I'm in one of my surreal moods.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Friday, November 06, 2009
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Monday, November 02, 2009
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Photo of the day: Pretentious Book Cover
As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am participating in NaNoWriMo (see the little icon to your right). The only thing I know for certain is that part of it is a parody of all those earnestly dull books that pass for "literature" today. The kind you know instantly that you don't want to read because of a pretentious cover that has no appeal whatsoever. This photo was purposely taken to illustrate what I'm talking about. It might be the cover of my magnum opus.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am participating in NaNoWriMo (see the little icon to your right). The only thing I know for certain is that part of it is a parody of all those earnestly dull books that pass for "literature" today. The kind you know instantly that you don't want to read because of a pretentious cover that has no appeal whatsoever. This photo was purposely taken to illustrate what I'm talking about. It might be the cover of my magnum opus.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
The Cougar Bites
I hate the word "cougar" used to describe an older woman with a younger man. Husband is 9 years younger than I and it just makes me crazy when people say "oh, you're a cougar." I am not with him because he's younger. I am with him because I'm madly in love with him.
I know there are women who purposely go after younger men -- as there are men who purposely go after younger women. But I didn't set out to find one. Hell, I didn't really set out to find anyone. It just happened. And it just happened he's younger than I. He's also smarter, a better writer, and more generous. But I make better cookies, know more about art, and have a better memory. So what?
Stereotypes are always stupid. But the fact that this one now has a name just makes me want to scream. Suddenly I'm an MTV series. I'm a People magazine feature. I'm a cultural assumption. The thing that burns me is the diminishing of what our marriage is because of a ridiculous age bias. Because he's younger I'm obviously after a stud puppy who makes me feel younger. Um...no. Our ages are just part of who we are. It's not the why. If Husband were Husband and he was 90 I'd have fallen for him because he's perfect for me. He's not my "cheaper than a facelift" way of hanging onto a fading youth. And he's not something I looked for because I had a list and "younger than my first husband" was on there. Actually, I did kind of have a mental list and he's all the things I wanted: great sense of humor, smart, caring, sweet, creative, etc. But the age thing? That's just a difference between childhood cartoons and songs that remind us of high school.
I hate the word "cougar" used to describe an older woman with a younger man. Husband is 9 years younger than I and it just makes me crazy when people say "oh, you're a cougar." I am not with him because he's younger. I am with him because I'm madly in love with him.
I know there are women who purposely go after younger men -- as there are men who purposely go after younger women. But I didn't set out to find one. Hell, I didn't really set out to find anyone. It just happened. And it just happened he's younger than I. He's also smarter, a better writer, and more generous. But I make better cookies, know more about art, and have a better memory. So what?
Stereotypes are always stupid. But the fact that this one now has a name just makes me want to scream. Suddenly I'm an MTV series. I'm a People magazine feature. I'm a cultural assumption. The thing that burns me is the diminishing of what our marriage is because of a ridiculous age bias. Because he's younger I'm obviously after a stud puppy who makes me feel younger. Um...no. Our ages are just part of who we are. It's not the why. If Husband were Husband and he was 90 I'd have fallen for him because he's perfect for me. He's not my "cheaper than a facelift" way of hanging onto a fading youth. And he's not something I looked for because I had a list and "younger than my first husband" was on there. Actually, I did kind of have a mental list and he's all the things I wanted: great sense of humor, smart, caring, sweet, creative, etc. But the age thing? That's just a difference between childhood cartoons and songs that remind us of high school.
Photo of the day: Halloween Angel
OK, not very scary. But child angels always freak me out. Which is, of course, one of the reasons why I like to photograph them so much.
Happy Halloween. In the spirt of Poe and Boris Karloff and everything scary in the holiday, I hope you have a wonderful day and don't feel too sick for eating all the mini Snickers you bought for the neighborhood kids.
OK, not very scary. But child angels always freak me out. Which is, of course, one of the reasons why I like to photograph them so much.
Happy Halloween. In the spirt of Poe and Boris Karloff and everything scary in the holiday, I hope you have a wonderful day and don't feel too sick for eating all the mini Snickers you bought for the neighborhood kids.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Plans
There's still time to sign up for National Novel Writing Month, which starts on Sunday. I have a title, Anton Schoeclker Sings German Songs of a Miserable Childhood, and I know it'll be in the humor/parody genre. Beyond that, no clue. Zip. Nada. My brain is as empty as my ice cube trays.
But I'm loving the idea of starting, knowing it's gonna be crap at not caring, and just having fun for a month so that I can honestly say that I've written a book. Husband is doing it as well and we've decided upon conclusion of NaNoWriMo that we're going to Blurb.com and have our works bound. Then we'll give them to each other on Christmas. I can't wait to read what he comes up with.
There's still time to sign up for National Novel Writing Month, which starts on Sunday. I have a title, Anton Schoeclker Sings German Songs of a Miserable Childhood, and I know it'll be in the humor/parody genre. Beyond that, no clue. Zip. Nada. My brain is as empty as my ice cube trays.
But I'm loving the idea of starting, knowing it's gonna be crap at not caring, and just having fun for a month so that I can honestly say that I've written a book. Husband is doing it as well and we've decided upon conclusion of NaNoWriMo that we're going to Blurb.com and have our works bound. Then we'll give them to each other on Christmas. I can't wait to read what he comes up with.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Flu or Not Flu?
Ah yes, fall's favorite parlor game. Is it the flu or just a bad day? Migraines. Nausea. Exhaustion. Sounds like the good old days when I went to the ER so often I had a favorite nurse.
With all the talk about this year's flu season I guess I'm hyper-sensitive. There are a lot of things that could be causing this. Raging PMS. Lack of sleep. More raging PMS. But my first thought is, oh no, I have the flu.
I bought a new thermometer just yesterday because our old one died. This one doesn't seem to work all that well. Last night I was 97.8 -- which is not unusual, I tend to have a very low body temp. Perhaps this is why I'm cold all the time. Anyway today I registered 99.4, a definite rise and unusually high for me. Four hours later, after some tylenol and a nap, I took my temp again and I was 77.4. Oh good, now I'm a beluga whale.
Anyway here I am, not sleeping. Feeling decidedly sick. Cold. Generally miserable. And hoping that I don't have flu and that, if I do, Husband doesn't get it. Because I hate it when Husband is sick.
Ah yes, fall's favorite parlor game. Is it the flu or just a bad day? Migraines. Nausea. Exhaustion. Sounds like the good old days when I went to the ER so often I had a favorite nurse.
With all the talk about this year's flu season I guess I'm hyper-sensitive. There are a lot of things that could be causing this. Raging PMS. Lack of sleep. More raging PMS. But my first thought is, oh no, I have the flu.
I bought a new thermometer just yesterday because our old one died. This one doesn't seem to work all that well. Last night I was 97.8 -- which is not unusual, I tend to have a very low body temp. Perhaps this is why I'm cold all the time. Anyway today I registered 99.4, a definite rise and unusually high for me. Four hours later, after some tylenol and a nap, I took my temp again and I was 77.4. Oh good, now I'm a beluga whale.
Anyway here I am, not sleeping. Feeling decidedly sick. Cold. Generally miserable. And hoping that I don't have flu and that, if I do, Husband doesn't get it. Because I hate it when Husband is sick.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Scenes from Silver Creek: City Hall
Silver Creek City Hall is not one of those beautiful old buildings with columns and a dome. It was, and remains to this day, a hideously boring structure with a concrete façade, an ugly sign, and windows that are covered in some brown film that makes the outside look perpetually dirty.
Just inside the door, in the small and dingy lobby, hangs a painting entitled “Washington Crossing the Potomac.” I know this is the title because a greenish-fake-brass-name plate is screwed onto the inappropriately ornate frame. This amateurish monstrosity seems to be a paint-by-numbers version of the better known and more historically accurate “…Crossing the Delaware” painting. As I have never heard of any particularly famous crossing of the Potomac by the Father of Our Country, I always wondered if the plaque was an error or if the paint-by-numbers artist was as bad a historian as he or she was an artist. But for me the best part is not the “pick a river, pick any river” (why not “Washington Crossing the Nile?”) title, but the fact that every man in the painting, including GW, is wearing a huge grin. It’s as if they’re all saying to each other “dude, we just crossed the Potomac!”
The only reason anyone ever went into City Hall, other than to pay their water bill, was to chat with the building’s one and only guard; a man with the glorious name of Copernicus Moran. I never could quite figure out why we needed a guard – perhaps in case someone’s water bill was too high? – but Copernicus Moran did a grand job. Nobody ever broke in, defaced the façade or “caused a ruckus.” He sat all day on a hard wooden chair that eventually molded to his butt and read 25-year old Field & Streams or Popular Mechanics. As a result he could quote the most obscure facts about trout or band saws. He also told the filthiest jokes in town. To anybody. Kids. Cops. The mayor’s wife. Didn’t matter who, the poor guy was so bored that before you got to the reception desk he’d be off with “Hey, did I ever tell you the story about the bishop and the lady wrestler?”
Copernicus chewed enormous quantities of Doublemint gum and collected matchbooks from places he’d never been. Pretty much anyone from Silver Creek who ever went anywhere grabbed a matchbook for him. Of course, this was back when smoking was allowed anywhere and every business from dry cleaners to pancake houses gave out matches. You’d pick up one from a Denny’s in St. Louis or some bar in Reno and make a special trip upon your return to give it to him. He would, of course, pay you back with a dirty punch line or some unwanted bit of trivia about gutting big horn sheep.
A rotating cast of the same 8 city council members who took turns being mayor for my entire childhood ran City Hall itself. My high school civics teacher, Mr. Leach, was mayor every 6 years. Whenever there was an election no candidate ever bothered with signs of leaflets. Everyone in town would just know “this year it’s Arthur Loman’s turn” and people would, surprisingly, turn up to vote.
For city elections there was actually a wooden ballot box at the reception desk, and Copernicus’s most important day of the year as a guard was to watch it with an eagle eye and make sure nobody voted twice.
They always seemed to time city elections around Halloween, so there was a very democratic process by which you’d get a tiny Snickers bar after you voted.
Silver Creek City Hall is not one of those beautiful old buildings with columns and a dome. It was, and remains to this day, a hideously boring structure with a concrete façade, an ugly sign, and windows that are covered in some brown film that makes the outside look perpetually dirty.
Just inside the door, in the small and dingy lobby, hangs a painting entitled “Washington Crossing the Potomac.” I know this is the title because a greenish-fake-brass-name plate is screwed onto the inappropriately ornate frame. This amateurish monstrosity seems to be a paint-by-numbers version of the better known and more historically accurate “…Crossing the Delaware” painting. As I have never heard of any particularly famous crossing of the Potomac by the Father of Our Country, I always wondered if the plaque was an error or if the paint-by-numbers artist was as bad a historian as he or she was an artist. But for me the best part is not the “pick a river, pick any river” (why not “Washington Crossing the Nile?”) title, but the fact that every man in the painting, including GW, is wearing a huge grin. It’s as if they’re all saying to each other “dude, we just crossed the Potomac!”
The only reason anyone ever went into City Hall, other than to pay their water bill, was to chat with the building’s one and only guard; a man with the glorious name of Copernicus Moran. I never could quite figure out why we needed a guard – perhaps in case someone’s water bill was too high? – but Copernicus Moran did a grand job. Nobody ever broke in, defaced the façade or “caused a ruckus.” He sat all day on a hard wooden chair that eventually molded to his butt and read 25-year old Field & Streams or Popular Mechanics. As a result he could quote the most obscure facts about trout or band saws. He also told the filthiest jokes in town. To anybody. Kids. Cops. The mayor’s wife. Didn’t matter who, the poor guy was so bored that before you got to the reception desk he’d be off with “Hey, did I ever tell you the story about the bishop and the lady wrestler?”
Copernicus chewed enormous quantities of Doublemint gum and collected matchbooks from places he’d never been. Pretty much anyone from Silver Creek who ever went anywhere grabbed a matchbook for him. Of course, this was back when smoking was allowed anywhere and every business from dry cleaners to pancake houses gave out matches. You’d pick up one from a Denny’s in St. Louis or some bar in Reno and make a special trip upon your return to give it to him. He would, of course, pay you back with a dirty punch line or some unwanted bit of trivia about gutting big horn sheep.
A rotating cast of the same 8 city council members who took turns being mayor for my entire childhood ran City Hall itself. My high school civics teacher, Mr. Leach, was mayor every 6 years. Whenever there was an election no candidate ever bothered with signs of leaflets. Everyone in town would just know “this year it’s Arthur Loman’s turn” and people would, surprisingly, turn up to vote.
For city elections there was actually a wooden ballot box at the reception desk, and Copernicus’s most important day of the year as a guard was to watch it with an eagle eye and make sure nobody voted twice.
They always seemed to time city elections around Halloween, so there was a very democratic process by which you’d get a tiny Snickers bar after you voted.
Photo of the day: Guilt
Despite it being Halloween week and the fact that I have a thing for graveyards, this is not a shot of a cemetary. It's on the roof ofSt. Dunstan's school. Where I was a slave of guilt for 8 neurotic years. Although the building has changed somewhat since I was locked up the basic structure is the same. As is this cross. It's over the doors to the office part of the school, overseen in my days by the terrifying Sister Asumpta who, to this day, appears in my nightmares.
Despite it being Halloween week and the fact that I have a thing for graveyards, this is not a shot of a cemetary. It's on the roof ofSt. Dunstan's school. Where I was a slave of guilt for 8 neurotic years. Although the building has changed somewhat since I was locked up the basic structure is the same. As is this cross. It's over the doors to the office part of the school, overseen in my days by the terrifying Sister Asumpta who, to this day, appears in my nightmares.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Little Women
It was one of those books I swear I read years ago. But while channel surfing a month ago I came across the 17th film version of Little Women and had the urge to read it "again." I was even thinking of making it my book group choice, until I realized it was 475 pages long.
Anyway I picked it up at a bookstore (I also swore I owned a copy) and jumped in.
Hmmm.... First off, I can see why it's a classic. It's quite charming, sweet, and engaging. In a mad dose of PMS I even cried a bit (and if you tell anyone I'll break your arm). But in spite of the fact that, as a movie fan, I've seen every adaption it was surprisingly annoying. I'm just too cynical to believe anyone is that damned good. Every one of the March girls is so self-sacrificing, selfless, reverent, brave, thrifty and every other Boy Scout virtue that after awhile it began to wear on me. Sure they have their moments of petulance, rebellion and ego. And yes none of them are perfect. But it's hard for my modern, atheistic mind to deal with their goodness. It's also difficult for me to let go of my 21st century belief that the highest calling for any woman is to be a wife and mother.
In spite of all that I enjoyed the book and am glad I finally read it. But It was hard to relate to the concept of these spirited girls al l giving up their dreams to marry and have children. And they didn't even really give up, the just sort of realized that their true happiness lay in marriage and motherhood.
I suppose in their generation it did. And, in fact, that was how my antediluvian mother raised me, which is, perhaps, why I had such a strong negative reaction to their fates. But the strange fact is even knowing from all the movies that Jo gives up writing to marry her Professor, it still disappointed me.
It was one of those books I swear I read years ago. But while channel surfing a month ago I came across the 17th film version of Little Women and had the urge to read it "again." I was even thinking of making it my book group choice, until I realized it was 475 pages long.
Anyway I picked it up at a bookstore (I also swore I owned a copy) and jumped in.
Hmmm.... First off, I can see why it's a classic. It's quite charming, sweet, and engaging. In a mad dose of PMS I even cried a bit (and if you tell anyone I'll break your arm). But in spite of the fact that, as a movie fan, I've seen every adaption it was surprisingly annoying. I'm just too cynical to believe anyone is that damned good. Every one of the March girls is so self-sacrificing, selfless, reverent, brave, thrifty and every other Boy Scout virtue that after awhile it began to wear on me. Sure they have their moments of petulance, rebellion and ego. And yes none of them are perfect. But it's hard for my modern, atheistic mind to deal with their goodness. It's also difficult for me to let go of my 21st century belief that the highest calling for any woman is to be a wife and mother.
In spite of all that I enjoyed the book and am glad I finally read it. But It was hard to relate to the concept of these spirited girls al l giving up their dreams to marry and have children. And they didn't even really give up, the just sort of realized that their true happiness lay in marriage and motherhood.
I suppose in their generation it did. And, in fact, that was how my antediluvian mother raised me, which is, perhaps, why I had such a strong negative reaction to their fates. But the strange fact is even knowing from all the movies that Jo gives up writing to marry her Professor, it still disappointed me.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
In Which I Drive Myself Mad. Mad, I Say!
Inspired by my friend, Finny, who is a very inspiring person, I have signed up for National Novel Writing Month.NaNoWriMo (as those of us in the know call it) is billed as "thirty days and nights of literary abandon." Oh yeah....30 days to write a 50,000 word novel. Whee! It's gonna be crap. But it's gonna be fun.
Inspired by my friend, Finny, who is a very inspiring person, I have signed up for National Novel Writing Month.NaNoWriMo (as those of us in the know call it) is billed as "thirty days and nights of literary abandon." Oh yeah....30 days to write a 50,000 word novel. Whee! It's gonna be crap. But it's gonna be fun.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Rain
The first big storm of the season hit us last night and is still ranging on. We've already lost power (briefly) and there are reports of downed trees and mild flooding in various areas. It's cold and nasty and wet and so beautiful I can't stop smiling.
I love a good storm. Of course I haven't been out in this one yet, I've only admired it from the safety of my cozy house with a cup of tea and a sleepy cat nearby. Those elements combine to make a perfect stormy day. But I'll be going out soon to do my show tonight and am actually looking forward to seeing the world through a wave on the window.
This kind of weather turns me into a total hibernating bear. Give me a stack of books, maybe a good old movie on TV, enough food to survive for days and I'll not set foot over the threshold where there's a storm raging.
I'll take long, hot baths. I'll put a dash of Bailey's into a mug of hot cocoa at night. I'll snuggle into pillows and sofa and lose myself in whatever book I'm devouring at the time. And life is truly wonderful.
The first big storm of the season hit us last night and is still ranging on. We've already lost power (briefly) and there are reports of downed trees and mild flooding in various areas. It's cold and nasty and wet and so beautiful I can't stop smiling.
I love a good storm. Of course I haven't been out in this one yet, I've only admired it from the safety of my cozy house with a cup of tea and a sleepy cat nearby. Those elements combine to make a perfect stormy day. But I'll be going out soon to do my show tonight and am actually looking forward to seeing the world through a wave on the window.
This kind of weather turns me into a total hibernating bear. Give me a stack of books, maybe a good old movie on TV, enough food to survive for days and I'll not set foot over the threshold where there's a storm raging.
I'll take long, hot baths. I'll put a dash of Bailey's into a mug of hot cocoa at night. I'll snuggle into pillows and sofa and lose myself in whatever book I'm devouring at the time. And life is truly wonderful.
Photo of the day: Waiting for the Rain
A big rainstorm is predicted for the Bay Area. It's 2:30 am on Tuesday and no sign of it yet. Though there have been signs that the little shelter I built from bricks and plastic to keep the outside cat food dry has been found and possibly demolished by the raccoons. Tomorrow shall see. For the moment I have my own kitty here thinking that's it's time to get up and I must discourage this notion by trying to sleep while being walked on and being meowed at. Wish me luck.
A big rainstorm is predicted for the Bay Area. It's 2:30 am on Tuesday and no sign of it yet. Though there have been signs that the little shelter I built from bricks and plastic to keep the outside cat food dry has been found and possibly demolished by the raccoons. Tomorrow shall see. For the moment I have my own kitty here thinking that's it's time to get up and I must discourage this notion by trying to sleep while being walked on and being meowed at. Wish me luck.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Photo of the day: Kitten Photos Galore!
I've made a book out of my kitten photos. Not for profit, mainly just to share with my fellow nursery volunteers. But you can look through it for the "best of" the cutest faces ever.
I've made a book out of my kitten photos. Not for profit, mainly just to share with my fellow nursery volunteers. But you can look through it for the "best of" the cutest faces ever.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Friday, October 09, 2009
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Heroes
The world today is seriously fucked up when it comes to heroes. Generations of kids have grown up idolizing people whose only quality is unlimited wealth. Football players who miraculously graduated from notable colleges but still can't speak English properly. So-called "superstars" with no taste but plenty of cash.
And when it comes to female heroes (I hate the word "heroine") who is there? Angelina Jolie? OK, Oprah's done a lot of good with her money but when it comes down to it she's just a talk show host.
I've been thinking a lot lately about women I admire. Not just my friends (although I do love and admire all of them) but women whose life made a difference for the better. Here are a few women who should be remembered but mostly aren't:
Edith Cavell: A British nurse and all-around good soul who is credited with saving nearly 200 allied soldiers in WWI by hiding them from the Germans. She was tried and executed for her actions. One of her most memorable sayings is "patriotism is not enough."
Vera Brittain: Writer, feminist and pacifist. After losing her only brother, her fiance, and her two best friends she dedicated her life to peace. Her memoir of WWI Testament of Youth chronicles her losses and her experiences as a nurse on the front lines of the Great War.
Violet Szabo and Noor Inayat Khan: Both operatives with the Special Operations Executive during WWII. Each volunteered for duty inside occupied France and each was captured, tortured, and executed by the Nazis. I cannot imagine the courage it would take to voluntarily go into enemy territory to help fight for a cause you believe in.
Alva Belmont: Alva was rich but her heart was definitely in the right place. "I have been crying in the wilderness for wealthy women to give up their leisure and do something to justify their existence." She was a major benefactor of women's rights and campaigned tirelessly for better and safer working conditions for female factoring workers.
Myrlie Evers-Williams: "You can kill a man but you can't kill an idea." After her husband Medgar Evers was murdered, Myrlie dedicated her life to civil rights. She was the first woman to serve as board chair for the NAACP.
I could list a dozen more, but I don't want to bore you. Each of these women inspires me in some way. And I hope one day to do something remarkable enough to make someone else's list.
The world today is seriously fucked up when it comes to heroes. Generations of kids have grown up idolizing people whose only quality is unlimited wealth. Football players who miraculously graduated from notable colleges but still can't speak English properly. So-called "superstars" with no taste but plenty of cash.
And when it comes to female heroes (I hate the word "heroine") who is there? Angelina Jolie? OK, Oprah's done a lot of good with her money but when it comes down to it she's just a talk show host.
I've been thinking a lot lately about women I admire. Not just my friends (although I do love and admire all of them) but women whose life made a difference for the better. Here are a few women who should be remembered but mostly aren't:
Edith Cavell: A British nurse and all-around good soul who is credited with saving nearly 200 allied soldiers in WWI by hiding them from the Germans. She was tried and executed for her actions. One of her most memorable sayings is "patriotism is not enough."
Vera Brittain: Writer, feminist and pacifist. After losing her only brother, her fiance, and her two best friends she dedicated her life to peace. Her memoir of WWI Testament of Youth chronicles her losses and her experiences as a nurse on the front lines of the Great War.
Violet Szabo and Noor Inayat Khan: Both operatives with the Special Operations Executive during WWII. Each volunteered for duty inside occupied France and each was captured, tortured, and executed by the Nazis. I cannot imagine the courage it would take to voluntarily go into enemy territory to help fight for a cause you believe in.
Alva Belmont: Alva was rich but her heart was definitely in the right place. "I have been crying in the wilderness for wealthy women to give up their leisure and do something to justify their existence." She was a major benefactor of women's rights and campaigned tirelessly for better and safer working conditions for female factoring workers.
Myrlie Evers-Williams: "You can kill a man but you can't kill an idea." After her husband Medgar Evers was murdered, Myrlie dedicated her life to civil rights. She was the first woman to serve as board chair for the NAACP.
I could list a dozen more, but I don't want to bore you. Each of these women inspires me in some way. And I hope one day to do something remarkable enough to make someone else's list.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Monday, October 05, 2009
The Endless Question
I hate to sound all housewife-y, but I'm fed up with cooking dinner.
I have never enjoyed cooking. Baking is different. I love to make cookies -- probably because they taste better than any dinner I can make. But I hate cooking dinner. Sometimes I think it's not the cooking as much as I hate deciding what to cook every day. I don't have a very expansive repertoire (sorry, Husband) and when I do try something new it tends to suck. There have been many nights I've gotten all adventurous only to end up making popcorn when my chicken a la prune tastes like chicken a la prune. To make it worse I have a cupboard full of cookbooks that really do nothing but take up space.
Part of the problem is that when I'm at the grocery store I can never think of what to buy. So I fall back on the fallback; usually chicken. Then of course I get home and have no clue what to do with it. Having no culinary imagination, I'll stand in front of the cupboard looking at random ingredients and trying to guess what chicken will taste like with peanut butter and cereal on it. (Yes I'm kidding.)
When it does occur to me to consult one of my many cookbooks or a recipe website I'll stumble across something that sounds wonderful only to realize that I don't typically keep apple butter and soba noodles in the pantry. Sure I have the staples, but after a while the staples are boring.
And poor Husband comes home after working so hard, gives me the inevitable question of "what do you want to do about dinner?" and i fall into a mindless stupor.
I hate to sound all housewife-y, but I'm fed up with cooking dinner.
I have never enjoyed cooking. Baking is different. I love to make cookies -- probably because they taste better than any dinner I can make. But I hate cooking dinner. Sometimes I think it's not the cooking as much as I hate deciding what to cook every day. I don't have a very expansive repertoire (sorry, Husband) and when I do try something new it tends to suck. There have been many nights I've gotten all adventurous only to end up making popcorn when my chicken a la prune tastes like chicken a la prune. To make it worse I have a cupboard full of cookbooks that really do nothing but take up space.
Part of the problem is that when I'm at the grocery store I can never think of what to buy. So I fall back on the fallback; usually chicken. Then of course I get home and have no clue what to do with it. Having no culinary imagination, I'll stand in front of the cupboard looking at random ingredients and trying to guess what chicken will taste like with peanut butter and cereal on it. (Yes I'm kidding.)
When it does occur to me to consult one of my many cookbooks or a recipe website I'll stumble across something that sounds wonderful only to realize that I don't typically keep apple butter and soba noodles in the pantry. Sure I have the staples, but after a while the staples are boring.
And poor Husband comes home after working so hard, gives me the inevitable question of "what do you want to do about dinner?" and i fall into a mindless stupor.
Photo of the day: A Bit of Moss
As we stagger towards full with this freakish weather -- 90 one day-60 the next -- I find myself looking forward to getting out there and shooting some more. I'll miss the nursery when it closes officially but am anticipating being able to put in some good work in the next few months.
As we stagger towards full with this freakish weather -- 90 one day-60 the next -- I find myself looking forward to getting out there and shooting some more. I'll miss the nursery when it closes officially but am anticipating being able to put in some good work in the next few months.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Photo of the day: Great Grandfather
I bought this antique camera years ago. It seems odd to be photographing it with today's modern digital cameras. In its day this old, elegant machine was state-of-the-art. Collapsable, for easy storage. With a sturdy case for traveling. It's a beautiful camera, far more stylish than what I'm using now. My current camera, while lovely and full of tricks is not, it itself, a good subject for a photograph. But back in the day they made things beautiful for the sake of beauty, and it still shows. I doubt 75 years from now someone will pick up my camera and say "wow, this is gorgeous." But they mind find this one man and still marvel at the sophisticated design and elegant black and gold tones. Ah...they don't make 'em that way anymore. Sadly.
I bought this antique camera years ago. It seems odd to be photographing it with today's modern digital cameras. In its day this old, elegant machine was state-of-the-art. Collapsable, for easy storage. With a sturdy case for traveling. It's a beautiful camera, far more stylish than what I'm using now. My current camera, while lovely and full of tricks is not, it itself, a good subject for a photograph. But back in the day they made things beautiful for the sake of beauty, and it still shows. I doubt 75 years from now someone will pick up my camera and say "wow, this is gorgeous." But they mind find this one man and still marvel at the sophisticated design and elegant black and gold tones. Ah...they don't make 'em that way anymore. Sadly.
Friday, October 02, 2009
Photo of the day: Posing
The kitten nursery closed this week. But I'm staying on with a few others to continue to care for the remaining kittens until they go out to foster or up for adoption. That means the cute kitten photos will be running out soon, so I'm posting them while I can. The good news is that once I have more free time I can go out and start taking pictures of other things again.
The kitten nursery closed this week. But I'm staying on with a few others to continue to care for the remaining kittens until they go out to foster or up for adoption. That means the cute kitten photos will be running out soon, so I'm posting them while I can. The good news is that once I have more free time I can go out and start taking pictures of other things again.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Crazy
I read a news story today about animal abuse. It was a particularly cruel event (complete with photo) and it upset me greatly. You know how material people get when they read about child abuse? All "let me at them and I'll rip their heads off?" That's how I am with animals.
I've always loved them. Now, I suppose, I'm fanatical. I just cannot understand the viscousness required to hurt a defenseless animal. What kind of warper person thinks of, and decides to act on, the desire to hurt a cat or a dog?
Seriously makes me crazy. Makes me want to pick up a baseball bat and go after the motherfucker.
I read a news story today about animal abuse. It was a particularly cruel event (complete with photo) and it upset me greatly. You know how material people get when they read about child abuse? All "let me at them and I'll rip their heads off?" That's how I am with animals.
I've always loved them. Now, I suppose, I'm fanatical. I just cannot understand the viscousness required to hurt a defenseless animal. What kind of warper person thinks of, and decides to act on, the desire to hurt a cat or a dog?
Seriously makes me crazy. Makes me want to pick up a baseball bat and go after the motherfucker.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Scenes from Silver Creek: The Sentinel
Silver Creek’s answer to the New York Times was the Silver Creek Sentinel. Known to every kid in town as “the Senile,” it was a true mom-and-pop operation that was written, edited, formatted, printed, and delivered by Keezer and Edie Palman.
Keezer’s claim to journalistic experience was limited to writing a weekly “new recruit” column in the Ft. Dix newsletter while a medical clerk in WWII. Edie had a natural flair for gentle humor but a deplorable lack of attention to detail, which made each week’s issue a haven for unintentionally hilarious headlines and stories and howling misspellings. For example, after a rash of car break-ins the local police offered a reward for information. The Sentinel posted this news under the headline “$50 Reward for Car Thefts.” Which made it sound like a quick way to pick up $50. Notable typos included stories about the fundraising “carp wash,” a review of the high school’s production of “Our Twin,” and a fire at Birningham’s “Cry Cleaners.”
The heyday of juvenilely funny headlines came during the five years when Thomas Hooker was mayor. Every week there would be a story such as “Hooker Speaks to Kindergarten Class,” “Hooker Lands 20 lb. Trout,” and my ultimate favorite “Local Bishop Visits Hooker.” When you’re 12-years old, this is great stuff.
The rest of the paper was made up of such useless information as the attendees at a child’s birthday party, an out-of-town guest visiting some local citizen, or an interview with exciting luminaries like the postmaster and the head librarian. And, of course, each issue included must-read features such as the week’s menu in the high school cafeteria and a run-down of the local police blotter. The latter was where Edie really shined. I still have a clipping that reads: Mrs. Philip Carpenter of Blossom Road was mystified by finding one of her three garden gnomes repeated tipped over. Police identified the culprit as Lucy, the cocker spaniel of neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Robert Grover. Lucy has been sentenced to several days of “bad dog” and the withholding of milk bones.”
One of my favorite features was “Simon Sez,” which highlighted quotes by Simon Lang, the requisite odd duck and our own Yogi Berra. Simon was known for his incomprehensible homilies, nonsensical statements, and imponderable observations on life. Nearly every issue of the newspaper included at least one of Simon’s statements. “Sweaters don’t grow on trees,” “It takes a pigeon to see a statue from all sides,” “George Washington didn’t need a wife,” (which seemed highly unfair to Martha), and “If you don’t want the truth, don’t talk to the cat.” Many of these wonderfully weird comments became catch phrases in our family and to this day one of my brothers still says, “having pants don’t make you a man.”
When I was a little girl, every woman in town that received a mention in the Sentinel was referred to by her husband’s name. It was always Mrs. Louis Feldman or Mrs. Daniel Shaefer. Never Mary or Lorna. This always bothered me, but that was the way of the world back then. Married women had no identity other than that provided by their husband. Unmarried women were allowed to be Miss Jane Doe, but as soon and Jane married she magically lost her first name. Even if the woman were to be the center of the story, it would still be Mrs. Husband. “Mrs. Erwin Haefner Beaks Leg in Supermarket,” or “Mrs. Ralph Meeks to Visit Paris with Sister.”
Like most families in Silver Creek, our family received its share of column space. My siblings’ birthday parties, my sister winning a spelling bee, my father getting a promotion. All was considered public domain.
The one thing that always perplexed me was the inexplicable, invisible line drawn by the Palmans when it came to bad news. I could never understand why a wedding got a mention, but a much gossiped about divorce never did. Funeral notices were reverent and sanitized. A “lengthy illness” was always mentioned but anything tragic wasn’t. When Libby Rossman was killed in a skiing accident there was a brief news story with very few details, but her obit was full of phrases like “taken too soon,” and “unfortunate tragedy.” Even though we all talked about nothing but the grisly details, the Sentinel remained coyly silent throughout.
They were also careful not to name names of the guilty in the police blotter or short news pieces. When the Fowler twins were found to be responsible for setting fire to Mr. Meerson’s garage, the paper stayed mum about whodunit, despite the fact that we all knew. And Floyd Paulson’s penchant for public drunkenness was mentioned only as “a local tippler” although half the town had driven him home when found wandering around town.
Sadly the Sentinel closed down before I was out of high school. But it lives on in lined drawers all over town.
Silver Creek’s answer to the New York Times was the Silver Creek Sentinel. Known to every kid in town as “the Senile,” it was a true mom-and-pop operation that was written, edited, formatted, printed, and delivered by Keezer and Edie Palman.
Keezer’s claim to journalistic experience was limited to writing a weekly “new recruit” column in the Ft. Dix newsletter while a medical clerk in WWII. Edie had a natural flair for gentle humor but a deplorable lack of attention to detail, which made each week’s issue a haven for unintentionally hilarious headlines and stories and howling misspellings. For example, after a rash of car break-ins the local police offered a reward for information. The Sentinel posted this news under the headline “$50 Reward for Car Thefts.” Which made it sound like a quick way to pick up $50. Notable typos included stories about the fundraising “carp wash,” a review of the high school’s production of “Our Twin,” and a fire at Birningham’s “Cry Cleaners.”
The heyday of juvenilely funny headlines came during the five years when Thomas Hooker was mayor. Every week there would be a story such as “Hooker Speaks to Kindergarten Class,” “Hooker Lands 20 lb. Trout,” and my ultimate favorite “Local Bishop Visits Hooker.” When you’re 12-years old, this is great stuff.
The rest of the paper was made up of such useless information as the attendees at a child’s birthday party, an out-of-town guest visiting some local citizen, or an interview with exciting luminaries like the postmaster and the head librarian. And, of course, each issue included must-read features such as the week’s menu in the high school cafeteria and a run-down of the local police blotter. The latter was where Edie really shined. I still have a clipping that reads: Mrs. Philip Carpenter of Blossom Road was mystified by finding one of her three garden gnomes repeated tipped over. Police identified the culprit as Lucy, the cocker spaniel of neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Robert Grover. Lucy has been sentenced to several days of “bad dog” and the withholding of milk bones.”
One of my favorite features was “Simon Sez,” which highlighted quotes by Simon Lang, the requisite odd duck and our own Yogi Berra. Simon was known for his incomprehensible homilies, nonsensical statements, and imponderable observations on life. Nearly every issue of the newspaper included at least one of Simon’s statements. “Sweaters don’t grow on trees,” “It takes a pigeon to see a statue from all sides,” “George Washington didn’t need a wife,” (which seemed highly unfair to Martha), and “If you don’t want the truth, don’t talk to the cat.” Many of these wonderfully weird comments became catch phrases in our family and to this day one of my brothers still says, “having pants don’t make you a man.”
When I was a little girl, every woman in town that received a mention in the Sentinel was referred to by her husband’s name. It was always Mrs. Louis Feldman or Mrs. Daniel Shaefer. Never Mary or Lorna. This always bothered me, but that was the way of the world back then. Married women had no identity other than that provided by their husband. Unmarried women were allowed to be Miss Jane Doe, but as soon and Jane married she magically lost her first name. Even if the woman were to be the center of the story, it would still be Mrs. Husband. “Mrs. Erwin Haefner Beaks Leg in Supermarket,” or “Mrs. Ralph Meeks to Visit Paris with Sister.”
Like most families in Silver Creek, our family received its share of column space. My siblings’ birthday parties, my sister winning a spelling bee, my father getting a promotion. All was considered public domain.
The one thing that always perplexed me was the inexplicable, invisible line drawn by the Palmans when it came to bad news. I could never understand why a wedding got a mention, but a much gossiped about divorce never did. Funeral notices were reverent and sanitized. A “lengthy illness” was always mentioned but anything tragic wasn’t. When Libby Rossman was killed in a skiing accident there was a brief news story with very few details, but her obit was full of phrases like “taken too soon,” and “unfortunate tragedy.” Even though we all talked about nothing but the grisly details, the Sentinel remained coyly silent throughout.
They were also careful not to name names of the guilty in the police blotter or short news pieces. When the Fowler twins were found to be responsible for setting fire to Mr. Meerson’s garage, the paper stayed mum about whodunit, despite the fact that we all knew. And Floyd Paulson’s penchant for public drunkenness was mentioned only as “a local tippler” although half the town had driven him home when found wandering around town.
Sadly the Sentinel closed down before I was out of high school. But it lives on in lined drawers all over town.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
I Am Not a White Supremacist
But my TiVo thinks I am. I recorded a program about hate crimes a week or so ago and since then it's recorded programs about skinheads, the Klan, fringe white supremacist groups and racial crimes in prison. I just saw an ad on the National Geographic channel entitled "American Nazis" and something tells me I'll find that in my TiVo suggestions within the week.
In the midst of all this I received the latest "Teaching Tolerance" from the Southern Poverty Law Center; a fine organization that Husband and I support. Oh the irony.
I'm amused at the Tivo brain that takes one program and then stuffs my "Now Playing" box with any show about racist, homophobic bigots. It's almost like it thinks I want to commit a hate crime and it's giving me all my options. I had no idea there were so many programs about people beating the crap out of anyone they feel is inferior. Kinda makes me want to beat the crap out of someone I feel is inferior (the aforementioned racist, homophobic bigot). (And yes, I'm kidding.)
But my TiVo thinks I am. I recorded a program about hate crimes a week or so ago and since then it's recorded programs about skinheads, the Klan, fringe white supremacist groups and racial crimes in prison. I just saw an ad on the National Geographic channel entitled "American Nazis" and something tells me I'll find that in my TiVo suggestions within the week.
In the midst of all this I received the latest "Teaching Tolerance" from the Southern Poverty Law Center; a fine organization that Husband and I support. Oh the irony.
I'm amused at the Tivo brain that takes one program and then stuffs my "Now Playing" box with any show about racist, homophobic bigots. It's almost like it thinks I want to commit a hate crime and it's giving me all my options. I had no idea there were so many programs about people beating the crap out of anyone they feel is inferior. Kinda makes me want to beat the crap out of someone I feel is inferior (the aforementioned racist, homophobic bigot). (And yes, I'm kidding.)
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Photo of the day: Wrapped Up in Cute
The nursery will be closing next week, though I might stay on as part of the skeleton crew to take care of the ones still in quarantine. But until then, I'm still free to post amazingly cute kitten photos. This is from one of the kittens in residence earlier in the season. He's already gone home with someone. Yay!
The nursery will be closing next week, though I might stay on as part of the skeleton crew to take care of the ones still in quarantine. But until then, I'm still free to post amazingly cute kitten photos. This is from one of the kittens in residence earlier in the season. He's already gone home with someone. Yay!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Football
I am outrageously happy that football season has started. Don't get me wrong, I'm still tuning in to watch my Giants play baseball. But there's something about football that, to me, signals the arrival of fall and the beginning on Sundays where I never want to leave to sofa. Typically there's only one game that I really care about; OK, sometimes two. As a native of the SF Bay area I naturally follow the Niners. As a native Philadelphian, Husband favors the Eagles. I've become an Eagles fan too (no offense, Niners, but the Eagles have been more fun and far less frustrating to watch the past few seasons). But this year we're boycotting the Eagles and not watching a single game because they stupidly went and signed noted prick and convicted dog hater, Michael Vick. We refuse to support any organization that hires him, so no Eagles for us this year. Which is sad, as I absolutely love Donovan McNabb.
But from the 10 am game, to the 1 pm game to Sunday Night Football (still have a hard time with it not being on Monday. Yes, there's a Monday game but it's not the same without Al and .... oh wait, he's retired. OK, Al and Kris.) I could easily sit there and not move except to get up to pee or get something to eat. And the thing is I'm not all that interested in most of the teams. I just the ritual of it all. Even if it's just on in the background as I'm doing something else, there's something surprisingly comforting about the familiarity of it all. The cheering. The bad beer ads. The truck commercials. The hilarious close up of the vapid cheerleaders and trying to figure out who has the skankiest of them all. (Here's a hint, I call the Eagles cheerleaders "the Ho-Hos."
But whether I'm actively engaged, swearing at the screen and making a general ass of myself (because they can't hear me and they're all dopes because they haven't had a passing game all day and yet they keep trying to connect). Or if I'm barely paying attention and focusing on making catnip socks or reading the Sunday paper, it's still a fall ritual that I love.
I am outrageously happy that football season has started. Don't get me wrong, I'm still tuning in to watch my Giants play baseball. But there's something about football that, to me, signals the arrival of fall and the beginning on Sundays where I never want to leave to sofa. Typically there's only one game that I really care about; OK, sometimes two. As a native of the SF Bay area I naturally follow the Niners. As a native Philadelphian, Husband favors the Eagles. I've become an Eagles fan too (no offense, Niners, but the Eagles have been more fun and far less frustrating to watch the past few seasons). But this year we're boycotting the Eagles and not watching a single game because they stupidly went and signed noted prick and convicted dog hater, Michael Vick. We refuse to support any organization that hires him, so no Eagles for us this year. Which is sad, as I absolutely love Donovan McNabb.
But from the 10 am game, to the 1 pm game to Sunday Night Football (still have a hard time with it not being on Monday. Yes, there's a Monday game but it's not the same without Al and .... oh wait, he's retired. OK, Al and Kris.) I could easily sit there and not move except to get up to pee or get something to eat. And the thing is I'm not all that interested in most of the teams. I just the ritual of it all. Even if it's just on in the background as I'm doing something else, there's something surprisingly comforting about the familiarity of it all. The cheering. The bad beer ads. The truck commercials. The hilarious close up of the vapid cheerleaders and trying to figure out who has the skankiest of them all. (Here's a hint, I call the Eagles cheerleaders "the Ho-Hos."
But whether I'm actively engaged, swearing at the screen and making a general ass of myself (because they can't hear me and they're all dopes because they haven't had a passing game all day and yet they keep trying to connect). Or if I'm barely paying attention and focusing on making catnip socks or reading the Sunday paper, it's still a fall ritual that I love.
Quarantine
The nursery is coming into its last month and, sadly, it's ending on a quarantine. Ringworm. We've already lost some kittens but I think the ones left will be fine -- aside from getting too big for their kennels and in desperate need to get out.
Quarantine presents many extra precautions and, as a consequence, a bit more work. We wear plastic gowns (lovely in the heat) and gloves. Everything has to be extra bleached after each litter (the scale, the tables, the food bowls, etc.) Plus lots of floor mopping, extra hand washing, and general cleanliness. We even have to step in bleach whenever we leave the nursery to we don't track ringworm to the rest of the shelter.
But with the nursery closing I'll have more time on my hands. I'm at the shelter every weekday now: three days at the nursery, three days with the cats. Once the nursery shuts down I'll be doing three days of cats. So that leaves me with two free weekdays to get involved in something else.
I'm trying to figure out where I'd like to volunteer next. I'm considering a local food bank, a homeless shelter network, or something with a local environmental group (Save the Bay, Peninsula Open Space Trust, that kind of thing). But if any of you know of a worthy organization, preferably in San Mateo County, that needs a day or two a week of volunteering, please let me know,
The nursery is coming into its last month and, sadly, it's ending on a quarantine. Ringworm. We've already lost some kittens but I think the ones left will be fine -- aside from getting too big for their kennels and in desperate need to get out.
Quarantine presents many extra precautions and, as a consequence, a bit more work. We wear plastic gowns (lovely in the heat) and gloves. Everything has to be extra bleached after each litter (the scale, the tables, the food bowls, etc.) Plus lots of floor mopping, extra hand washing, and general cleanliness. We even have to step in bleach whenever we leave the nursery to we don't track ringworm to the rest of the shelter.
But with the nursery closing I'll have more time on my hands. I'm at the shelter every weekday now: three days at the nursery, three days with the cats. Once the nursery shuts down I'll be doing three days of cats. So that leaves me with two free weekdays to get involved in something else.
I'm trying to figure out where I'd like to volunteer next. I'm considering a local food bank, a homeless shelter network, or something with a local environmental group (Save the Bay, Peninsula Open Space Trust, that kind of thing). But if any of you know of a worthy organization, preferably in San Mateo County, that needs a day or two a week of volunteering, please let me know,
Monday, September 21, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
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