with him. so i went to the thrift store downtown, bought a smashing black beaded cocktail dress, and waited for prince charming to whisk me away.
where i got whisked was to the local chinese restaurant. (in oxford, ohio there was only one, and it was about as good as you'd expect a chinese restaurant in oxford, ohio to be.) this restaurant served no liquor, but bloodaxe, suave devil, offered me a swig of grog from his army surplus canteen. mm, no, thanks.
then, on to the ball! our efforts to waltz were frankly ridiculous, as he was about two heads shorter than i was and trying very hard not to stare at my bosom. we contented ourselves with sitting at a table and making desultory conversation. ("so do you play dungeons and dragons at all?" "no. god, no.")
he said he had a surprise for me, so we finally bagged it and went back to his dorm. (i politely pretended to be impressed by the several medieval-looking swords he had proudly displayed.)
it had begun to snow, though, so his surprise was ruined: we would not be taking his fur throw (!) out into the woods (!!) with candles (!!!) and tape-recorded music (!!!!) so he could regale me with the haiku he'd written especially for me (!!!!!).
i wish i were making this up.
"would you like to hear my haiku anyway?" he asked forlornly.
if ever there existed a cue to exit, that was it. i fled, practically breaking my ankles in my high heels, desperate to get away. haiku, for god's sake. haiku.
i never saw him again. (i think he was too embarrassed afterward to use the computer lab.) i hadn't thought of him in years, but this news story reminded me of him.
all hail bloodaxe!
if you're bored it's your own fault.
last night we had a great thunderstorm. paul and i lay in bed facing the big picture window and watched it. ("ooh! that was a good one.") there were a few fireflies who'd braved the storm, and they blinked very brightly, very frequently, as if they were on urgent firefly business.
we also played a game. it seemed to have to do with geography and classification. like:
straits. formosa, bering, hormuz...
canals. panama, erie, suez...
countries whose names have changed. thailand, liberia, bangladesh...
vehicles of exploration. kon-tiki, golden hind, endurance...
i could do this for days. i never understand it when people tell me they're bored. how can that be when there's a universe full of palindromes and first lines of poems and rhyming couplets and song lyrics and interesting license plates and anagrams and...?
June 23, 2003
for paul r.
here is the ringtone i currently have on my new phone.
June 19, 2003
oh, the stories i could tell
i like parties where people don't know each other well because everyone ends up pulling out their best stories, the ones you've perfected, the ones where you know when to pause for the inevitable laughter to follow.
last night i told the group about my run-in with our new york neighbor over my flagrant misuse of the laundry facilities.
paul talked about his evil grandmother, and about finding her remains in his mother's basement.
jen talked about her youth spent fighting with her mother and making up over sara lee pound cake, every time.
kaley told us about making a mild joke during a photography critique that turned her nice german classmate into a howling shrew.
chris talked about burying his mother's ashes in a cardboard box tied with christmas ribbon.
and emily described unleashing years of pent-up cell phone rage on an unsuspecting gentleman at the counter in a coffee shop.
June 15, 2003
thank you, tylenol pm.
last night i dreamed paul took me to a down warehouse — you know, where pillow manufacturers shop for the finest in goose fluff. i jumped into a gigantic pit of it. to my surprise i bounced very high, and when i landed, there was no shock at all. just lovely soft bouncing, higher and higher.
June 10, 2003
where are they now?
i was shuffling through my high school's alumni site and found out many interesting things about my friends and former classmates.
as for occupations, many of the women are now "homemakers." many other women are "moms." some are even "mommies." they all like scrapbooking. i didn't see any who claimed to be "oprah-watching couch-warmers," alas.
one male classmate is now a fitness model. one female classmate is now a public health bioterrorism training officer. we've found the anthrax killer!
a lot of them play golf. next to "children," more than one of them has entered, "none that i know of."
one of the classmates i passionately loathed is now a venture capitalist. i would have been happier to see "shoe salesman," i confess, but i guess the vc shoe fits.
shari got married with eight bridesmaids. susan's a stay-at-home mom who likes scrapbooking. colleen is a primary school art teacher. harold is a doctor, mason sent e-mail giving no clues whatsoever, and mindy is a table-dancer in juneau, alaska.
okay, i made that last one up, but it's entirely plausible, all things considered.
June 05, 2003
I Think
I will write you a letter,
June day. Dear June Fifth,
you're all in green, so
many kinds and all one
green, tree shadows on
grass blades and grass
blade shadows. The air
fills up with motor
mower sound. The cat
walks up the drive
a dead baby rabbit
in her maw. The sun
is hot, the breeze
is cool. And suddenly
in all the green
the lilacs bloom,
massive and exquisite
in color and shape
and scent. The roses
are more full of
buds than ever. No
flowers. But soon.
June day, you have
your own perfection:
so green to say
goodbye to. Green,
stick around
a while.
— James Schuyler
May 30, 2003
things i am out of, or almost
- brown sugar
- white sugar
- parchment paper
- potatoes
- real mayonnaise (though we have a lot of light mayo)
- broccoli
- chocolate for baking (semi-sweet and milk)
- tomatoes
- lemons
May 25, 2003
where there's smoke
yesterday as we drove back from visiting several artists' studios, we saw a big, ugly plume of smoke over downtown montpelier. we decided against driving downtown to check it out, figuring they didn't need the extra traffic on main street at the moment. here's what happened:
A late-afternoon fire Saturday gutted a downtown Montpelier building Saturday, destroying the Play it Again Sam music store and Heads Up hair salon.
The blaze left the building structurally unsound.
Firefighters from five departments prevented the fire at 66 Main St. from spreading to neighboring buildings as of press time. But the brick building was still engulfed in flames Saturday evening and in danger of collapsing. The Associated Press reported that firefighters had begun to tear down the building?s façade.
More than two dozen firefighters from Montpelier, Berlin, East Montpelier, Middlesex and Barre City responded to the call. No injuries were reported as of 6:30 p.m.
fine hometown reporting continues here. i've found a couple of montpelier webcams, neither of which show the downtown area, but you might enjoy a peek at the state house.
May 22, 2003
too much time on my feet...er, hands
just thought i'd share a picture of my latest pedicure. i bought this flashy new polish by revlon — it's a shiny magenta that makes my toenails look like pink chrome. of course, it's 50 degrees out here, too cold to show off in sandals, but under my thick, woolly socks hide the toes of a temptress.
you'll be relieved to learn that i successfully resisted the blandishments of the nice lady who bullied me into getting holographic glitter polish last time.
i blame oprah winfrey
now hear this: i am not to blame for terry's recent denim debacle. nay, i lay the blame gingerly at the exquisitely-shod feet of oprah goddamn winfrey. she's the one who told you to try on the long and leans! i merely reported that i had.
but, terry, if it's any consolation, chortle at this. yesterday morning i put on my smashbox cream eyeliner, carefully applying it with my special brush — the one that's only about an angstrom thick — and taking pains to avoid smudging it in any way. now, i've had problems with this product in the past, but after carefully questioning terry (the best real-life makeup artist i know) about her technique, i figured it was time to give it another try. and i looked smashing, no doubt about it.
the next time i looked in the mirror was two hours later, after a protracted consultation with my doctor. the eyeliner was smeared all the way down to key west. i think the good doctor showed admirable restraint in not laughing at my horrifying raccoonish visage.
May 17, 2003
today's diabolical plan
here's what we're going to do today:
- head downtown to the farmers' market. they don't have a lot yet in the way of produce, but a couple of weeks ago we got some baby bok choy that was stupendous. (no adult vegetables for us, thankyouverymuch.) there are also scallions and spinach. it's fun to see what changes every week.
- drive to burlington to see the matrix reloaded at the big theater with stadium seating. review to come, but i can probably write it before even seeing it: big, loud, stupid fun.
- go to costco for staples. our supplies are running low, meaning that our basement looks like normal people live here instead of survivalist militiamen.
May 14, 2003
well, they're polite jackasses...
i witnessed a very burlington scene this afternoon as i was going back to my car on the top deck of the parking garage. a couple of youtsTM were balanced on the rail of the garage, five stories up, and yelling down to passersby on the ground. "if i jump, will you catch me?" real jackass kind of stuff.
what made it a burlington moment is that when the kids decided to hop back down onto terra firma at last, they called down to the people below, "okay! have a nice day!"
and they actually sounded sincere.
why paul is an excellent science writer
so last night paul and i were talking about, well, amphibian reproduction. (we're such a fun couple.) he was telling me about one species of rain forest frog that incubates its eggs in its stomach. "how," i asked, "do they keep from digesting the eggs?"
"fancy mucus," said paul.
May 05, 2003
is it still national poetry month?
my friend steve tells me that the amazing poem generator (courtesy of the excellent commander taco) yields this for my site:
dreaming in very thin strips
of the gradients in
a ton of time — paul
to the piecing; the
lawn, and even the front beds, raked about
a folk art style.
every color scheme. every time
— before
i fretfully chopped vegetables for the airport police
that finally did
it, up
with what the background each little trifle
like salmonella slow him down.
of the gradients in
a ton of time — paul
to the piecing; the
lawn, and even the front beds, raked about
a folk art style.
every color scheme. every time
— before
i fretfully chopped vegetables for the airport police
that finally did
it, up
with what the background each little trifle
like salmonella slow him down.
go on, try it!
May 01, 2003
note to self: food goes in carry-on
home again after a long but uneventful day of travel. on the new orleans/chicago leg, i sat next to a scruffy man listening to medical abstracts on tape. he was a doctor. on the chicago/burlington leg, i sat next to a beautifully groomed young woman wearing an enormous diamond ring and carrying a bag from a medical conference. i wonder if she was a gynecologist, as her bag proclaimed, or a doctor's wife, as her ring did.
somewhere along the line, my luggage and i parted company, and it did not arrive in burlington. the man at the ticket counter swore they'll have my suitcase delivered to me in the morning. contents: about twenty yards of fabric, three pounds of now-thawed crawfish, and twelve pieces of fried chicken.
yes, i am that stupid.