Is this thing still on?
I have been away from the bloggie because I have been away from home for the last couple of weeks doing something super not fun. I don't want to get into the details of not funness but suffice it to say that it involved travel, and a sick loved one, and hospitals, and the whole thing from beginning to end was awful. Sorry to be mysterious, but talking about it will just give me the voms at this point.
Instead, I shall talk around it by giving you some various thoughts I had over the past two weeks, without context. Wheee!
1. I have somehow avoided travel to cold climates in winter for many years now, and had forgotten what zero degrees feels like. MOTHERCRACKER zero degrees is not even RIGHT. It burns your lungs, and makes it feel like you have icicles in your nostrils, and it shrinks up your ballsack even if you do not have a ballsack. I remember that when I first moved to Seattle, I told people it was because I couldn't stand one more winter, and I had forgotten that I was actually telling the truth. Cold. YEE-ICK.
2. I was standing in the ICU while some serious shit was going down and I noticed that the ICU muzak was playing "My Heart Will Go On." Am I wrong or should that song not be played in the ICU, ever? Like, ever, ever? Majorly inappropes, dudes.
3. I didn't have time to read, look at tv, listen to music ("My Heart Will Go On" notwithstanding), or get any news for 10 days. I now feel like I am coming out of a bubble. Olympics what now?
4. Hospitals are food deserts, at least this one was. That cafeteria had all kinds of soda and candy but fruit? Not so much. One day there they actually stocked some yogurt cups and I almost cried.
I have been thinking about help. What do you do when someone you know needs help? Like, not just easy help. The kind of help that is inconvenient, where you may actually have to make some effort, go out of your way, make a sacrifice? Do you hesitate? Do you say "I wish I could do more, but..." I was talking to someone yesterday about how I was surprised at how few of the people around this current situation had made a big effort, and the person said back to me "well, I can understand people not feeling comfortable with that." Not feeling comfortable helping? Not feeling comfortable getting involved? Are we really that way? Afraid to get involved, even with the people we love? This makes me profoundly sad.
Today my loved one was in a compromising situation, and I am already back in Seattle and not there to help. I reached out to my pal Alli, who is a well-known helper in my life, to see if she had any ideas on what to do. She told her mother-in-law about it, and her mother-in-law is now on her way to my loved ones house to help. This woman doesn't even really know me, and has never met my loved one in her life. But she is showing up, inconveniencing herself, getting involved. Don't you just love that woman? Don't you just want to BE that woman? Next time you think you can help someone, think of Alli's mom-in-law and please just do it, even if it's messy, inconvenient, or intimidating. Isn't that the world we want to live in?
Two week blergness
Sliding On Ice, They're Watching You
Looky looky, it's 2014! Our century is fourteen, which means it is just getting acne, surliness will start to settle in, and it will spend a lot of time in the bathroom "just washing up." Ah yes.
My year has been going along pretty ok so far. I attempted ice skating for the first time in my life and it lasted a good 7 minutes or so. At that point it was time for my butt to kiss the ice, which it did. Unfortunately the romance shocked my ankle and made it so my ice skating career, at least for the day, was over. Let me ask you this, young readers. WHY do only little children get those ice skating walker devices? And also WHY do only little children get double-bladed ice skates? I saw many a whippersnapper fall on the ice and they all just popped right back up because children are made from bouncy materials. It's us older brittle-boned types that need extra help, is what I say. Anyway. As I wiped out (and hey you guys, ice is super freaking hard and causes butt bruise, in case you were wondering), all I could think was the exact same thing I thought as a child in Michigan every time I was forced to be in snowy environs and that is "I AM FROM FIJI WHAT THE HELL WHY" which is a perfectly reasonable thing to think when one is genetically predisposed to white sandy beaches and 80 degree weather. And THEN when I mention this ice skating fiasco to anyone all I hear back is about how this person broke a bone ice skating and that person got a concussion once when ice skating and another person ripped a tendon while ice skating. Like, 5 or 6 different people are telling me these things. WHY ARE WE ICE SKATING, PEOPLE. I do not understand the universe.
Anyway. Ice skating. Worst.
In other news I took my pal L to lunch for her birthday which basically turned into a symposium about Sister Wives, and if you watch that show too you know what I am talking about, Willis. I also hung out with my friend Jenny, and lastly spent a lot of time planning for the upcoming year with Nordic Boy (with spreadsheets!), because we are gigantic, festering nerds.
For those of you in the parts of the country that are buried in snow, I hope you are doing ok and that you have heat and supplies and that you aren't getting cabin fever. Stay safe, people (no ice skating). It has been making me positively warm in the heart-cockles to look at the Facebooks and see all the posts on there of people offering to make grocery runs for each other and shovel sidewalks for each other and make sure their neighbors are ok. I know some good peoples.
When Delium was a kid he thought that Hall and Oates were saying "SLIDING ON ICE" instead of "Private Eyes," and that's how I sing it to myself even now. Want to join me?
Private Eyes, Hall and Oates:
Don we now our Christmas pantaloons
This weekend, it was time for me to put on my Christmas pants. I mean this in a figurative sense of course, because I don't own pants (well, I have one pair of jeans), although what would Christmas pants look like? I am thinking either a bedazzled Christmas scene sort of like a Christmas sweater, or maybe they are red velvet with white bottoms like Santa pants? Either way, I donned them this weekend, figuratively.
First up, Nordic Boy, Biogirl, Biogirl's dude, and I went to dinner at a fancy restaurant that was lovely, but I must be old and crusty because all I could think when I was in there was THIS IS TOO LOUD. It wasn't like we went to a club or something- it was a wine bar. But the way the room was set up caused the sound to bounce off the walls everywhere. So we ate and drank and yelled at each other, which I guess a lot of people do for the holidays anyway, so Merry Yelly Christmas.
After we got shouty with our Chardonnay, we went to this garden in the burbs that does a crazy ass Griswald style light display every year. There is no other way to describe it other than amazingly gaudy. It is a spectacle of gaudy. There was a chimpanzee made entirely of Christmas lights, you guys. Because, why? No one knows.
Saturday evening the four of us met up for dinner (this time at a delicious and appropriately-volumed establishment) and ate a gorgeous meal. We followed this by seeing some musical theater. Oliver! to be exact. I had never seen that show before, although I did have good nostalgic feelings about it because when I was a kid I was in this fancy choir and every year when the latest auditionees got the news that they had made it into the choir, we sang them "Consider Yourself" from Oliver! to welcome them. Is that not the most twee thing you have ever heard? I know. Anyway, I had good feelings about it going in. But you guys. That show is super weird! I mean, it opens with workhouse orphans who are starving, and they sing a chipper song about food. It's like We're starving! (jazz hands) Misery! (shuffle ball change) Life sucks! (But at least we are cute). On the up side, the lady who played Nancy had some powerful pipes so she blew the roof off for a minute there.
The final highlight of the weekend was hanging out with our dear Delium. Love that guy.
Weekend round up, over and out.
Decembhair
Hey you want to talk about my hair some more? Because we're gonna. So, I recovered from bad Haircuttageddon 2013 and I went to Michigan to visit my mom. While there all sorts of things happened, and one of them was that I took a box of my Dad's things and mailed the box back to Seattle. When I packed it, I thought, hey, as long as I am mailing this box, if there is room in here I might as well pack some of my heavier items that would have gone in my suitcase, because Nordic Boy and I packed super tight (one week, one small carry on suitcase between the two of us LIGHT PACKERS AWARD) so why not take advantage of this mailed box and stuff some shit in there, thus alleviating the suitcase burden? I put in a book, and my boots, and a sweater, and my hair dryer. I was not thinking about the fact that it would take a week to get to Seattle. More than a week because of the holiday, actually. Which left me Hairdryerless In Seattle. Which meant that even though I had a good haircut again, I now had ugly non-blowdried hair for days.
I am so sorry to discover this about myself. That I am such an effing pain in my own ass about my hair. But I am so vain that that song is totally about me, you guys. Ugh. WORST.
I am vain, but not vain enough to go out and buy another hair dryer for a week and a half, so that says something, I guess. I will say that I did a happy jig when that damn box was delivered today though.
You know what else happened? I was paying my automo-bills (Destiny's Child, wut wut) over the weekend and I discovered that while we were in Michigan someone here in Seattle was running amok with our credit card number. SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS WORTH OF AMOK. It's that sort of discovery that makes you not worry about your hair for a minute. It seems like our credit card people are going to be cool about it, but that was a jolt to the old ticker, I tell you.
Oh yeah, and there was that whole Giving of the Thanky Feelings Day that happened too. We had Delium and Biogirl over for the vittle times for that. The rest of the weekend was spent going to a movie (Hunka Hunka Burning Shirtless Thor 2), snuggling up at home, and turning up the furnace.
I solemnly lemon pledge to you that we will not talk about my hair again for a very long time.
Re-cut
So I called my salon and told them that my last cut was jacked up, and they totally redid it for free! I have now been suitably coiffed. The lady who initially gave me the bad shear job was not the lady I went back to, but she saw me when I walked in. Yeah, look at me, lady. I had to demand a re-cut. I felt a little bit bad about it for some reason, until the lady who did my re-cut sat me down and heartily agreed that I had a shit-do that was akin to Marcia Brady so I felt validated. And then she did the re-cut and made me feel re-cute. I know it is shallow but man I feel better now.
In other news I was out to dinner the other night and Tavi Gevinson was at the table next to me. I am not a celebrity gawker because please. But in that case all I can say is that I was happy that I was wearing a cute outfit. Because I care what Tavi Gevinson thinks of my outfit, apparently? And I think that Tavi Gevinson was looking at me, for some reason? It all made total sense in my head at the time. (This was post re-cute, just in case you were wondering).
Our power went out on Friday night, which was weird because it wasn't storming or windy or anything. Apparently it was just a breaker issue or something. It happened right as we were leaving the house to go out to meet some friends and our entire neighborhood was out and this may sound strange but when you live in a city things never really get truly dark outside. There are always lots of lights from houses and streetlights and such. When the power goes out, it is DARK. It was pretty creepy really. (Hey guys! I just wrote the sentence "what the power goes out, it is dark." Like a freaking genius). We drove to the nearest area where power was still on which is a retail area near my house-- like less than a mile away and the traffic was horrible. Not just horrible. HAH-Ribble. Then when we got there the entire neighborhood had shown up at the restaurant we wanted to go to, and things were crowded. When snow days and power outages happen and you get to stay home it is cozy and fun. When it happens and you have to get somewhere and fight crowds of people to do anything, it is stoopid awful. When the power is out...stay home, is the lesson.
That is all I got. My pajamas calleth.
Annual Aging Day
It was my birthday last week. The first birthday of my whole life without my dad. As the day approached, I felt more and more dread about it, and honestly I just didn't even want it to happen. People had started to ask me about what I would like to do this year, and my responses ranged from "whateverIdon'tknowIjust...[trailing off]" to "NOT FEELING IT DO NOT TALK ABOUT IT" to "nothing. I guess? I don't know. Something?" It was a lovely soup of confusing messages. Luckily, I have people in my life who know how to cut through the baloney talk (I am currently fluent in baloney talk) and know that it really doesn't matter what the venue- a party, a quiet evening, a home-cooked meal- what I really needed was a reminder that I am loved. Nordic Boy and the gang proceeded to ignore my weird mumblings and be bossy about the whole thing and orchestrated several birthday activities for me. Thank goodness. Here are some of the things that got cooked up.
A small group of my favorite Seattle pals gathered up for a fancy meal in a fancy restaurant. We got a private room in the back (sitting in the back rooms of restaurants feels like the mafia, only without the impending threat of violence), and ate up. The restaurant could not have been more tasty and the people running that restaurant were de-fricking-lightful. They gave us free bottles of Prosecco all around and the best, most warm service. Afterwards we went back to my house and we had cupcakes and there were presents and everyone sang to me and is there anything more awkward than having the birthday song being sung to you, but I loved it because what are friends for if not to embarrass you with their love for you.
My friends Alli and Map, in their lifelong tradition of showing up at my door whenever I need them no matter what, both flew to Seattle for a long weekend which was so, so lovely of them. I love those girls so much, I can't even tell you. I boohoo-ed a little bit with Alli the first day that she arrived, just talking about all my FEEEEEEEELINGS, but then Friday and Saturday I did not get teary once, you guys. The thing is that I have gotten weepy at least once a day, every day, for the past 5 months. A non-crying day is kind of a big deal these days, and those girls made it happen. How? Example: there was a point in the weekend where one of them yelled out in confusion "What the FUCK is a pudenda and do I have one?" and how can you be sad when that is being yelled at you? You cannot.
Nordic Boy took me out to dinner one night and to a ballet show afterward. The show was three pieces by Twyla Tharp and one of them is a classic of hers that is set to a series of Frank Sinatra songs. Those songs are so common to our ears because Sinatra is so iconic and they are everywhere- in movies, in ads, whatever-- it's almost like I don't really hear the songs anymore. The show made me really listen to a lot of it in a way I hadn't for a while, and hey, news flash, they are pretty much great songs. I am just only now discovering this, because I am super ahead of the times. I was watching the ballet, and the song "Strangers in the Night" came on, and is there a song that seems more corny than that song? But dudes. It is not corny, is what I sat there and realized. Maybe it was the song, maybe it was the dance, maybe it was the night, maybe it is the mood I have been in. It made me think about how well I am loved. I looked over at Nordic Boy. He was already looking at me.
(If you want to give it a listen).
Live in the Now, Brosef
I have been floating through my days this summer, not paying much attention to things that I normally would. Summer usually means trips, a full up social calendar, and tons of time in the sunshine (Seattle summers are so gorgeous, the entire city freaks out this time every year). I have been living in the present to a sort of ridiculous degree, which is mostly a good thing, but can also be kind of weird, when I stop to think about it. I find I am having awkward conversations with people where they are asking me perfectly reasonable things like "do you have any upcoming trips planned?" or "what are you doing this weekend?" or "do you want to come to my party next month?" and I feel like I am being asked to perform time travel. The future? Plan something? What sort of crazy talk is that? My days (outside of work, that is- I can get it up for work because people aren't paying me to be a damn hippie) consist of me only thinking of the very next thing that might happen. I read a book for a while, until my stomach grumbles, and then I find something to eat, and then I might look outside and decide to go for a walk, and while on a walk, if a friend calls and asks me if I want to go out, I will do that. Just, consecutive decision making, one thing at a time. It's sort of awesome. I don't mean to overstate this- I mean when I think about it I am still doing things that are autopilot for me, like getting my groceries and cleaning my house and things like that, so I don't mean to say that my life lacks any structure. I am a pretty structured-time kind of lady (I know, so sexy) so certain things are just always going to be happening in my life because I have always been that way. So, just know that I am not patting myself on the back too much over Living in the Moment, Man. I'm just saying. For me, it's been loosey goosey.The downside of it is (aside from awkward conversations where I answer "I don't know" a hundred times because I have never before noticed how often future planning comes up in conversation but people are doing a poop-ton of planning, it turns out) is that things move a lot slower this way, and I can sometimes feel like life is moving along super fast for everyone else, and I am standing still, and look at all these things people are getting done, and what have I done, and omg, nothing, I have done nothing, and summer is almost over and I missed the whole thing, ahhhhhhhh! Life is not a race but it can sure feel like one when your friends have had babies, written books, gone on vacations, or remodeled their homes all during a span of time where you've just been dicking around wondering if now would be a good time to go for a walk or not.
Anyway, my weekend was really lovely. Much of it was spent at home with that dude of mine. We chatted and read and home improved a bit. On Sunday evening we took Delium out for a belated birthday dinner at a fancy restaurant and played Last Word with the topic: Comfy Mystery TV series, which lasted like an hour, because once somebody utters aloud the phrase "Father Dowling Mysteries" then it's required that we talk about that for ten minutes before someone else says "Rosemary and Thyme."
When Delium arrived at our house to pick us up for dinner, he rang the doorbell, Nordic Boy answered the door, Delium walked in, and I stood up and did a sort of Russian style jumpy jig while yell-singing "Ha---ppy birthday happybirthdayhappybirthday! Ha---ppy birthday, happybirthdayhappybirthday!" and Nordic Boy and Delium watched that shit for like, half a second before full on joining in, jumping, raising the roof, and throwing in some turns. "HA---PPY BIRTHDAY HAPPYBIRTHDAYHAPPYBIRTHDAY!" it went, from all three of us. This makes me think about how these dudes help me to live in the present all the time, by not thinking too much before deciding to act silly, by being present enough to join in on some dumb shit right in the moment, by not being worried about looking weird in front of each other, by bringing out joyfulness in something as simple as saying hello. I know that sooner or later this slow pace I have been in will end and I will speed up my life again. But I have people who bring out the present so vividly and exuberantly all the time, I won't lose this feeling.
My Dear Delium
When I arrived at college at not-yet-18 years old, I was a smiley kid who looked people in the eye, with unironic Snoopy sheets on my dorm room bed and a Brother Word Processor (yes, I'm that old, it's true) under my arm. My plan was to transform my former dance accomplishments into full blown theater geekery, and with that I auditioned for a play. I was chosen, along with 9 other cast mates, and we all promptly became thick as thieves. One night during rehearsal, one of my new friends, Becca, said to me: "I think you should date Delium. I think he likes you." To which I articulately said, "nuh-uh! Really?" and left it at that.
I was having a super fun datey time when I arrived at college. I had a cool ex-boyfriend back home, and he had done the "you're moving away to college, go on without me, if you love someone set them free" schtick, but we kept in touch and also for the first 6 months he would show up at my dorm every couple of months so maybe it was more "if you love someone set them free but also I will show up sometimes in hopes of a booty call" which was the original draft of that Sting song. Aside from him, I was also just reveling in the fact that I was in college with all these new people and I was drowning in cute boy flirtations. When Becca said that to me about Delium, I was game. I liked him. He was a junior (automatic hottie points) and I remember that all of my dorm friends thought he was cyooooot. I am sure that I would have thought the same thing all on my own but at that age, what my friends thought was pretty much more important. Which, whatever. I was 18.
One day Delium called me on the phone and asked me to go on a date with him, which when I think about that phone call now I find it mortally adorable. He picked me up in his car and we went to some bar where his friends who were in a band were playing. It was some combination rock show plus sketch comedy thing. All I remember is that the band's show was about them travelling through time and there was one point where one of the guys dressed full Abraham Lincoln and rocked out. It is a weird memory.
Delium and I had this strange relationship after that. On the one hand, we were both really silly people and we spent much of our time together making each other snort-laugh with honest-to-goodness hijinks. Our senses of humor lined up exactly- my very first Comedy-Kindred-Spirit. On the other hand, Delium was the first boy I ever knew who was intense. I didn't have any experience with intense. I didn't know what to do with it. He would say things like "I'm going to marry you one day," or "I'm going to love you for the rest of our lives," which would make me think "I am 18 years old, don't be a nutjob, dude" but also "wow, that's cool. He is Lloyd Dobler." It was more than I could handle, for sure, but I pretended like I had it all in hand, even to myself.
That sort of intensity can only lead to a full-scale ride on the drama-trolley, and we were no exception. We had a few months of COMPLETE AND TOTAL RIDICULOUSNESS with jealousy! betrayal! declarations! tears on both sides! I shall spare you the details not because they aren't interesting but because OMG so embarrassing. Still, the weird thing was, that even in the midst of all that, we always made each other laugh. We would be having some exhausting conversation and one of us would, right in the middle of it, DO A BIT. And the other one would laugh and be like "that's funny, dude!" And then we would go back to being exhausting.
I can't really remember how we managed to transition out of intensity-land into something else. I feel like it just happened. We just snapped out of it. Delium is not at all intense like that anymore so maybe that's what did it. I left that school at 19 to go to Chicagoland to work at a theater, and Delium would come and visit me sometimes. I remember going to the Olive Garden with Delium and Nordic Boy there- the three of us. Then I moved to Madison, Wisconsin for a year and Delium moved there too because he was doing a grad program there, so we hung out some more. Then I went back to Fiji and while I was there, Delium switched grad programs to one in Seattle and needed to drive himself across the country. His driving pal? Nordic Boy. Look at how I bring a bromance together like that- those two are now straight up besties. I came back and joined up with them in Seattle, and we have all three been here ever since.
Delium is the busiest person I know. He has a day job, he acts, he dances, he goes on lots of trips. He has always been that way. But Delium is the person that Nordic Boy and I call when we need someone. With all that he has going on, somehow he is always there for us. (And do not even get me started about how Nordic Boy STOLE THAT BOY away from me). I don't know where we would be without him. He's our family.
Since my Dad died, Delium has called me pretty much every day. Every single day. Even when he is on a camping trip in Nevada. Even when he has work followed by a date followed by a performance. And he gets right up in my grill and talks with me about every last feeling I am having. And he remembers my dad with me. And he cries with me sometimes. And when I say "I'm so super tired, dude," he says "I know you are. I know," in the most gentle way. And we hang out and he still makes me snort-laugh every time.
He may not have married me like he said he was going to, but he did say he was going to love me for the rest of our lives. So, he was partially right.
You Send Me
Shared history is important, is what I have been thinking about
lately. There is something about thinking back on something that
happened in your life, and having someone else say: yes, I remember that too.
Why does that feel so good? Does it validate us to know that our
memories are not just ours, that someone else saw what we saw? Does it
help us to know that we aren't just dreaming up what we think our lives
have been?
I love my friend Alli for many reasons. She
is one of the best people I have ever met, just like, on an objective
Good Person scale. She's kind, she is hilarious, she is a phenomenal
friend. But on top of all of this, we have known each other since kindergarten. This means that either of us can pull out a memory, and the other person will already know it.
Remember the night when we all went skinny-dipping in Map's pool? And A. got out of the pool and laughed so hard that she literally peed herself, right on the side of the pool? Ha ha, yes!
Remember when those three guy friends of ours crashed your birthday party in high school and stole your cake right out of your house? OMG, yes. Effers.
Remember in 5th grade how Carrie F. had this talent for drawing Garfield, and she drew doodles of Garfield everywhere, and it seemed so cool? Totally!
Remember when you got in the middle of a tough girl brawl that night outside the 7-11? No joke, that was nuts! Those girls wanted to kill someone.
Remember that time that dude who had a crush on you wrote you a filthy love note and your mom found it and read it? Holy shit, yes. Death by mortification.
Remember when we learned tinikling in 3rd grade gym class and you got chosen to demonstrate it for the parents at the ice cream social? Because I am a fucking superstar, obvs.
I know what song was playing on the radio when Alli made out with the guy who tried to give her the old "back of the head push" when we were teenagers. She knows that I almost had a serious wardrobe malfunction while dancing on stage in "Guys and Dolls" in 10th grade.
I started thinking about this last weekend when an old song came on the radio and we both went "oh my god, this SONG." I was thinking about how not only do we share the general nostalgia of remembering that song, but we share the same context surrounding the song. There's a good chance that we were milling around the same damn party where the song was initially playing and it seeped into our brains at the same time. It sort of blew my mind grapes a little bit, the more I thought about it.
If you're my homie, you're pretty much my homie for life. I will keep the friendship going, unless one of us turns into a dick or something. I know people that let their friends sort of drift in and out of their circle with each passing phase of their lives, and I guess that's ok too. But for me, going through things with my pals there with me, helping me to see my life, is so important to me that I can't imagine it any other way. And I think that feeling originated with Alli, and my friend Map too, starting way back when we were teensy little kids. The older I get, the more I cherish that.
So what was the song that prompted all of this? It was a PM Dawn song. I know, all of this because of Prince B. Nocturnal? Yes, totally. For whatever reason, it made both Alli and I feel how it felt to be young together, right in our guts. "Oh my god, this SONG."
My Closet! Now in 3D! Consumables #75
I am happy to report that March seems to be going less angrily than February, and with that I have started to rejoin society. I kicked off my re-entry by attending a craft night party that ended up not involving any crafting whatsoever (craft parties and book clubs: rarely about crafting nor books, I have discovered) but there were drinkies and lolly gagging into the night, which was even better. The very best thing that happened was my friend L busted out a scrapbook that she had made as a teenager (doodled on the cover: "I love reading," because L has been bringing the adorability for solid decades) in which she had pasted--in alphabetical order--clippings of every Tiger Beat 80s dude that you remember plus some you forgot (sorry C.B. Barnes, how could I have forsaken you?) There were notes on each person (favorite foods, birthdays) and even some sweet autograph action (the frigging John Hancock of Khrystyne Haje from Head of the Class, for crying out loud). This artifact alone convinced me that I need to come out from under my rock. There are things in the world to go out and experience, and vintage Menudo photos are one of them.
I followed that by going to a dancing and drinking party (unlike crafting and book parties, these ones are always exactly what they say they are) and it was just what I needed. I cannot tell you how much I love getting dressed up and going dancing. It's like I have an inner Lindsay Lohan that's just bursting to come out or something. Should I be worried?
Let's see, what else is happy-making? Oh, how about the fact that Nordic Boy finished building my new closet last month? My clothes pop out from the top of the closet when you open the door, you guys! It's like a whole James Cameron Avatar 3D situation, only with dresses. And before you think that Nordic Boy does super nice stuff for me while I do little for him, I will have you know that I have taken to saying "WHERE MY HUNDIES AT" when I look in my purse and every single time he busts a gut laughing. So. I call that about even.
Here's some more stuff that I've seen lately:
Wallander
This has turned out to be one of my favorite series ever. The setting, the mysteries, the way it's filmed. Love it all. I especially love how Wallander confronts horrible shit day in and day out and feels the weight of it every single time. He doesn't get jaded and he cares just as deeply for every case. Almost too much of a conscience, which makes him deeply dysfunctional and/or incredibly admirable.
Downton Abbey
Don't worry, no spoilers if you aren't caught up. So you know that Really Big Thing that happened half way through the season? It was done so well and with so much heart, I thought. And then the final Really Big Thing happened at the very end of the season, and it felt super contrived and abrupt in a kind of ridiculous way. How about I talk in a way where I am so cautious about spoilers that I am barely conveying any actual information anymore? You like how I did that? I am so good at the writings sometimes, it's blinding.
The Following
I tried watching this solely on the promise of seeing Kevin Bacon on a regular basis. However, I stopped after the first episode. I couldn't handle the serial killer being an Edgar Allan Poe buff and genius English professor. Like, after he murdered someone he wrote "Nevermore" in blood on a wall. I mean, really? Evil serial killers I can handle, but that's just insufferable. And to make it worse, no one seemed to know what that "clue" was until Kevin Bacon (masterful detective!) says something like "WAIT A MINUTE. ISN'T THAT EDGAR ALLAN POE?" like he solved a Rubik's cube or something. Kevin, I love you, but I can't. Am I wrong, internets? Should I give it more of a chance?
Community
I know this show's days are pretty much numbered, but NOOOOO. Don't cancel it, tv people!
Parks and Rec
I also have fears for this show being cancelled. But how will I live without Ron Swanson's mustache and Chris Pratt's pratfalls and TREAT YOSELF? And Leslie and Ben's wedding? So sweet it just about killed me dead.
House of Cards
Kevin Spacey does smarmy so well, does he not? This is one of those shows that I burned through and couldn't stop watching, but it's hard to describe my feelings about it with the words "I liked it." It's ultimately unlikeable- every last person on it is a flipping dick and you kind of want everyone to get what is coming to them and you're not rooting for anyone. It should make me feel rotten about the world, but it's so interesting that I sort of forget about that. So, wheeee! Awful people doing awful things. Kind of like the real housewives, but maybe 3 brillion times smarter. Season two, sign me up.
Bunheads
So I started watching this from season 1, and am not very far into it so my opinions may change. It is so in the mold of The Gilmore Girls (fast talking smart lady protagonist, conflict with her stubborn mother-figure, small town quirky people, overachieving teen girls) that I sort of love it but there's always this feeling like it's a shadow of what The Gilmore Girls was. I think Sutton Foster is great but she's no Lauren Graham, but is that even fair? I feel like the bratty kid who's meeting my new stepmom. YOU'RE NOT MY REAL LORELEI/MOM!
Justified
Finally started watching this too, and the only thing I need to tell you at this point is that I have a strong contender for my painstaking process of creating my Free Pass List. If you will recall, I have a serious problem finding candidates for my list. I don't know why this task is so difficult for me but it has been. However! Timothy Olyphant though. HELLO SAYLA. So now I have 4 solid candidates. So what if it took me 7 months worth of thinking about it to get to 4?
That's it for now, friends. Want to see my new closet?
Gorge-ous birthday
It is Nordic Boy's birthday this month and we have pretty much celebrated it by stuffing our gaping maws with as much fancy feast as we can get. (Fancy feast, lower case, meaning actual deluxe vittles, not upper case Fancy Feast for kitties. Don't get grotty). First of all, Biogirl gave us a gift certificate to what is arguably the hoity toity-est restaurant in town so we pranced over there in our finest and got our grub on. It was really grand, and we felt like Kim and Kanye Lady Mary and Matthew Blake and Krystal Carrington. They had $100 beer there, you guys! We did not order any. The waiters all kept one hand behind their backs at all times like it was Darlington Hall from Remains of the Day and shit. We did the tasting menu and at one point the waiter brought us "pine foam made from the trees you see out your window here." And he pointed at the trees outside the window. Let me say that again. PINE FOAM. Get out of here! We also had this sweet crispy light vanilla-tasting biscuit that came with sorbet and berries and the server told us that the biscuit was made from mushrooms. Are you fucking with me, Mr. Belvidere? Because I think you may be fucking with me.
I tried to take pictures of some of the food there but the lighting was so bad that all of my photos came out looking like shadowy turds on a plate, so I shall refrain from posting those here. It was really a lovely dinner though.
Then I decided that Nordic Boy's birthday cake should be a Junior's cheesecake overnighted from NYC. Have you ever had one of those? They are so effing delicious. Just, if you get one, don't look at the ingredients label because there are many many things in it that do not come from nature. Whatever the heck is in there is the bomb though.
Then! Delium and Biogirl took us out for a birthday dinner to another lovely place. The most noteworthy thing about that evening wasn't the food (although that was so good), but rather that the conversation took a really wrong turn and one of us (all of us?) came up with a new sexual term called Butt Cobbler. Which, you don't even want to know, trust me on this. By the end of the night we had even composed a slow jam r&b song about Butt Cobbler, so that just gives you an idea of how classy us effers get.
In non-birthday, non-eating, non-butt-song news, this week there is a big librarian conference in my town. If you're a librarian and you're here for it and you want to meet up, email me! DO IT.
Wait a minute Mr. Postman
Hey, I totally forgot that I sort of do have a New Year's Resolution! It's a small-ish one, but I am disproportionately proud of it, as is my wont. And yes, I know that you don't really get to be proud of making a resolution, but rather the pats on the back should come after you actually maybe follow through with some part of it, but whatevs. And also, I feel the need to share this one because maybe a couple of you will think about doing something similar, and that would be cool. Not only do I all of a sudden have a resolution but I went from having one to being evangelical about it RIGHT QUICK, didn't I? So charming.
When Biogirl left the state for her fancy book learning many a year ago, we had a deal. We sent each other a piece of mail every week. Not email, but a real honest-to-goodness, Kevin-Costner-in-the-post-apocalypse-Civil-War-delivering, hold it in your hand piece of mail. It could be a postcard, a magazine clipping, a letter, a gift, a card, a photo, a dirty limerick, whatever. Something had to show up in the other person's mailbox each week. Biogirl was going to get doctorated, so she was going to be gone for at least 5 years. That's over 500 pieces of mail between the two of us. And there may have been a couple of times that one of us didn't do it, but for the most part, we did. We kept up with it, we made the effort, and it was super fun.
Since then, I have tried to make this sort of thing more a part of my life. If you are friends with me, you may have gotten a random card in the mail from me at some point or another, if I have your address. But it's few and far between, because unlike the deal I had with Biogirl, I haven't made it a part of my routine, and so many things in life depend upon making them a part of your routine. Eating right, getting enough sleep, exercising- we all know that these things need to be made into a pattern to really be effective, but so do things like thoughtfulness and reaching out. We have to prioritize those things and practice them. So, I have become The Decider about mailings and the decision is thus: I am going to send a piece of mail to someone I like every week. Randomly, but on a schedule. Because people love non-junk mail and isn't that all that mail really is anymore? Isn't the entire post office run on the fact that Walmart wants to tell you that it has 2000 Flushes on sale? I just know that when Biogirl would send me stuff in the mail, no matter if it was a letter or a silly photo, I was always happy to get it.
Even if you think trying to send a piece of mail a week is cuckoo, consider sending something to one of your homies this year, or two. Just 'cause it's nice.
Recipe for a good month
I saw this birthday card recently that said the following: "Martin Luther King. Jr. gets one day where we celebrate his birthday. So calm down, Birthday Month People." It sort of cracked me up.
I mention that only because I want to emphasize that I didn't even set out to be a birthday month person this year, and yet, it just happened. This whole month has been super terrific happy times. These are among the things that have been making it grand.
1. Delium took me to see the Paul Taylor Dance Company who just so happened to be in town. They were so delicious and unitardy. I loved every minute of it.
2. Nordic Boy and I went to a fancypants restaurant and did a million-course tasting menu. The final course was brought out and the waiter explained what it was using not one word that either of us could define. It was also visually indecipherable. "You taste it first and tell me what it is," I said after the server had gone. Nordic Boy took a big bite and said "Oh, you'll like it. It tastes like a lemon muffin with Cool Whip!" Really, when eating fancy food you should take Nordic Boy with you for descriptive assistance.
3. Biogirl took me for a road trip down the Oregon coast for a weekend. In the car, she invented what might be the best mash up of all time: Demi Lovato's "Give Your Heart A Break" mixed with "Break me off a piece of that Kit Kat bar."
4. My brother took me out to another fancy dinner and regaled me with stories about my nephew who recently, after scoring a goal during one of his soccer games, with no forethought whatsoever, busted out into the Gangnam style dance in joyous celebration which led to all his little friends joining right in. Trust me, I know you don't know my nephew but this is hysterically adorable.
5. My coworkers made a really big deal about my birthday this year. I know that work-related birthdays are usually cheesy and excruciating but this one felt really genuine. I felt appreciated.
6. I sent out a blanket invite to a bunch of friends to meet up with me at my local pub for a drink on my actual birthday and it was just the lovliest night. The weather was gorgeous, we sat outside, I got to soak in the awesomeness that is my life, and my friend Kevin actually brought me some Vernor's so I could indulge my newfound love for the Detroit Cooler.
7. All of my favorite faraway people called me or texted me funny, thoughtful messages. My parents, Alli, her husband Chris who I also adore, Map, Palindrome, my brothers, my cousin R, just my small but steadfast group.
8. I have discovered that there is a thing called a pajancho. Yes, I am taking this fact as a personal birthday present to me. Not the item. The word. Don't you just want to say it every day of your life? Pajancho, pajancho, pajancho.
Midwest, Midbest
Warning, incoherent blogging ahead!
The blog silence has been because I've been searching for words, which, let's face it, I never really do before I puke-write on the blog.The trip through the midwest is over and I am completely confused about settling back in. Does anyone else get like this after a trip? So far it has been wall-to-wall bewilderment: my house, is that you? Oh, and walking around my neighborhood: this is my neighborhood, yes, I remember now. I have to go to a job and do job things, ok. But what am I supposed to be doing and thinking about? It feels mystifying, my life.
So to ease back into the blogging, I'll just jot some things down about the last week of the tripsie.
Nordic Boy spent a goodly amount of time fixing up busted stuff at my parents' house. He got them a new dishwasher and tv and installed them, fixed wiring, found every last loose closet doorknob or sticky screen door and fixed those up, just everything. This meant that we were at the local mom and pop hardware store every single solitary day, sometimes twice. The folks that work at the store quickly identified me as "cookie man's daughter." The hardware store also provides UPS service (seriously that place is like Oleson's Mercantile) and my dad is constantly showing up there with packages of cookies that my mom has made for sending off to all the grandkids, and he often has a cookie or two for the staff there as well. My dad, therefore, is known as "cookie man." Could you just die from the cuteness?
For more cuteness, see: my mom. Alli and Map dropped me off one night after we had all gone out, and my mom got her pajamafied self together to make them a snack, and then when they were ready to go, she says to me "they aren't staying over?" Like, an assumed slumber party, as it was when we were kids, when none of us ever slept at our own houses on weekends like, ever.
I am so glad I grew up in a household where cookies and slumber parties were a given, with pals to share them both and parents who encouraged the tomfoolery.
One night Alli, Map and I put out a call on the Facebooks for some childhood friends to come out with us. Did we have fun? Dude, we had all the fun. Most of the people that I saw that night, I met when I was in kindergarten, and we all are so, so different from each other now and I love it. I really adore those people. They are just so genuine, and so freaking hilarious. And it's so funny how we all think we have changed so much, and I guess we have, but really every last one of those people seemed, at their core, pretty much the same as they were when they were 5 or 15.
I also got to spend some time with my all-time favorite relative, my cousin R. We stayed up almost all night talking. What is better than staying up all night because you just can't shut up around someone? It's pretty awesome.
Anyway, I feel sort of at a loss now that I'm back, just for words in general. So I guess that's all I will say about it, even though I feel like there's so much more to say. How about some photos from my week in Traverse City with my favorite ladies and we call it good?
Top o' the mitten to ya
I'm typing this on my phone, is the first thing that I want to say up front so as you understand the pain-in-the-arse-ness I am feeling and also so that you excuse any auto-correct boolshizz that may happen along the way here.
I wrapped up my Madison trip, whipped through Chicago for less than 12 hours (most of which was spent in sleepy bye bye land) and then got in Alli's car and drove up to Traverse City at the top of the Michigan Mitten. (I wonder if people there say good morning by saying "top o' the mitten to ya!" because if they don't that's a damn shame). We checked in to what we have now dubbed Chateau Relaxeau, also known as Alli's sister Steph's house, for three days of silly girl times. During this time, we ate 4 kinds of cheesecake that was sent all the way from New York City ("New York City??? Get a rope!"), we confessed things to each other that made all of us cry (feelings! Whoa whoa whoa feelings! That's right I am Morris Albert-ing you), laughed until we wanted to pee ourselves, and saw some ridiculous beautiful scenery every last place we looked.
Oh, and I finally found a cocktail that I really and truly liked! And you know what it took? It took a soothsayer like Steph to look into my soul and understand the truth of the matter which is that I am, at heart, the least refined drinker you'll ever meet. So, with flattered thanks to all of you over the years who have looked at me and said "try a gin and tonic" or an Old Fashioned or a Lemon Drop or a Tom Collins or a Apple Martini or a Whiskey Sour or a Manhattan or a whatever, you have clearly misread the true essence of who I am and Steph knew better within 10 seconds. She looked me dead in my face, pointed at me and said two words: Detroit Cooler.
Vernor's ginger ale (it's got to be Vernor's), a shot of vanilla vodka, and a shot of root beer vodka. That's right I said ROOT BEER VODKA, bitchez! Class out the mutha effing ass.
I have to admit that most of my even wanting a favorite drink in the first place was so that I could sound cool ordering it. I mean, Joan Holloway ain't ordering no goddamn Detroit Cooler. So on the one hand I'm disappointed. On the other hand, for the first time in my life I could see myself getting seriously shit-faced. So...yay?
In other breakthroughs, I finally have some semblance of a Free Pass List. See how my lady pals keep things so elegant? You know those lists where you pick 5 celebrities that you're allowed to sleep with if given the (obviously highly likely) opportunity? Alli has always had a list, for at least the past 15 years. Not only that, but her #1 spot has been held by John Cusack for all 15-plus years of it, unabated. She has even lobbied for him to be able to get two slots on her list, as if that makes any kind of sense. That's serious passion, people. John, you better watch yourself because if given the opportunity that girl is going to tear. you. up.
I have never had a list. One, because I am very indecisive about such things. I don't have a favorite color or a favorite food so how am I supposed to pick a favorite imaginary booty man? The other reason is that I am a bit predisposed to think that celebrities are fuckwits, and I don't want to fuck a fuckwit. Also, in my theatre and dance days I was peripherally around a good number of that lot and 90% of them were straight up dicks. So, I don't know about this whole list business. Still, on the 6 hour drive from Chicago to the Mitten Top, Alli counseled me through list-making. And after six hours- (SIX HOURS! Let us all take a moment to applaud Alli for her friendship duties in putting up with that car ride) I came up with three candidates. They are still candidates, mind you. My list is firmly incomplete, in metaphorical pencil, and nowhere near being in a state where I would laminate it. My candidates are: Jon Hamm, Daniel Craig, and Ewan McGregor. Even as I say this, I feel that I should be more excited about my list. I don't know. I'm sure I'll have an epiphany at some point. It's like the drink: I was rooting around for years when who knew that all I needed was for the Detroit Cooler to walk into my life. I need the Detroit Cooler of men, perhaps. Except, ew! That scares me, just as a, like, concept.
Anyway, the Mitten Top was grand. I'm in the hometown homestead now, with a week full of hospital and doctor time to occupy myself, but no computer except for this here phone so we'll see if further posting happens until I return to Seattle.
Until then, I leave you with a photo I took in a candy store the other day. Just cuz.
Cornhole Tourney 2012
In which Nordic Boy's team takes 2nd place, and my team loses in the Loser's Bracket. These are not surprising outcomes on both counts.
Ding dong, who's there?
I have to start off by saying that the other night I had a dream about my friend The Soggy Librarian, and the dream was that we were hanging out, as we do, totally normal, except she was talking in a very exaggerated Bill Cosby voice the whole time. I mean, her voice was still her voice, but it was like she was having an involuntary need to talk Cosby talk. It was all "It's such a nice day-eeee, and I'm so glad we're hanging owwwwt, and pudding pops and RUDY! And picture pages!" (chicken dance arms).
I know it's boring to tell other people your dreams, but I can't keep that one to myself.
So I just got back from Vancouver and it was so lovely. My friend and I just decided to up and go, just because it's good, if you can, to do something fun just for no other reason than because it's fun. Just to be kind to oneself.
Oh, and then we saw a bunch of wrinkley naked guys on accident so hey! Kindness is not always rewarded.
How did a sweet weekend trip take a turn into accidental nakedtown? I'll tell you.
We were in the University of BC area to take a look around there, and as we were walking around, we noticed from our map that we were pretty close to the beach. We thought, yes please, let's find a trail that gets us to some sandy shores, stat. We walked around and found a trailhead that seemed pointed in the right direction. The sign at the top of the trailhead included this: "Clothing optional beach ahead." This is not something I see every day, but I wasn't too worried about it because I was thinking we would hike down to the beach, and maybe there would be a few ladies sunbathing with their tops off or perhaps some skinny dipping in the water. I am not a person who does these things, but I am not opposed to others doing them and I am not going to care about seeing boobs and butts and other junk out. I have seen way too many episodes of Game of Boobs/Thrones to be phased by that.
So we started down the trail, which was very foresty, and steep. There was also a stream that ran alongside the trail, which was quite pleasant and picturesque. We walked down and down, the only thought preoccupying my mind was what a pain in the arse it was going to be coming back up that mammer jammer. Then, I looked up and saw, well...how can I describe it?
There was a man, probably 60 years old or so, about 20 yards ahead down the trail. He had taken his t-shirt partially off so that the arms were empty and the only thing that was attaching him to his shirt was that his head was still coming through the neckhole. So it was like his t-shirt was almost a cape. Oh, and p.s., the rest of him was bare ass nude. And also, he wasn't on the trail anymore. Rather, he was in the stream next to the trail, jumping around the water like a fricking water nymph. I was not close enough to hear him, but if I had been I would not have been surprised to hear "wheeeee!" or the like. He was behaving in a very spritely manner.
Am I wrong to have been surprised by this? What is the difference between this and skinny dipping in the ocean? Or sunbathing? Whether justified or not, this stopped my friend and me in our tracks.
"Oh!" we both said, watching the cavorting pixie man. He did not see us.
Here's the thing. The beach was labelled as potential nekkid-town, true. But in my mind, we were not yet on the beach. We were still in regular non-naked territory, as it was back at the parking lot, and the rest of the park behind us. We were still on a forest trail. Not the beach. So seeing this person, doing this frolic in the stream next to the trail, felt weird. Apparently my friend felt the same way. We stood there, and debated whether we should go forward, which would mean passing this man. He probably wouldn't have cared, but somehow we did.
We turned around.
Now, we had to hike back up to the top of the trail, and that sucker was steep. SO STEEP. And it was hot, and we were tired, and once we got going, we were winded, and ok fine, we also had a case of the giggles about the man we had just seen. All of this made the walk back up extra hard. But we did it, and we made it to about 10 yards from the top, when:
Birthday suit #2!
At the very top of the trail was another man, also in his 60s, wearing hiking boots and not a stitch more. He had not noticed us yet, and he was marching down the trail with a stride that was parade-worthy. Arms were swinging, steps were wide, and oh lordy, dingdong was flopping in a most noticeable way.
Which way to go? Nothing to do but continue. He did eventually see us, and he sort of hesitated too. The trail was narrow, and so when we passed each other, we were shoulder to shoulder. Have you ever been inches away from a stranger who was showing full peen? I will tell you this: it is not comfortable.
This brings me back to where the appropriate buck naked boundary was. Because he was at the top of the trail when we spotted him, and he was total junk out at that point. Which means, he must have gotten naked before starting the trail. Like, at the parking area, maybe? And the parking area is just next to a road. So, he must have unfettered himself up there, to be full monty at the top of the trail.
I don't know. I guess it doesn't make much of a difference. It was just surprising, that's all.
Other stuff happened in Vancouver too, but somehow double stranger peter seemed like the best story to tell.
Consumables #64
Hey wow, you guys. Just when I write something pretty grumpy, you come back at me with such niceness and making-me-feel-better-ness. I got so many lovely emails and messages. Just goes to show you that despite all my complaining, people are so lovely. At least you are. Thank you so much. If you wrote me, I promise I will write you back- I am still catching up with that.
My dad is out of ICU as of yesterday (woo hoo!) and so although he's still in the hospital for now, things are back to normal levels of freaked out, rather than feelings-of-pukiness levels of freaked out. Which hey, I will so take that.
I don't know quite how to transition from that into talking about the teevees and what's silly in my world, but hey, you know me, I will just babble into it. Back to our regularly scheduled doofiness. My weekend was pretty low-key- the kind where I pretty much stayed in my house all the livelong day each day, but I did make it out to the first barbecue party of the year, and dudes, I had to leave by 8pm even though I was having fun, solely because I was turning into a popsicle. Seattle summers don't often start before July every year (despite the entire greater metropolitan area bitching and moaning about it in perfect unison starting in March, but- not to get all sciencey on you- did you know that the weather systems do not change based on the sheer force of complaints it receives? At least that is my understanding but do not ask me to show my work on that story problem). Anyway, we all got our asses outside and barbecued it up, wearing coats and gloves and scarves. I am always a bit jealous of those warm-blooded people in these situations, who don't seem bothered at all and show up in their sandals when it's 50 degrees out, while I fold into a ball and cry ice cube tears.
Ok, shut up about the mothersucking weather and get to some Consumables! There are so many! I am so backed up on Consumables! I need Correctol for ladies for my Consumables! (gross)
In the Teevee!
Flying Wild Alaska
Ok, I know that this seems like another one of those reality shows like Ice Road Truckers or whatever, and yes, it totally is that. So if you don't think that watching bush pilots in Alaska who have to fly in crazy weather conditions appealing, maybe not so much. But here's the thing that hooked me about the show- it does a really great job of highlighting the communities in this part of Alaska and how they live. Like, if someone gets sick on a reservation and they need to go the hospital, they depend on these bush pilots to get them there. Or, if they want to eat strawberries, like, ever. Also, I find the daughter of the main two pilots, Ariel, totes adorbs.
Game of Thrones
I have been putting off starting this series because just based on what people say about it, I knew that it would be one of those things that I would glom onto and not be able to look away from for days and days in a way that is probably not healthy. And, yes. This has happened. I have only watched about 4 episodes and I can't wait to get back to it. Goodbye other things in life. See you when I am caught up on Game of Thrones. (As an aside: please tell me that things will get more complicated with the Dothraki folks, because dudes, that shit is racist so far).
Birdsong
Fleur Delecour/Eva from Gossip Girl gets romantical with a young soldier. It's unrequited, it's WWI, it's Masterpiece Theatre, you get the picture.
Movies!
Left by the Ship
This documentary follows 4 adults (out of thousands) in the Phillipines who were fathered by US soldiers. Unlike many other countries, where the US has recognized similar populations of children, Filipino children are not recognized. The film did a good job of showing what the lives of the 4 children look like and how the circumstance of their birth affected them personally. I would have liked it more if it had gotten into more of the legal and political background of the situation.
Carol Channing: Larger Than Life
From the interviews and clips in this documentary, Carol Channing is as awesome and endearing as you might imagine her to be. I am fascinated with performers who are actors who really don't act, or singers who really don't sing. That whole "Carol Channing" thing that she does on stage? That's really just how she is, for reals, if you can believe that, which I do. I am not saying there's anything wrong with it- I am a fan, actually. I just find it totally intriguing that one could make a whole singing/acting career out of being a kooky lady. A hardworking kooky lady, don't get me wrong, but you know what I mean?
Woman of the Year
I don't know if I can express the joy I get out of a Spencer Tracy Katherine Hepburn movie. It's just so delicious to me. And dang, that lady can rock a pantsuit like nobody since.
Barefoot in the Park
There is really nothing to this movie except for Jane Fonda and Robert Redford being gorgeous (sorry Neil Simon), and you know what? That is good enough for me.
Page One: Inside the New York Times
I don't know that this illuminated me on anything in particular (newspapers are struggling, will the New York Times survive, what is the role of bloggers and tv news in relation to the NYT) but I still found it fascinating in a behind-the-scenes way. Just watching David Carr and Andrew Ross Sorkin et al run around doing their thing was cool. (Hi, nerd alert).
Books!
Washington Square, by Henry James
This was the book I took to New York with me, just because I wanted something extra New Yorky. I had never read any Henry James before, and for some reason I somehow got it into my head that he was (embarrassed librarian bomb about to go off, get ready) a sort of spooky writer, kind of like an Edgar Allen Poe type person. Where the HAIL I got that idea I don't even know. So anyway, I really liked the book, but the entire time I was reading it I kept thinking "yes, yes, social manners, but where are the ghosts and stuff?" Turns out, I was thinking of M.R. James. Not Henry James. Major oopsy.
Stories I Only Tell My Friends, by Rob Lowe
As far as celebrity autobiographies go, it wasn't the best, and it wasn't the worst. Anyone who has been famous for as long as Rob Lowe has been has a vast collection of celebrity-filled stories. He dated Cary Grant's daughter as a kid and hung out with her and her dad at their house. He knew John F. Kennedy Jr. He's childhood besties with Charlie Sheen. However, he spends way, way too much time on his experience with The Outsiders. He also barely says anything about dating Melissa Gilbert for years which (1) Little House on the Prairie fans SERIOUSLY want to know about, and (2) has to suck for Melissa because in her autobiography she talks a lot about how much she was in luuuuuuv with that guy and now she barely gets a mention back? Ouch.
Doctor Proctor's Fart Powder, by Jo Nesbo
Part of the reason I read this was because I knew I would be seeing Nesbo speak in New York, and I didn't really want to read any of his grown up books at that particular time, so I went for his kid series. There is adventure, friendship, and farts. I know a lot of kids (hi, nephews) who would love this book. And some adults.
Fifty Shades of Grey, by E.L. James
Let me just say that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and now that I have read it, I still don't see what all the fuss is about. It's a mediocre romance with some spanking thrown in. Ok. I kept thinking... "and?" Chalk me up for I-don't-get-it, party of one.
Breadcrumbs, by Anne Ursu
I probably should have written about this one first, because let's face it, after all that mess up until now, who is still reading this? Oh well. If you've stuck with me this far, here's what I have to say about this book. I loved it. It's a kid book that transcends age, and a fantasy book that transcends genre. I felt like this book was talking to me and shit. Like, I was reading it, and thinking "book, can you see me?" If you have ever had a friend so super close that they felt like a part of the inside of you, and then that person didn't want to be your friend anymore, and you had to ask yourself, "how hard am I willing to try to get this person back? Or do I just let them go?" this book may be talking to you too. I read it in a restaurant by myself and cried, like, right out in public and stuff. I am sure the waiter was concerned.
Hoo wee! That is all. Have a lovely week!
All I Am Saying, Give Chauncey a Chance
It's still cloudy and sprinkly in Seattle, but spring has definitely sprung. I am one of the few people in this city that doesn't care about sun as much as I care about warmth. And the thermometer shows that we are not in danger of any freaking snow any time soon which is all I care about. Rain, I can handle you just fine. I just prefer spring rain to winter rain. Summer rain is even better.
I can't think the words "summer rain" without thinking of that Belinda Carlisle song. That is one of those facts that straddles the line between pathetically sad and unbelievably awesome.
Subject change! (I know. Great writing technique. Dispense with transitions and just yell "subject change!" at will).
I know this dude- well, I sort of know him. He knows who I am, is really the extent of it, but he probably couldn't pick me out of a line up, and to quote Madeline Kahn in Young Frankenstein, the feeling is mooch-ell. We nominally know each other. I'll call him Chauncey. Just because whenever Nordic Boy wants to denote fanciness in a person, he for some reason calls them Chauncey. It is a universal hooty-tooty name, I guess. Chauncey is bonafide fancy, for reals. Lots of fancy degrees, lots of fancy jobs. Like, a lot of jobs, simultaneously, which I sort of don't get. How do these fancy people have so many jobs? Chauncey holds a high post at the UN, and he also teaches regularly at NYU, and Wharton, and some business school in France. Each year, he is doing all these things. He is also a really active trustee on a few foundations and boards that you have heard of, but I don't want to name. He plays classical piano. He engages in polo and other equestrian type things. He's just such a...Chauncey.
Anyway, the fanciness is not even what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the busy-ness. So many things! So many places! I don't get it. And what I don't get, even more than that, is this dude's ability to be responsive. I have cause to email Chauncey maybe once a year or so. It's too complicated to even get into how the hell I even know this person, and plus it's boring. But whenever I email him, you know what? He emails me back WITHIN TEN MINUTES. Granted, his emails back are not wordy, but they are pleasant, and do not sound rushed, and always warm and personal. At first I thought maybe it was his people- like he had a secretary or something that was emailing me back for him, but nope. I can tell from the content of the email that it's really him.
This morning I emailed him and then closed out my email and started doing something else, but a couple of minutes went by and I started to feel like I had to get back in there to see if he did it again. And he did! By the time I logged back in he had already gotten back to me.
I hate to say this, but I live in a world where you email someone and you're lucky to hear back from them in a couple of weeks, let alone a couple of days. I am not saying we all need to be like Chauncey (who I suspect has a Blackberry grafted directly onto his hand), but I think we can all do a bit better with responding to people, don't you? I think I am above average on this front, but I flake out sometimes. I know I do. And I feel like it's not out of the ordinary for some folks to straight up make a habit of forgetting to ever get back to people. Or leaving their friends hanging but always having a breezy apology weeks later. As a matter of fact I just witnessed some straight up bullshiz on that front last week, albeit it was secondhand and not directed at me so technically none of my business but I was still silently offended on behalf of the person I saw it happening to. It was some serious flakage happening, people. Frosted flakage.
Anyway, Chauncey just made me think. If someone talks to you in person, you talk back to them. You don't ignore them for a month and then say oh hey girl, sorry about that, what did you say again? It should be the same with the technologies too, right? At least for the majority of the time, yes? Why do I feel like I am saying something too radical, and I need to tone it down?
At any rate, Chauncey blows my mind on this on an annual basis. Maybe the trick is to only talk to each person you know once a year.
Aw, I don't know. Let's just watch this Belinda Carlisle video and ponder this together.
Consumables #60
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