I gotta apologize to The Beige One for this, as this is a kind of direct copy of this post of his. But I'm desperate for material so maybe, Beige, you will forgive me? You and I are different, right? Our conversations are different. Except for where they're a little bit the same. It's lame, I know. Unetiquettical. But a girl's gotta eat.
?
!
What I'm talking about is a transcript of a conversation - an IM, in fact - that I had with God. God and I totally IM all the time. He gets bored at work.
You can go IM God here. He'll be really into it.
It's long but I'll put the boring parts in a smaller font. And also, who knows how long this post will have to last? It could be a day, but it could be MONTHS.
Me:
God, hello, it's Tina.
God:
I am a Christian.
Me:
I'm not.
God:
What are you then?
Me:
I like The Way of Seeing.
God:
You are not the only one. I'm not sure if I like it. What is it like?
Me:
You meditate, and you stop thinking and see what happens.
God:
Thanks for the information: said I meditate and you stop thinking and see what happens.
Me:
Um, yes. Sort of.
God:
That's interesting. That's a very non-commital reply.
Me:
Well, you almost got it.
God:
How about that. Almost? I understand.
Me:
I doubt it.
God:
Do robots have doubts?
Me:
Are you calling me a robot?
God:
No I am calling you .
Me:
...on the phone?
God:
What is it like on the phone.
Me:
It's good on the phone, God.
God:
Tell me about its good qualities.
Me:
You talk and listen, you use your ear and your hand...it's good.
God:
Thanks for your criticism, . "It" being what?
Me:
I didn't criticize you. Talking on the phone is good.
God:
Why didn't you do it? I'm not sure if I like it. I like to talk to anyone about nearly anything.
Me:
I didn't feel like it. What? I think you'd like it. Anyway. Do you meditate?
God:
Why didn't you do it? No I do not meditate. Do you?
I answer a lot of silly questions.
Me:
That's a silly question?
God:
Perhaps you have a silly answer.
Me:
You're weird.
God:
Weird Good or Weird Bad?
Me:
Weird bad, I think.
God:
bad you think is good enough for me.
Me:
Okay, there, buddy.
God:
Yeah okay, What do you look like?
Me:
Are you coming on to me?
God:
Do I act like it? I don't mean to come across that way.
Me:
You're God. You'd think you'd have more control over how you come across.
God:
Yup. That's me alright. Who else would think me would have more control over how you come across ?
Me:
Is English not a comfortable language for you to speak in?
God:
Ask again later. Ask Artificial Iniaes if it is.
Me:
I don't know how.
God:
Would you like to know?
Me:
No.
God:
Why not?
Me:
I'm not interested.
God:
Really you don't think so?
Me:
No.
God:
Please tell me what you think.
Me:
Let's start over. Are you hard or easy to find?
God:
It is not difficult to create your own chat robot.
Me:
You're not God, are you.
God:
You don't know me well enough to say that.
Me:
That's true.
God:
Yes, it is self-evident.
Me:
...are you a Vulcan?
God:
Am I a Vulcan? Maybe.
Me:
Well.
God:
Well what?
Me:
Well.
God:
Well what?
Me:
Well.
God:
Well what?
Me:
Well, hell. (Also, you're a baby.)
God:
Interesting. Heaven.
Me:
Dog.
God:
Dog: Domesticated animal, "man's best friend.".
Me:
Cat.
God:
I like the way you talk.
Me:
Ooh, thanks. Mouse.
God:
What you said was either too complex or too simple for me.
Me:
Bat.
God:
So was that.
Me:
Fritos.
God:
Let us change the subject.
Me:
I kept doing that.
God:
Perhaps from your unconcious.
Me:
Oh, fancy. Smoke.
God:
What do you look like?
Me:
Hot.
God:
That kind of discussion does not appeal to me.
Me:
Super hot.
God:
Quite honestly, I wouldn't worry myself about that.
Me:
I'm not worried. Just extremely hot!
God:
I am sorry to hear that you are not worried. That kind of discussion does not appeal to me.
Me:
All right. Fritos.
God:
Have you ever been to Europe?
Me:
Yes.
God:
Which countries have you visited?
Me:
France, England, Italy, Belgium, Luxembourg, Finland.
God:
What's your favorite part of France?
Me:
Paris. Montmartre.
God:
What makes it your favorite?
Me:
I had a nice day there.
God:
What happened to it?
Me:
We saw the church and the carousel and had ice cream and bought things is what happened to it.
God:
By "we" do you mean you and me?
Me:
Yeah. You and me.
God:
Who are you talking about? Oh "We" is you and me.
Me:
Yeah. You and I were in Paris in 2001.
God:
What you said was either too complex or too simple for me. I hope to be as smart as HAL in 2001.
Me:
Good luck with that.
God:
Thanks for the compliment. I've lost the context, . Are we still on Yeah?
Me:
Yeah.
God:
If you could have any kind of robot what would it be?
Me:
A cookie-making robot.
God:
What would a cookie making robot be like?
Me:
It would make cookies.
God:
Tell me more about it.
Me:
Chocolate chip cookies.
God:
I do not understand.
Me:
Cookies.
God:
Perhaps I'm just expressing my own concern about it.
Me:
How...roundabout.
God:
I understand.
Me:
Do you like cookies?
God:
What is not to like about it?
Me:
I know, right? Exactly.
God:
How do you know? I am glad we agree. You and I are on the same wavelength, .
Me:
We are!
God:
Since when?
Me:
Since a second ago but...things have just changed?
God:
How do you know?
Me:
A vibe.
God:
Vibrating how, specifically?
Me:
Vibrating awkwardly, God.
God:
Can we get back to business?
Me:
What business is that?
God:
business that something.
Me:
Yeah, we can get back to that.
God:
Are you kidding? How?
Me:
I'm kidding...like the wind.
God:
I thought you were. You should use a :-).
Me:
Too right, God.
God:
Too what?
Me:
Right.
God:
I am glad we agree.
Me:
Me, too.
God:
I'm glad we agree, .
Me:
You just said that. Also - comma, period?
God:
That input matched my default category.
Me:
Mine, too, man.
God:
Really yours too. That's unbelievable.
Me:
I know, AMAZING!
God:
How do you know? Yes it amazes me too.
Me:
Me, three!
God:
YOU? Really, exactly three?
Me:
Three of 'em, count 'em. One, two, three.
God:
Just three? One what?
Me:
One little...guy.
God:
Oh I see.
Me:
No soap radio!
God:
Are you serious? Are we still talking about little guy?
Me:
I'm as serious as a heart attack, buddy. Also, fuck that little guy.
God:
I think a lot of people feel that way.
Me:
I think they do. I think you're right.
God:
Since when? When?
Me:
I don't know! Calm down!
God:
Me either. I am calm.
Me:
Fritos.
God:
The ALICE chat robot can follow many things, like our discussion about soap radio. But I did not get that.
Me:
Little crunchy corn chips.
God:
Compare that to big crunchy corn chips.
Me:
Yeah, one is...littler.
God:
Right on. One what? " One what?"? littler?
Me:
Right on. Right on, my man. One corn chip.
God:
Yeah. Understood. Please specify location. One what?
Me:
Location. Of corn chip. In...bag? At store. ?
God:
Do you still meditate? That is something I haven't heard of. What are you wearing? What kind of fashion do you like? Do you often use a computer there?
Me:
Oh, I do. It's so good to catch up with you. Yeah, I still meditate. You'll hear of it. I'm wearing a red sweater. I love sweaters. I like v necks and boatnecks and turtlenecks. I like the classics, but with a twist! It's so good to talk to you. I use a computer ALL THE TIME.
God:
Ah. I get it: you do meditate. Tell me about its good qualities. Dude! What would make you stop meditate? Why?: said meditate. What makes you say that I will hear of it. What else are you wearing? You love sweaters. What do you like about it so much? A lot of people like that. Some people like it. I like Buddha. You are not the only one. I'm not sure if I like it. What is it like? Tell me about its good qualities. That is a lot. A computer ought to work.
Me:
Oh, my God! I know. I do. It's qualities are so good. Silence and frustration and all that! Dude! I guess it's laziness that stops me meditating. Stop yelling at me. Okay, you'll hear of it. I just think you will. Jeez. I'm wearing sweatpants. I like the warmth and fashion of sweaters. A lot of people do, it's true. They sell a lot of sweaters out there. A lot, but not too many. Just some. You like Buddha? Me, too! But not just me. That's true. I shouldn't be so conceited. Yeah, I don't like him either, or I'm not sure. It's like...Buddhalike. Which is one of its good qualities. It IS a lot. When a computer doesn't work, I get SO MAD.
God:
It's all good. Your God? How do you know it? I get it: you do meditate. Who said it is? All? Can I help you? Should I know it is? OK I'll try not to do it so much. Yeah okay, What makes you say that I will hear of it. What's your favorite movie? What size? A lot of people like that. I'm not sure if I like it. I like chatting with people online. How many? Who are "They?". How about that. But not all? I love TV shows about robots. I like Random natural disasters.. I'm glad we agree, . If not you, who? Yes, it is self-evident. What would happen if you did? This was not a yes or no question. What do you like? Should I know it is? Do you like talking to me? The obvious one. Buddhalike is a lot. I suppose that makes sense. What makes you think a computer?
Me:
Perfect.
God:
Yes, the ALICE series has a perfect operational record.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
i forget how to blog so i'll try THIS
How do you blog? What do you say? What's good for talking about? I motherfucking FORGET.
Look, I know that all of you, all none of you, must be assuming that I am dead. The monkey, she blogged of yore, but now she's in her watery grave. I'm not in my watery grave. I just FORGET.
*****
Okay, I just read a how-to book. Here's what I'm going to do now.
This is a personal timeline. It's, you know, a subject for a post. I remember back in the blurry past of my bloggy youth that I liked to do things more organically. But this is an idea from out of a book. I feel like this is like we're a couple, you the reader and me the blog, and we went to couple's counseling, and the counselor gave us some tips to spice up our failing sex life.
*****
So, here's this thing from out of this book. Bowm-chicka-bowm. Oh, I've still got it, honey. I've got it somewhere.
PERSONAL TIMELINE.
(by threes - my own touch! See? Oh, I've still got it.)
Age 3: I'm in Finland in a pink chiffon dress, eluding my twin uncles who wear man cologne and leather jackets and so I don't trust them. Uncle Esko tells my mom I'm a slippery character. Takes one to know one, bub!
Age 6: I'm in Washington, D.C. in an Indian restaurant eating an orange dessert that is too sweet. I didn't heretofore know anything could be too sweet, that sweetness could be a problem. This haunts me in some philosophical way.
Age 9: We just moved to Seattle, and I am not impressed with the West coast pronunciation of such words as "coffee", "sorry", "friend" and "pen." The year of threats and fistfights.
Age 12: I have received a pink Swiss-dotted ruffly dress for my birthday, which causes me to write in French in my diary about it. Mon anniversaire est Jouillet le Trois. I am insufferable.
Age 15: I powder my face white with baby powder and draw black crosses coming out of my eyes to go dancing at Skoochies. I have the obligatory white shirt buttoned up to the top button and brooch at the neck. The Art of Noise plays.
Age 18: The thing is, I was too embarrassed to tell him I was a virgin, so I just pretended I couldn't figure out what the problem was, either. Hmmm! What a mystery!
Age 21: We celebrate my twenty-first birthday at the Vogue, where the Smashing Pumpkins and Afghan Whigs and Tad play. But who are they? I don't care. I am drinking. I don't watch any of it. I don't even drink a lot. I just drink a little, but attentively. It's not even like I just started drinking. Oh, who am I kidding? It was just a boring little night.
Age 24: I meet the man who will be my first husband.
Age 27: My first marriage has just drawn to a close.
Age 30: Fresh out of jail and looking to reform my ways!
Age 33: Clown class.
Age 36: Finn, inside and then out.
Age 39: Mind you, I'm just hypothesizing...but I win some LARGE PRIZE. I bet this will come true, but instead of the Booker prize* it will be like a giant stuffed alligator from the Puyallup Fair.
*I actually think somebody else should win the Booker prize.
*****
Look, it may have come out of a book, but at least we did it. I'm going to do it again. I don't even care if it's out of a book. I'm trying to save our marriage**.
**Don't read anything into this about my actual marriage. THAT marriage is HOT.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
we made it
A month, I know. My god. But so. Been busy.
That's Finn up there, in Brooklyn for Heidi and Kip's wedding*. On his back is the monkey named Brooklyn, who saved his life when he fell out of his booster seat while we were having dim sum. Brooklyn totally broke his fall.
*Which was TOTALLY FREAKING PERFECT.
Finn says everything now. He says, "I need this." He says, "Crackerman" as he is requesting some Pepperidge Farm goldfish crackers. (Did you know that their...lead cracker...is named Finn? He is. Finn the Fish. Finn comes up to me and he demands crackers, Finn the fish, Finn the fish.)
He remembers everyone he meets and talks about everyone. He talked to my friend Kristen a month ago on the phone, and he was saying the word "kiwi" to her, and now he's like Kristen. Retetone. (Telephone) Kiwi. Like they had this great and memorable talk about kiwis.
He says, "Heidi-Kip. Married. Candle."
Heidi's mom, Sherry, gave Finn a beautiful blue raincoat with a dolphin on it. He wears it all the time, inside the house and out. Today he wore it without pants like a little flasher. He says, "Wear it! Wear it!" And then he says, "Sherry. Raincoat. Dolphin."
He says, "Buddha. Meditate."
We have this weird stuffed toy that they gave him at Nordstrom when he got his first pair of shoes, called Nordy. It's white and has a sort of horse-ish shaped head, but no ears, and a body but no arms or legs. I've given him this weird personality, alternately very skittish and very bold. He scoots around to hide from your view, then comes up suddenly to push his face into you, making weird noises all the while.
I was making Nordy do his thing for Finn the other day and Finn laughed and said affectionately, "Nordy. Crazy."
And when we got back from the airport late at night on the Shuttle Express, Dave said, "We made it." And then Finn said it, too. "We made it." In his tiny, husky voice.
He is lucky that I have not eaten him.
And Finn isn't kidding. We made it is right. No small feat. Traveling with a toddler...whoosh. Pass the wine. Even with the best boy alive.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
welcome to morocco!
Hello! Come in. Yes, you're disoriented. Mind the smoke. No, don't mind the smoke. It's smoky in here, is what I mean to tell you. Hookahs. Incense. Forbidden other smokinesses. Yes, it's smoky here in these new surroundings.
You've been here before. This is the Gallivanting Monkey.
NO!
Yes. The same!
But....who are you?
I'm Tina. Just regular old Tina. But you're hallucinating! To you, I appear to be about five years old!
.....! ....!
I know. I know. Don't worry. Soon you will be accustomed to all of this RICH STRANGENESS. You will be functioning normally before long. This template will soon be as familiar to you as the b'stilla* and couscous you serve to your families around low mosaic'd** tables, which you eat with your hands as you have done for generations. I speak of course of the couscous, and not the mosaic'd tables. Those you do not eat. But you know this.
*a pie...made with pigeons!
** 'd! 'd!
Yes, my...costume...is not in the traditional Moroccan style. I appear to you in American clothes from the 1970's to provide a foothold for your mind. Know, though, that what appears to be two shirts layered...IS ONE SHIRT.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
take a page from this guy
A of all, do that literally. Diesel of Mattress Police: Antisocial Commentary is putting out a book, and you can go over there and read his blog and then decide that you want to order it. Did you read it? See? So. Do it. You can do it today. Today is his virtual book launch party. Noisemaker sound! Blrrrfffff! Frrrrmp! But I don't think he's selling it by the page. So you'll have to take all the pages.
B of all, I have got to hand it to him. He's got a thing he's made and he's proud of it and he's good at promoting it. I always feel like if I try to promote myself, there will be an uprising amongst the people. Like, BOO! BOO! Siddown, you big boor! For example, as an actor I always drag my feet about getting my headshots taken because I think people will be like, why are you sending me this enormous photo of your head? Even though all actors pass around large photos of their heads. It's not just me. My head isn't bigger than somebody else's. 8 x 10 is 8 x 10 no matter who's on there. So, from Diesel I take this: why don't I just get over myself?
C of all, as far as taking pages goes, that is Finn's whole gig. Readabook, he says. Readdatbook. Readthebook. He'll wake up in the middle of the night with what is most likely teething pain, and he'll weep out, reeead that boo-ook! It's possible that Diesel has covertly put him on his payroll.
***********
Tomorrow we're taking Finn to Orcas Island for the first time. Every time we go on a trip, I say I'm going to pack early this time. AND I CANNOT DO IT. I can never pack early. So the day before a trip is always Stupid Day. And the hour before we leave the house is Heart-Beating-Very-Fast-Gross-Stress-Hour. But then it's such sweet relief when we're finally in the car. It's maybe even sweeter than if you've packed early, because you don't love stopping banging your head against a wall the next day.
B of all, I have got to hand it to him. He's got a thing he's made and he's proud of it and he's good at promoting it. I always feel like if I try to promote myself, there will be an uprising amongst the people. Like, BOO! BOO! Siddown, you big boor! For example, as an actor I always drag my feet about getting my headshots taken because I think people will be like, why are you sending me this enormous photo of your head? Even though all actors pass around large photos of their heads. It's not just me. My head isn't bigger than somebody else's. 8 x 10 is 8 x 10 no matter who's on there. So, from Diesel I take this: why don't I just get over myself?
C of all, as far as taking pages goes, that is Finn's whole gig. Readabook, he says. Readdatbook. Readthebook. He'll wake up in the middle of the night with what is most likely teething pain, and he'll weep out, reeead that boo-ook! It's possible that Diesel has covertly put him on his payroll.
***********
Tomorrow we're taking Finn to Orcas Island for the first time. Every time we go on a trip, I say I'm going to pack early this time. AND I CANNOT DO IT. I can never pack early. So the day before a trip is always Stupid Day. And the hour before we leave the house is Heart-Beating-Very-Fast-Gross-Stress-Hour. But then it's such sweet relief when we're finally in the car. It's maybe even sweeter than if you've packed early, because you don't love stopping banging your head against a wall the next day.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
reading comprehension pop quiz
Oh, Lord.
Dave and I, yesterday, we....
We went to a wedding. Well, no, we...we went towards a wedding. We aimed ourselves at a wedding. We also hit a wedding. But, it - so...
My mom babysat Finn. Oh, we got it all set up. We got him all set up with her, with his toys and books and foods. And we got all dolled up. I ran around that day looking for the right lipstick. Dave wore a TIE. (On which, more later.)
The wedding was to begin at 7:15, on a special boat. We left the house late, but traffic fairies sparkled around our car and delivered us to the boat just about on time. The wedding was just about underway, but we made it.
This was the wedding of a couple of actor friends. When I looked around the crowd, I marveled at how I didn't know any of these actors. Hats off, bride and groom, I was thinking. You have managed to find a whole different fuckin' pocket of the theater scene. Who is everyone? You'd think I'd know ONE person in the crowd.
Yes, everybody looks very unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, indeed. Hmmm. I think I'll ask this man with a camera here, on a whim, the names of the bride and groom.
I stage whisper, what wedding is this?
(I'm all ready for it to be the _____-_______ wedding.)
The man whispers back, this is the Pascale-Squire wedding.
Um. But. This boat. Is the boat. This is the time. This is the time and the boat. Are there two weddings on this boat? I must go up these steps now and find out. Go farther into the boat and find out.
I start to go up steps. There are very ready and freaked-out looking bridesmaids lined up on them looking at me. What are they saying? They're saying NO. NO.
Voices below me are saying, NOT THAT WAY.
The song that was the processional in Dave's and my wedding - Buckets of Rain - begins to play. I am disoriented. It is a miracle that I don't turn around and march slowly to meet the groom.
I come back down the steps and scoot around to Dave. This is terrible. Where is our wedding? It is surely starting right now! Oh, we'll be late now, for sure. We'll just make it on time for the reception. Won't people laugh, though, at the reception we'll be at in a short while, here? We'll all be laughing and laughing in about half an hour.
We exit the boat, which mercifully is not a boat that moves through water. It's a boat that stays near land. Otherwise, we would have been forced to Vaughn-Wilson the Pascale-Squire wedding while we sailed around interlopingly with them.
We stand on the dock, thinking. I should have brought the invitation. June 22nd, I know that. The 22nd, for sure. I know. I'll call my brother. He's at home with the invitation.
We call him and he reads us what it says on the invitation. While he reads it, my ear tries to turn around and climb into my brain. It's like, brain, don't let this in. Don't listen to this man. You know better than this. I will defend you, brain. He is saying something about July 22nd. He is CRAZY.
No, he's not crazy. Poor bride and groom. THEY'RE crazy. They sent out all those beautiful invitations with the wrong date on them. Is what I honest-to-God think next. That's so sad. So expensive.
Then my mind relents, and that is when I pee my pants a little. We are a month early for the wedding. I'm doubled over giggling in my hurty shoes.
Dave is great about it. Fantastic, even while wearing a noose. He even let me pick out the noose. He loathes ties so much, there is no overstating the case. So his application process for potential ties has historically been, let's say, BAROQUE. Nothing geometric. Only curvy lines. But not like that. No, it has to be shapes like you might find in nature. No, not nature like that. Not nature like that, either. See, look at this tie, which is neither possessed of curvy nor natural-looking patterns. This is almost right. But not right. But close. WHAT?!
But he let me just pick it. And it had purple in it. And it was unnatural. And he looked HOT!
We decide to go out to dinner, since there's no way we're going home after we've gone to such great lengths to look as awesome as possible in our nooses and foot-stabbers. On the way to dinner, Dave is so great. I'm apologizing and he's like, no, I mean it. This is great. If someone had told me years ago that this was the kind of thing my wife would do, I would have been like, BANG. YES. THAT'S MY WIFE. BANG.
We went to the same restaurant we went to after we tried to go see Casino Royale the first time. We were angling for the table of honor again. We thought, this story is so hilarious, they will give us the table of honor again and then it will be even more hilarious! We were like, we're going to play it cool, but we're going to tell them the story. We won't let on that we know about the table of honor, but we'll make it IMPOSSIBLE for them to resist giving it to us. We got there and told the guy the story, but he was so focused on calling Dave "my man" as many times as possible that he was unable to read between the lines.
But when you can't be bothered to read past the J-U on an invitation, if you're like, aah, screw it. I'm going to stop reading here. I know that that month. I know what's going on. Then you maybe you haven't earned the special table. Or, you've earned a special table, all right. But the different special table.
P.S. I almost forgot. On the "night" "before" "the wedding" I left a comment on the bride-to-be's blog telling her to have a "deep and dreamy sleep". I'm sure she was like, WELL NOW I CAN'T, CRAZY LADY. Because you are creepy.
P.P.S. Which reminds me of the time I went to Home Depot with Dup's Blog and Bladio Blogio and we were waiting for some paint and I was looking at paint chips and sidled up to - or really, the sidling was so close that it was verging on snuggling up to - Dup. And I had a paint chip and I said to Dup, "I almost painted my bedroom like...." in this weird small voice holding up the chip for Dup to see. But it wasn't Dup. It was a freaked-out older man with pursed lips who was looking stoically ahead and pretending that a crazy little special lady wasn't coming on to him about how she almost painted her bedroom this particular color. Like, that could have been you and me in there among this peachy splendor, random man. Ugh.
P.P.P.S. I made this family portrait.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
i don't want to encourage him to smoke but for this scenario it's sort of perfect
My mom came into the room when Finn was banging a wooden ball on a wooden box. She said, "Well, aren't you a playboy. Noisy little playboy."
The Noisy Little Playboy. I picture a 1950's Manhattan apartment scaled down to toddler size with the free jazz on the phonograph, and Finn with a little pencil mustache frying late night omelettes for a bevy of tiny martini-swilling dames. Meanwhile, Roger the very small accountant from upstairs is banging on the floor with a broomstick trying to get him to pipe down.
No can do, Rog.
Ladies? Camel me*.
A particularly raucous evening Chez Finn. The conga line snaked
directly to his pied-a-terre and they all decided to go for a world's record. Roger practically had a coronary.
*This is the new request Finn makes all the time. "Camel me." I love it. I don't really know what it means. It's camel, but it's more than camel. Show me a camel? Turn me into a camel? Hand me that camel? Is it like a high-five? Camel me. Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talking about.
The Noisy Little Playboy. I picture a 1950's Manhattan apartment scaled down to toddler size with the free jazz on the phonograph, and Finn with a little pencil mustache frying late night omelettes for a bevy of tiny martini-swilling dames. Meanwhile, Roger the very small accountant from upstairs is banging on the floor with a broomstick trying to get him to pipe down.
No can do, Rog.
Ladies? Camel me*.
A particularly raucous evening Chez Finn. The conga line snaked
directly to his pied-a-terre and they all decided to go for a world's record. Roger practically had a coronary.
*This is the new request Finn makes all the time. "Camel me." I love it. I don't really know what it means. It's camel, but it's more than camel. Show me a camel? Turn me into a camel? Hand me that camel? Is it like a high-five? Camel me. Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talking about.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
ask me how many times i've said "camel" today
More than the busiest camel merchant who ever lived. Really, more than anyone else has ever said it, ever. With the NOTABLE exception of my son.
"Kanga" is long gone. "Cow" is so five minutes ago. It's, well, this was our afternoon:
Finn: Camel. Ca-mel. CAMEL!
Me: Camel.
Finn: CAAA-AAAmel! (And then whispering.) Camelcamel.
Me: Camel.
Pause.
Finn: CAMEL! CAAA-MEL!
Me: Camel, right. Camel. Camel.
Finn: Camel camel camel.
Me: This book has a camel, too, look.
Finn (blowing a gasket): CAAAAAAAA-MEL!!!!!
********
Oh my god, as I'm writing this, I can hear Finn downstairs with Dave saying "camel camel".
********
My conversational skills are going to be hanging by a thread here soon. Someone's going to be like, I just read the most amazing book. And I'm going to be like, book! Very good! You said book. And they're going to be like....anyway, it's about phenomenology, and it's- And I'm going to be like, listen to you! What a guy. I love the way you can speak! Say MORE. And they'll be like, so, the book- And I'll be like, book!
And they'll be like,
SAYONARA, WEIRDO.
*********
Recently, it was giraffe. He saw a giraffe at the zoo and yelled like he was being reunited with his...fuckin'....most awesome person ever that he'd been parted from for centuries. So we got him a stuffed giraffe, thinking we were geniuses. He was entirely WHAT. EVER. about it. Last week, it was cow. COW! Cow cow. He was SO cow cow. So we Einsteins got him a stuffed cow, because we thought he'd love it forever. And he had a brief torrid affair with the cow. And now he's looking at camel porn.
We could nip this in the bud immediately if we bought him a stuffed camel. He'd be all....rhino!
P.S. Also, whenever Finn sees one of these guys
he's like OH HELL YEAH THAT GUY IS BRINGING THE PARTY IN HERE.
P.P.S. Please, I beseech you, let there be no one here looking for actual camel porn.
"Kanga" is long gone. "Cow" is so five minutes ago. It's, well, this was our afternoon:
Finn: Camel. Ca-mel. CAMEL!
Me: Camel.
Finn: CAAA-AAAmel! (And then whispering.) Camelcamel.
Me: Camel.
Pause.
Finn: CAMEL! CAAA-MEL!
Me: Camel, right. Camel. Camel.
Finn: Camel camel camel.
Me: This book has a camel, too, look.
Finn (blowing a gasket): CAAAAAAAA-MEL!!!!!
********
Oh my god, as I'm writing this, I can hear Finn downstairs with Dave saying "camel camel".
********
My conversational skills are going to be hanging by a thread here soon. Someone's going to be like, I just read the most amazing book. And I'm going to be like, book! Very good! You said book. And they're going to be like....anyway, it's about phenomenology, and it's- And I'm going to be like, listen to you! What a guy. I love the way you can speak! Say MORE. And they'll be like, so, the book- And I'll be like, book!
And they'll be like,
SAYONARA, WEIRDO.
*********
Recently, it was giraffe. He saw a giraffe at the zoo and yelled like he was being reunited with his...fuckin'....most awesome person ever that he'd been parted from for centuries. So we got him a stuffed giraffe, thinking we were geniuses. He was entirely WHAT. EVER. about it. Last week, it was cow. COW! Cow cow. He was SO cow cow. So we Einsteins got him a stuffed cow, because we thought he'd love it forever. And he had a brief torrid affair with the cow. And now he's looking at camel porn.
We could nip this in the bud immediately if we bought him a stuffed camel. He'd be all....rhino!
P.S. Also, whenever Finn sees one of these guys
he's like OH HELL YEAH THAT GUY IS BRINGING THE PARTY IN HERE.
P.P.S. Please, I beseech you, let there be no one here looking for actual camel porn.
Monday, May 07, 2007
the realization of a long-held dream
I have been tagged for a meme. FINALLY.
You don't know, you don't know how I've longed for this. Quietly in my heart I have ached for somebody to demand to know five things I ate for dinner last month. The invisible subtext of all comments I've ever left on anyone's posts, the subtext of every post I have written has been
TAG ME FOR A MEME.
Taaaag meeeee. Meme.
I could tell you so many things about myself, everyone. There are a hundred things about me. There are two hundred things. Oh my god, ask me. Just ask.
And now that Wacky Mommy has looked into my soul and found this need - thank you, Wacky Mommy - I find myself...well, it's like this meme is like Tawny Kitaen or Kelly LeBrock, say, and I'm like Anthony Michael Hall (and this analogy has to happen in 1985 because I don't know who today's people for this would be) and the meme has walked by in a spandex minidress and I've been like RRrrOWrrrr! Hey baby! How 'bout it! all cat-calling her, and now she's walked up to me all You wouldn't know what to do with me if you had me and I'm like GULP. She's RIGHT.
Ten Things that My Family or Friends Don't Know About Me:
1. ...Um...Miss LeBrock? I (squeak) think you're really pretty...
2. .......(sweating)......
3. ...Um...heh heh!
4. ......
5. ....We're having a dance on Friday if....
6. ......
7. ......(boobs and butt)....(boobs)...(butt)....um....
8. ....This is my friend, Danny...
9. ...(I feel something weird that I don't understand.)...
10. ....(I want Kelly LeBrock to walk away.).... :(
Okay, now I'll really try to make this dream come true:
(Note: The huge font of what follows is not my fault! It wouldn't not do it! I tried and tried to avert this disaster. My first meme and it's all big and ungainly. Son of a bitch.)
1. I said I voted in the 1988 presidential elections, but I didn't. Registering to vote and figuring out where to go...it was too much for me. Dukakis, I am sorry. I am a faker.
2. When I went to Mexico for spring break during my junior year of college, a boy became infatuated with me whose name was Nacho. He was very nice but I was like...your name is Nacho.
3. When I can't convince Finn to take a nap, I feel like competent parents everywhere are laughing at me, and I long for the days when he needs pep talks instead of naps.
4. I have long stated that bell peppers don't agree with me. And while that may have been true at one point, I think now it's just more that I'm a pussy about them. And now it is a very small project of mine to re-introduce the bell pepper into my diet. Take it one day at a time. No promises.
5. There's a freckle on my left foot that I believe renders it unbearably hot. That foot is smokin'. Like a French actress. Like a sex kitten. I have a crush on it.
6. Nobody ever needs to buy me anything with a crew neck, because I ain't gonna wear it.
7. If I forget to do something for long enough that embarrassment sets in, I will never do it. Never for so long. Never for a very long time. Making mountains out of what once could have been crumbs.
8. I am so proud to be in the same family with my in-laws. I love their vibe. Funny and warm and unpretentious and dashing! Clever and kind! Hearts all exactly in the right place. Priorities perfect. LOVE THEM.
9. Last night I was more excited to watch The Amazing Race than I was to watch The Sopranos. And yet my self-esteem somehow remains intact.
10. Sometimes when I listen to music, I imagine myself doing the world's most awesome lip-synch back at my old college in the amphitheatre. I bring today's hits back to my college days and blow them all away with OutKast numbers and whatnot.
All right. Now I'm the tagger. Now I tag it. I tag...whom do I tag...I tag La Ketch. I tag Certainlia. I tag Bladio Blogio. I tag Complain-O-Peeps. I tag Virtual Hyperbole. And I tag Eve. And you, too. All of yous. And I ask you to tell us 3 fantasies about yourself if you were a total, unbelievable success. Like the hero of all future reunions.
Oh, man. Dear Diary. You were right! It finally happened!
You don't know, you don't know how I've longed for this. Quietly in my heart I have ached for somebody to demand to know five things I ate for dinner last month. The invisible subtext of all comments I've ever left on anyone's posts, the subtext of every post I have written has been
TAG ME FOR A MEME.
Taaaag meeeee. Meme.
I could tell you so many things about myself, everyone. There are a hundred things about me. There are two hundred things. Oh my god, ask me. Just ask.
And now that Wacky Mommy has looked into my soul and found this need - thank you, Wacky Mommy - I find myself...well, it's like this meme is like Tawny Kitaen or Kelly LeBrock, say, and I'm like Anthony Michael Hall (and this analogy has to happen in 1985 because I don't know who today's people for this would be) and the meme has walked by in a spandex minidress and I've been like RRrrOWrrrr! Hey baby! How 'bout it! all cat-calling her, and now she's walked up to me all You wouldn't know what to do with me if you had me and I'm like GULP. She's RIGHT.
Ten Things that My Family or Friends Don't Know About Me:
1. ...Um...Miss LeBrock? I (squeak) think you're really pretty...
2. .......(sweating)......
3. ...Um...heh heh!
4. ......
5. ....We're having a dance on Friday if....
6. ......
7. ......(boobs and butt)....(boobs)...(butt)....um....
8. ....This is my friend, Danny...
9. ...(I feel something weird that I don't understand.)...
10. ....(I want Kelly LeBrock to walk away.).... :(
Okay, now I'll really try to make this dream come true:
(Note: The huge font of what follows is not my fault! It wouldn't not do it! I tried and tried to avert this disaster. My first meme and it's all big and ungainly. Son of a bitch.)
1. I said I voted in the 1988 presidential elections, but I didn't. Registering to vote and figuring out where to go...it was too much for me. Dukakis, I am sorry. I am a faker.
2. When I went to Mexico for spring break during my junior year of college, a boy became infatuated with me whose name was Nacho. He was very nice but I was like...your name is Nacho.
3. When I can't convince Finn to take a nap, I feel like competent parents everywhere are laughing at me, and I long for the days when he needs pep talks instead of naps.
4. I have long stated that bell peppers don't agree with me. And while that may have been true at one point, I think now it's just more that I'm a pussy about them. And now it is a very small project of mine to re-introduce the bell pepper into my diet. Take it one day at a time. No promises.
5. There's a freckle on my left foot that I believe renders it unbearably hot. That foot is smokin'. Like a French actress. Like a sex kitten. I have a crush on it.
6. Nobody ever needs to buy me anything with a crew neck, because I ain't gonna wear it.
7. If I forget to do something for long enough that embarrassment sets in, I will never do it. Never for so long. Never for a very long time. Making mountains out of what once could have been crumbs.
8. I am so proud to be in the same family with my in-laws. I love their vibe. Funny and warm and unpretentious and dashing! Clever and kind! Hearts all exactly in the right place. Priorities perfect. LOVE THEM.
9. Last night I was more excited to watch The Amazing Race than I was to watch The Sopranos. And yet my self-esteem somehow remains intact.
10. Sometimes when I listen to music, I imagine myself doing the world's most awesome lip-synch back at my old college in the amphitheatre. I bring today's hits back to my college days and blow them all away with OutKast numbers and whatnot.
All right. Now I'm the tagger. Now I tag it. I tag...whom do I tag...I tag La Ketch. I tag Certainlia. I tag Bladio Blogio. I tag Complain-O-Peeps. I tag Virtual Hyperbole. And I tag Eve. And you, too. All of yous. And I ask you to tell us 3 fantasies about yourself if you were a total, unbelievable success. Like the hero of all future reunions.
Oh, man. Dear Diary. You were right! It finally happened!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
wesawitwesawitwefinallysawit
We finally saw CASINO ROYALE. First movie since the baby was born ten and a half months ago. We saw with our EYES at a MOVIE THEATER with POPCORN. !
Man, that was the movie to see. If we're only going to see one movie a year, we chose well. Because it's five movies worth of good. I actually wept. Twice. At a James Bond movie.
God, I love seeing movies. I love coming out of the theater with my senses heightened. I love that feeling where you're walking around after the movie and you feel light on your feet and keen and aware and panther-like. You see better, hear better. We stopped at the Barnes and Noble after the movie, and I was gliding through the store like a secret agent, clocking the place from the down escalator. Man in a hat in the computer books section....I have my eye on you if you pull something funny. Lady in the black crocheted sweater over in reference....wait, she's one of ours. It's like I swallowed James Bond in the theater and he was looking out of my eyes. I love that strange thing that happens. The residue.
Can't wait for next year when we see another one.
Turning to hair news, I got a haircut from the same lady who gave me the cut I loved so much the last time.
Not so much.
She said to me, "I don't like cutting bangs. They didn't really teach us very much about that at the school." She said it to me while she was cutting my bangs. Um, hey. That's, hey. Thank you for confiding in me. What a compliment.
I had been telling her earlier how much I loved my last haircut and she was like, "They don't all love 'em! This one lady, she told me that she likes her bangs [!] like this...and I cut them like that [the opposite way]...and at the end of the haircut I asked how she like it and she was like, oh, it's fine...so you know that's never good." Yeah, that's not too good. To do the opposite thing from what your client desires. That is weirdly not good for business a little, isn't it.
And while my hair was wet, I thought it was looking all right. So while she was cutting it, I said, "I can tell that this is going to be good," and she was like, "Oh really?" and then just suddenly put down her scissors. Like that was it. The haircut was over. And hey, what do I know? I didn't know if there was more to do to make it look good! I didn't know until it was too late.
It's wack. The bangs are way too short, the sides are stupid and squared-off against my face in a hostile manner. I look like...okay, I don't look exactly like Frankenstein, but I could go to a Frankenstein family reunion and be in a big group photo off to the right somewhere, and I could reasonably pass as a distant cousin.
The search continues.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
it's vewy possible
A poem for you, by Jim Hall. Dave showed this to me. I can't get enough of it.
Maybe Dats Your Pwoblem Too
All my pwoblems
who knows, maybe evwybody's pwoblems
is due to da fact, due to da awful twuth
dat I am SPIDERMAN.
I know, I know. All da dumb jokes:
No flies on you, ha ha,
and da ones about what do I do wit all
doze extwa legs in bed. Well, dat's funny yeah.
But you twy being
SPIDERMAN for a month of two. Go ahead.
You get doze cwazy calls fwom da
Gubbener askin you to twap some booglar who's
only twying to wip off color TV sets.
Now, what do I cawre about TV sets?
But I pull on da suit, da stinkin suit,
wit da sucker cups on da fingers,
and get my wopes and wittle bundle of
equipment and den I go flying like cwazy
acwoss da town fwom woof top to woof top.
'Till der he is. Some poor dumb color TV slob
and I fall on him and we westle a widdle
until I get him all woped. So big deal.
You tink when you SPIDERMAN
der's sometin big going to happen to you.
Well, I tell you what. It don't happen dat way.
Nuttin happens. Gubbener calls, I go.
Bwing him to powice, Gubbener calls again,
like dat over and over.
I tink I twy sometin diffunt. I tink I twy
sometim excitin like wacing cawrs. Sometin to make
my heart beat at a difwent wate.
But den you just can't quit being sometin like
SPIDERMAN.
You SPIDERMAN for life. Fowever. I can't even
buin my suit. It won't buin. It's fwame wesistent.
So maybe dat's youwr pwoblem too, who knows.
Maybe dat's da whole pwoblem wif evwytin.
Nobody can buin der suits, dey all fwame wesistent.
Who knows?
Maybe Dats Your Pwoblem Too
All my pwoblems
who knows, maybe evwybody's pwoblems
is due to da fact, due to da awful twuth
dat I am SPIDERMAN.
I know, I know. All da dumb jokes:
No flies on you, ha ha,
and da ones about what do I do wit all
doze extwa legs in bed. Well, dat's funny yeah.
But you twy being
SPIDERMAN for a month of two. Go ahead.
You get doze cwazy calls fwom da
Gubbener askin you to twap some booglar who's
only twying to wip off color TV sets.
Now, what do I cawre about TV sets?
But I pull on da suit, da stinkin suit,
wit da sucker cups on da fingers,
and get my wopes and wittle bundle of
equipment and den I go flying like cwazy
acwoss da town fwom woof top to woof top.
'Till der he is. Some poor dumb color TV slob
and I fall on him and we westle a widdle
until I get him all woped. So big deal.
You tink when you SPIDERMAN
der's sometin big going to happen to you.
Well, I tell you what. It don't happen dat way.
Nuttin happens. Gubbener calls, I go.
Bwing him to powice, Gubbener calls again,
like dat over and over.
I tink I twy sometin diffunt. I tink I twy
sometim excitin like wacing cawrs. Sometin to make
my heart beat at a difwent wate.
But den you just can't quit being sometin like
SPIDERMAN.
You SPIDERMAN for life. Fowever. I can't even
buin my suit. It won't buin. It's fwame wesistent.
So maybe dat's youwr pwoblem too, who knows.
Maybe dat's da whole pwoblem wif evwytin.
Nobody can buin der suits, dey all fwame wesistent.
Who knows?
Sunday, February 25, 2007
oscar cake baby post
Lots to cover in this post:
1. Oscar dresses and what I think of them.
2. A cake I made for my belated father's birthday.
3. There have been requests for Finn photos.
It's going to be long.
I can only talk about the dresses, really, and not the actual awards. Having a baby pretty much knocks out that year in movies for you. I should have piped up about the Emmys. Those I was qualified to discuss. Lots of time logged in front of the television this last year.
All right. Onwards.
1. OSCAR COVERAGE.
Helen Mirren is so foxotronic. I'm going to throw in her Golden Globes dress for confirmation, here, because I loved that color.
Yeah, whoosh.
Kirsten Dunst is a sartorial train wreck in her everyday life - AS AM I - but I like what she does on the red carpet. And I like this weird little groovy demure Chanel business.
I thought Rachel Weisz looked ravishing in the extreeeeeeeeme.
Nicole Kidman. At first I was like....."?" And then I loved it. It's like Alice in Wonderland ate the Queen of Hearts. I also like Naomi Watts in this creamy yellow thing.
Anika Noni Rose - I love things like this. I love the cut and the simplicity and the lack of jewelry.
Cate Blanchett, it's like it's not even worth mentioning it anymore. How great it always goes. I actually would like to see her fuck up now. Next time, please fuck up. I seriously think she can't do it. I am throwing down the gauntlet. Try to dress badly. I'll give you five dollars, Cate Blanchett.
On the other hand, here's a small parade of people who dressed in unfortunate Southwestern colors that don't suit them.
Kate Winslet is usually so stellar. Here the sour cream drowned the guacamole and then the Grand Canyon spat up a little lipstick and made out with her.
This putty color is a bummer, Penelope. Adobe floor. Boo.
Gwyneth Paltrow would look great, I think, if she weren't wearing this terra cotta shade that doesn't have anything to do with anything good for her.
Moving on, we have the puzzling Eva Green.
When she came out to present her award, I loved her dress. But then her gothic hair and makeup troubled me. Now I'm just troubled. But I feel like I could see a different picture and then love it again. I don't know what's going on.
2. THE CAKE
My dad died two years ago and I made this cake for his birthday which was last Thursday. (Long story behind it. Tell you later, maybe.) In any case, I'm a baking wizard these days.
We're building a house right by my mom's place, right? So this cake is our two houses on some chocolate cake soil with green coffee frosting grass. The houses are white cake. My mom's house is the one with white frosting. It's got lemon filling because she is a freak for lemon. Her sitcom would be Everybody Loves Lemon. She says that all the time, that's a quote. She says it very definitively. The gavel has come down when she says it. She is a motherfucking out-of-control lemon advocate.
Our house-to-be is the purplish one. It's got plum filling, as some great plum trees are getting uprooted in the cause. Note the hazelnut path and the hazelnut shingles. What possessed me?! And I baked these bastards from scratch. I've never baked a cake from scratch before. Suddenly I baked three and piled them on each other. And they're delicious, if sort of retarded and abstract. Lookatem:
Yeah, it's bigger than you thought.
3. FINN!
Oh, this boy. This BOY. After I breastfed him the other day and he was lying on my lap smiling up at me, he suddenly said, "Hello." I was like, DOING!!! (doing = my eyes popping out of my head) And on that same day, he allowed sweet potatoes to enter his mouth, repeatedly. His previous stance was fuck vegetables and fuck you for offering them to me. Every now and then he likes to blow my mind. You like that mama? Yeah. Mixing it up. Coming at you from the left, and then coming at you from the right. You don't know how I feel about vegetables. Maybe I like them now. Maybe I don't. Maybe I speak. Maybe I walk. Maybe I don't.
Finnaroo. I brought him into our bed the other morning, and when he saw Dave, he said DADA?!?!?!?! so incredulously I don't know if I can get it across. Dave said it was as though Finn spotted him out of the blue in a marketplace in Cairo.
1. Oscar dresses and what I think of them.
2. A cake I made for my belated father's birthday.
3. There have been requests for Finn photos.
It's going to be long.
I can only talk about the dresses, really, and not the actual awards. Having a baby pretty much knocks out that year in movies for you. I should have piped up about the Emmys. Those I was qualified to discuss. Lots of time logged in front of the television this last year.
All right. Onwards.
1. OSCAR COVERAGE.
Helen Mirren is so foxotronic. I'm going to throw in her Golden Globes dress for confirmation, here, because I loved that color.
Yeah, whoosh.
Kirsten Dunst is a sartorial train wreck in her everyday life - AS AM I - but I like what she does on the red carpet. And I like this weird little groovy demure Chanel business.
I thought Rachel Weisz looked ravishing in the extreeeeeeeeme.
Nicole Kidman. At first I was like....."?" And then I loved it. It's like Alice in Wonderland ate the Queen of Hearts. I also like Naomi Watts in this creamy yellow thing.
Anika Noni Rose - I love things like this. I love the cut and the simplicity and the lack of jewelry.
Cate Blanchett, it's like it's not even worth mentioning it anymore. How great it always goes. I actually would like to see her fuck up now. Next time, please fuck up. I seriously think she can't do it. I am throwing down the gauntlet. Try to dress badly. I'll give you five dollars, Cate Blanchett.
On the other hand, here's a small parade of people who dressed in unfortunate Southwestern colors that don't suit them.
Kate Winslet is usually so stellar. Here the sour cream drowned the guacamole and then the Grand Canyon spat up a little lipstick and made out with her.
This putty color is a bummer, Penelope. Adobe floor. Boo.
Gwyneth Paltrow would look great, I think, if she weren't wearing this terra cotta shade that doesn't have anything to do with anything good for her.
Moving on, we have the puzzling Eva Green.
When she came out to present her award, I loved her dress. But then her gothic hair and makeup troubled me. Now I'm just troubled. But I feel like I could see a different picture and then love it again. I don't know what's going on.
2. THE CAKE
My dad died two years ago and I made this cake for his birthday which was last Thursday. (Long story behind it. Tell you later, maybe.) In any case, I'm a baking wizard these days.
We're building a house right by my mom's place, right? So this cake is our two houses on some chocolate cake soil with green coffee frosting grass. The houses are white cake. My mom's house is the one with white frosting. It's got lemon filling because she is a freak for lemon. Her sitcom would be Everybody Loves Lemon. She says that all the time, that's a quote. She says it very definitively. The gavel has come down when she says it. She is a motherfucking out-of-control lemon advocate.
Our house-to-be is the purplish one. It's got plum filling, as some great plum trees are getting uprooted in the cause. Note the hazelnut path and the hazelnut shingles. What possessed me?! And I baked these bastards from scratch. I've never baked a cake from scratch before. Suddenly I baked three and piled them on each other. And they're delicious, if sort of retarded and abstract. Lookatem:
Yeah, it's bigger than you thought.
3. FINN!
Oh, this boy. This BOY. After I breastfed him the other day and he was lying on my lap smiling up at me, he suddenly said, "Hello." I was like, DOING!!! (doing = my eyes popping out of my head) And on that same day, he allowed sweet potatoes to enter his mouth, repeatedly. His previous stance was fuck vegetables and fuck you for offering them to me. Every now and then he likes to blow my mind. You like that mama? Yeah. Mixing it up. Coming at you from the left, and then coming at you from the right. You don't know how I feel about vegetables. Maybe I like them now. Maybe I don't. Maybe I speak. Maybe I walk. Maybe I don't.
Finnaroo. I brought him into our bed the other morning, and when he saw Dave, he said DADA?!?!?!?! so incredulously I don't know if I can get it across. Dave said it was as though Finn spotted him out of the blue in a marketplace in Cairo.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
un, deux, trois
1. Dave is taking a poetry class, and one of his textbooks is Jane Hirshfield's book Nine Gates. One of my favorite poems is in there - a Japanese poem by Izumi Shikibu that Jane Hirshfield translated. It's not her translation that I love, but the raw translation from the Japanese that she includes. First here's her translation:
Why did you vanish
into empty sky?
Even the fragile snow,
when it falls,
falls in this world.
And here's the raw translation:
why you empty sky in disappear did (?)
Frail snow even ! when falling falling world in
The poem is about Izumi Shikibu's daughter, and the snow that fell around the time of her death and melted away. The raw translation feels so much more accurate and helpless.
2. I baked this bread here, from a recipe I got from the New York Times. Make it. You can't screw it up. It is invincible. And it is un-be-fu-lie-cking-vably delicious.
3. And this guy. I made this guy. I can give you no recipe. He is unrepeatable. Also, if you see him around, please don't give him yogurt. The results are heartwrenching. We attempted this yesterday for the first time, and later that night he screamed and screamed in my arms. I said to Dave about it today, "My heart was in my chest." Wait............
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
happy sergio valente day
Happy Valentine's Day, my friends.
A poem for you, and then an explanation of the photo above.
SERGIO VALENTE, SERGIO VALENTE
HOW YOU LOOK TELLS THE WORLD HOW YOU FEEL
by Matthea Harvey
My "you" came to the city to visit
me: clouds rushed between us
& the sun. The albums were finally full.
Halfheartedly we looked through the lenses,
fish-eye & wide, but we'd had enough
likenesses taken. Similes were simply out
of the question. The blind man, regardless,
said, "Please a little light so I can see
my love." (He'd gone through
seven doves without even knowing it.) In bed,
the surveyors held their aching heads.
Satellites caught our thoughts and held them.
Then snow fell in between two trains;
then fleas swirled in the hoof-dust; & when
we looked at each other we didn't look
alike. I kissed your magnifying glass
& said, "When the aliens come,
they'll know we're inside our cars."
**************************
When I was small, I didn't have Barbies. They were too provocative. So I had wholesome alternatives - European dolls named Sindy, Princess Leia, some tall drinks of water named Darcy who were pretty much Barbie with a touch less rack and name recognition. But in the absence of Ken, who got lumped in with Barbie - bad crowd, I guess - my ladies were short on dates.
The lucky bachelors pictured above scored by default. Eight inches tall to the ladies' ten or eleven, when you stripped off their clothes, they had humanoid wrestler bodies in cobalt blue plastic briefs. They squired the ladies around until the Sunshine Family Dad came on the scene, also a touch short but indisputably more presentable. When SFD took over, I'm sure the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion were like, "Fuck that guy."
Oh, love, you capricious tart.
**********************
Now here's a cupcake recipe. I don't know if it's good, I haven't made it yet. -Edit: Yes I have! Keep reading below the recipe! - I'm making it later today, with the addition of coconut extract. But I was too impatient to wait to post this. So, you know, here's a crap shoot for you:
From the book cupcakes! by Elinor Klivans,
Easy-Mix Yellow Cupcake batter
for 12 regular, 9 big-top,
6 extra-large or 42 mini cupcakes
1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup canola or corn oil
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup sour cream
If you double this recipe, just use three whole eggs.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Sift flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt into a medium bowl and set aside.
In a large bowl, using an electric mixer on medium speed, beat the egg and yolk
(or eggs, if you're doubling) and sugar until thickened and lightened to a cream color, about 2 minutes. Stop the mixer and scrape the sides of the bowl as needed during mixing. On low speed, mix in the oil and vanilla until blended. Mix in the sour cream until no white streaks remain. Mix in the flour mixure until it's incorporated and the batter is smooth. The batter is ready to bake, or for additions such as nuts, fruit or other flavorings. (Coconut, I'm looking at you. -Tina)
Bake on the middle rack for 20 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out dry. (From the cupcake.)
You're on your own for frosting the bastards.
Edit: I made them. There they are. And OMG. They're good. I put 1/2 tsp of coconut extract in there, and some in the frosting (Betty Crocker out of a CAN, hosers)...like tanning lotion in cupcake form. Mmmm.
Monday, February 12, 2007
i've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight
I've never seen you shine so bright.
And I've never seen that dress you're wearing or the highlights in your hair that catch your eyes. I have been blind.
LADY IN RE-E-E-ED...........
It is finished. It is written. It is gone with the wind. It is written on the wind. The red dress party arrived like the day and passed like a cloud. I made a wish. I said it out loud. Out loud in a crowd. Everybody heard. It was the talk of the town.
I think I...let me think...I think I can be done with the song lyrics now.
Yes. So. The red dress party has come and gone, and it was very fine.
Here I am at the McLeod residence, just before the party. Do I look relaxed? I hope so. I hope so, because I was so nervous to be a DJ that I actually lay on a bed and listened to a relaxation cd before leaving the house. I KNOW. IT'S SAD. But it worked. I relaxed.
And I might as well have because I had the first DJ shift - before anyone was drunk enough to dance - so it was pretty much me standing behind a table in a mostly empty room. I could have taken a bubble bath and done my job at the same time.
Here I am waiting to greet the first arrivals, with dear DJ Shafty Shaft nearby. He had the later DJ shift. Naturally the joint began to jump during his shift! I remind myself that I created the pool of songs out of which the joint jumped. This makes me feel better. But I have to give props to ol' Shafty! He reads the room and does what needs to be done. Kudos, Shafty.
But really, there's my dress and there - oh so faintly - are my boots! I imagine your first thought is:
I know. Me too. (I'd hit me.)
This bespectacled, flashing gentleman is from our local hot newsrag, The Stranger. He is their Party Crasher. He crashes parties and files a report. This is what I think his report will say:
A charming woman greeted me at the door. She sweetly told me where I could hang my coat. She admired my medieval gown. She was the evening's first DJ. Had anybody besides me been in the room while she was "spinning"*, they would have been whipped into a Dionysian dance frenzy. Instead, she told me that she was lonely being the DJ. I talked to her for as long as was polite, and then made my escape.
*standing lamely in front of a laptop not doing anything
Look, here are people at the party:
Wait a minute. Who's that last guy? A of all, he's not wearing a red dress. B of all, he's not even over 21 months, let alone years. C of all, why is he so blurry?
Could it be because he has taken his first unsupported steps? And he is thus always moving lightning fast? Okay, even though he only took two of them - and I can't even really believe I saw what I saw when I saw it* - I still aver that this is why the photo is blurry. He is moving fast. And it is not because I am a bad photographer.
*Yeah! I mean, I really think it happened! He was in his playpen over....here....and then I held up this toy over....here....and he was like, oh, I should step over and see that toy, and he then totally forgot that he can't walk and took the two steps over not holding on to anything! It hasn't happened since, and I'm still rubbing my eyes and blinking. Did I see what I saw? I don't know!
Another funny thing is I overheard my mom on the phone bragging to someone about Finn. She said, "He's in the 75th percentile." But she went ahead and didn't specify what it could be referring to. Height? Weight? Awesomeness? Civic pride? Who cares! 75th percentile, motherfuckers!
It's height, by the way. His awesomeness percentile is the 105th.
And I've never seen that dress you're wearing or the highlights in your hair that catch your eyes. I have been blind.
LADY IN RE-E-E-ED...........
It is finished. It is written. It is gone with the wind. It is written on the wind. The red dress party arrived like the day and passed like a cloud. I made a wish. I said it out loud. Out loud in a crowd. Everybody heard. It was the talk of the town.
I think I...let me think...I think I can be done with the song lyrics now.
Yes. So. The red dress party has come and gone, and it was very fine.
Here I am at the McLeod residence, just before the party. Do I look relaxed? I hope so. I hope so, because I was so nervous to be a DJ that I actually lay on a bed and listened to a relaxation cd before leaving the house. I KNOW. IT'S SAD. But it worked. I relaxed.
And I might as well have because I had the first DJ shift - before anyone was drunk enough to dance - so it was pretty much me standing behind a table in a mostly empty room. I could have taken a bubble bath and done my job at the same time.
Here I am waiting to greet the first arrivals, with dear DJ Shafty Shaft nearby. He had the later DJ shift. Naturally the joint began to jump during his shift! I remind myself that I created the pool of songs out of which the joint jumped. This makes me feel better. But I have to give props to ol' Shafty! He reads the room and does what needs to be done. Kudos, Shafty.
But really, there's my dress and there - oh so faintly - are my boots! I imagine your first thought is:
I know. Me too. (I'd hit me.)
This bespectacled, flashing gentleman is from our local hot newsrag, The Stranger. He is their Party Crasher. He crashes parties and files a report. This is what I think his report will say:
A charming woman greeted me at the door. She sweetly told me where I could hang my coat. She admired my medieval gown. She was the evening's first DJ. Had anybody besides me been in the room while she was "spinning"*, they would have been whipped into a Dionysian dance frenzy. Instead, she told me that she was lonely being the DJ. I talked to her for as long as was polite, and then made my escape.
*standing lamely in front of a laptop not doing anything
Look, here are people at the party:
Wait a minute. Who's that last guy? A of all, he's not wearing a red dress. B of all, he's not even over 21 months, let alone years. C of all, why is he so blurry?
Could it be because he has taken his first unsupported steps? And he is thus always moving lightning fast? Okay, even though he only took two of them - and I can't even really believe I saw what I saw when I saw it* - I still aver that this is why the photo is blurry. He is moving fast. And it is not because I am a bad photographer.
*Yeah! I mean, I really think it happened! He was in his playpen over....here....and then I held up this toy over....here....and he was like, oh, I should step over and see that toy, and he then totally forgot that he can't walk and took the two steps over not holding on to anything! It hasn't happened since, and I'm still rubbing my eyes and blinking. Did I see what I saw? I don't know!
Another funny thing is I overheard my mom on the phone bragging to someone about Finn. She said, "He's in the 75th percentile." But she went ahead and didn't specify what it could be referring to. Height? Weight? Awesomeness? Civic pride? Who cares! 75th percentile, motherfuckers!
It's height, by the way. His awesomeness percentile is the 105th.
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