Friday, August 28, 2009

Signs of the Times

Appropriate and sad... The Official Warning Sign of 2009.

And a section in my local bookstore.

I'm so glad I ditched Barnes & Noble... the do NOT have a Being Fabulous section at Barnes & Noble, but they frequently have a full section of stupid sparkly vampires.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Wherefore Art Thou, Cuisinart?

Herefore art I!

UPDATE: In response to my inquiry, Williams-Sonoma contacted me yesterday to let me know the food processor of my dreams§ is now available for mail order.

As it will not be in stores for at least a week, and then only in limited quantities, I shelled out the extra $30 to have it delivered to my doorstep.

[SUMMARY: Obsession can be an expensive thing.]

It will be home tomorrow.

You're welcome.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): I think I'm funny.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): ...somewhat stressy, breathe-in-a-bag-style...

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Though not the one where I save the world by teaching Vladmir Putin to dance.

How My Garden Grows†

I sense you are dying to know how my garden is doing.

[SUMMARY: Psychic!]

It's very kind of you to ask.

Cat for Scale really enjoys gardening with me.

EnjoyED gardening with me.

A couple of days ago, he discovered he could walk through the slats on the deck railing and cross the rooflet to the neighbour's deck.

[SUMMARY: Wait... what happened to the garden? Hey! This isn't a summary!]

Oh, the first couple of times, he walked over, sniffed around and came right back, no problem. Last night, he discovered he could walk through the slat's on the neighbour's deck railing and cross the rooflet to *their* neighbour's deck.

This led to a very funny incident in which I was screaming§ "Quill! Kitty! Come here!" at the top of my lungs, then bolting out the front door to ring the neighbour's neighbour's doorbell like a demented Avon lady.

When nobody answered, I dashed home, grabbed the treat jar and went outside shaking it viciously and yelling,§ "Kitty treat! Do you want a kitty treat?"@

"Meow?" I heard. I pressed my anxious little face against the trellis separating me from my pet.

"Quill? QUILL??!?"§

"Meow?" And there he was, bumping my ankle with a look I swore said, "Why are you yelling? I'm right here. Did somebody mention kitty treats?"

So I tossed a couple of treats inside and closed the door as far as I could.

Because I can no longer trust him to do this:

He's going to have to wait for me to install some sort of screen to keep him home safe before he can garden with me again.

[SUMMARY: The wild beast stalked the veldt.]

Anyway, back at the garden...

cucumber buds, cucumber tendrils twining on their own leaves, baby Brandywine,
fat little jalapeno, white cucumber, baby Beefsteak, banana peppers, Lemon Drops

...a beautiful baby Slicemaster cucumber:

...and a lush, spiny, fully-grown# and harvested white cucumber.

I took a whole bunch of pictures on June 20. Then I didn't do much with them, so I took a whole new batch on August 12, thinking, "Wouldn't it be cool to do the before and after?"††

[SUMMARY: Cool is in the eye of the beholder.]

My Hammacher-Schlemmer‡‡ Upside-Down Tomato Gardens:

left planter: cilantro, white cukes, Big Rainbow tomatoes
right planter: purple basil, sweet basil, dill, banana peppers,
Beefsteak tomatoes, Lemon Drop tomatoes and Besser Cherry tomatoes

My Topsy-Turvy Upside Down Tomato Planters:

left to right: Brandywine tomatoes, Anaheim peppers, tomatillos, jalapenos, Slicemaster cukes

I sowed the cilantro June 19, so here's June 20:

...and August 12.

In the last two weeks, the tomatoes, tomatillos and herbs have doubled in size and are positively fecund.

The bees are having a field day.

There is a Slicemaster cucumber that would make John Holmes blush. It hangs, heavy and obscene, at the very bottom of the vine, where it sways lasciviously in the slightest breeze.^

There are little white spiders on one side of the cilantro and ladybugs on the other and I wonder if there'll ever be a caged death match somewhere in the middle of the crop.

[SUMMARY: Gardens make you thoughtful.]

Most important, I *finally* got a ripe tomato,§§ one of the little, round Bessers finally got as red as I figured it was going to.

Funny story: eBeth had the Besser plant labeled as an Anna Russian. I Googled all the varieties of tomatoes she started for us% and found the Anna Russian is a medium-sized, pink, heart-shaped tomato.

Imagine my surprise to get a fire engine red globe the size of a 25-cent gumball. So I took it to book club last night to ask eBeth what it might actually be, since it didn't appear to be medium-sized, pink OR heart-shaped.

Once she said it was a Besser, I rinsed it off in Jeanne's sink and popped it in my mouth. The... I... *slurp*... FLAVOUR... burst!... *grrrgle*

"Oh... that's good," I said.

"I don't believe any of us have ever heard you say that," said Annie.

I was mildly embarrassed, thinking, "Man, am I so negative nobody's ever heard me say I like anything? Or maybe it's just a vegetable thing?"

"...having never been privy to your bedroom," Annie finished.

I blushed.¶¶

"...and your eyes kinda rolled back..."

"...and you moaned..."

I *really* like fresh garden tomatoes.

Just for posterity, the houseplants are also doing well.

[SUMMARY: Show off!]

Happy to help.

p.s. -- Chickens!##

FOOTNOTE (crossed): I probably shouldn't admit this in a public forum, where people who might want to hire me may find this out, but I've always thought of it as "Marin, Marin, quite contrarin, how does your garden grow?" I was five when that started and it just stuck. For the record, it's also "Eat, drink and be Marin."

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Really funny if you're a cat. Maybe not so funny if you're a frantic cat keeper.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): At a cat I'm pretty sure is stone deaf.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): In the same tone, volume and timbre used by Swedish thrash metal frontmen. Or Animal, the muppet.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): What with the hose hooked to the kitchen faucet. It sounds ghetto, but it was either that or let my father perpetrate acts of plumbing on my house.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I was expecting miniature cucumbers -- like the gherkins in the grocery store. These are like lemons.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): In all honesty, I took new pictures because the old ones were so outdated, then the before & after inspiration hit me and I decided to pretend it was my intention all along.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): After buying these, I love Hammacher Schlemmer... truly, madly, deeply. Best customer service I've ever had from someone who wasn't going to get a tip. I'm going to buy a third planter for next year's garden.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): I may be projecting... something.

§§FOOTNOTE (here's where the worm turned): The whole reason I started gardening. I don't know what those things in the grocery store are -- perhaps some breed of bouncy ball -- but they aren't tomatoes.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): As one does.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (red cheeks): Doesn't happen that often. Let's not get used to it.

##FOOTNOTE (chicken scratch): Because a day without chickens is like a pig without a lick.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Monday, August 24, 2009

Pictures at 12:16*

Marybeth sent pictures of the wee fuzzy chickies -- including one IN THE MAILER BOX.

Everybody say, "Awwwwww..."

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked - going old school): I missed my "pictures at eleven" window.

Thursday, August 20, 2009


Because a day without mail order chickens is like a day without a Monty Python bit. I mean, you can do it, but it's so much better when you don't.

Ein Kleine Wachtmusik

We had an auxiliary father-daughter dinner last night. We needed to be sure my iPod would jack into Dad's stereo and the sound would be good for dining and dancing at the wedding.

The wedding on Saturday.

[SUMMARY: A moment of stunned silence, please.]

Even as I type this, I'm aware the full impact of what I am about to impart will be lost. Y'all don't really know my dad.

This is a man who doesn't own a tie.§

This is a man who won't wear clothes with words or wild prints on them.

This is a man who thinks big, fancy anything is worth nothing more than a headshake.

This is a man who has no idea where his cell phone is. Almost ever.

This is a man of even temper, good cheer, relaxed attitude, low maintenance, low overhead, relentless good sense and an inherent Protestant work ethic.

So when he turned into Groomzilla, nobody was more surprised than me.

Last night:

Dad: So I got the kids -- being flowers -- taken care of and then I was going to set up the speakers...

Me: When you started that sentence, I heard, "I got the kids, whom I decided to dress like flowers to perform some sort of elementary-school-musical-program at the wedding."

Dad: I wanted to do that. I got vetoed.

[SUMMARY: More stunned! More silence!]

And it's true. A month ago, he told me he wanted to have all the grandchildren gather and sing "We Wish You a Happy Wedding"# at the ceremony.

While various evil stepsisters have been true to form, telling their mother how tacky and passé all her wedding wants†† are, I have to tip my hat to whichever one of them undoubtedly gave my father that you've-been-smoking-crack look and said, "No. There will be no children's chorale."

[SUMMARY: W.C. Fields wasn't blowing smoke. Dogs and children; don't do it.]

Anyway, there will be a skit, but it will be performed by the bride and groom.

Not kidding.

Songs that didn't make it to the wedding playlist:

Flight of the Valkyries - Wagner‡‡
Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division
Another One Bites the Dust - Queen
Achy Breaky Heart - whoever does Achy Breaky Heart§§
Bolero - Ravel¶¶
She Works Hard for the Money - Donna Summer
The Breakup Song - The Greg Kihn Band
Existential Blues - Tom "T-Bone" Stankus
Danse Macabre - Saint-Saëns
Tom Sawyer - Rush
Gin & Juice - Snoop Dogg, or even the Phish## version

At one time, I considered them all. Cooler heads††† prevailed.


No. 5: Illicit Sex - JEREMY SCOTT [sic] & Philippe Roques (Part 5 in the series)

Marin says: Rose -- deep, woody rose with a definite float of bitter orange and a touch of aldehyde.

For me, this is strongly reminiscent of Chanel No. 5, but with a hair less aldehyde and a bit more rose and a skosh of orange. There's something brilliant about the way it captures that memory of Mom and Dad going out for the evening in a cloud of Chanel, while going just far enough into a contemporary space that I could inhabit happily.

Eventually, it parses down to a clear rose, travelling back into history and faded beauty.

The name, Illicit Sex,‡‡‡ doesn't quite meet up with either the scent itself or the perfumer's notes on fragility and strength in love. Do you suppose they really, really hope sex sells?

Six Scents says: ""Illicit Sex is an essay on love: the encounter of fragility and strength." - Philippe Roques, Perfumer

Ingredients: Bergamot,$ Aldehydic,$ Pepper, Nutmet, Rose,$ Benzoin, Olibanum, Cedarwood,$ Musk.

Hans says: Hmmm. It's pretty light. It smells like... I get some incense.§§§ Like Arabian market.¶¶¶ You smell like an Arabian market, Marin. Good morning.###

FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "we," I mean, "my father, who has somehow become convinced that I am a technological dummy who will populate his wedding reception with death metal and pimps-n-hos rap music."

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not that we didn't know it was coming, just... still a little stunned.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): A fact that led to a wedding battle over whether or not he should have to go out and buy a tie for this one tiny occasion when a bolo tie should work just as well. For those of you scoring at home, he won that one.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Like stripes.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'know... to the tune of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Balloons. She loves balloons and wanted some, until Evil Stepsister told her it was tacky and totally 1980s. I say let the woman have her balloons. Who cares if it's tacky -- the guest list is comprised of her children and grandchildren and Dad's children and grandchildren. If ever there was a situation when one could get tacky without repercussion, this is it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I have four musical divisions: Taps for the processional (I'm not kidding and it wasn't my idea -- this is all the groom), an hour of classical music for dinner, The Rose for the first dance, two hours of dance music for the reception. Under the heading "classical music," it appears my taste is unsurprisingly gothic, with lots of skeletons and sturm-und-drang. I'm guessing "O Fortuna" isn't a good idea. I have to go get some Handel and Vivaldi or everyone will lose their appetites.

§§FOOTNOTE (do-si-do): Peach wanted me to put in some country music suitable for line dancing. For my country cousins. I told Dad I figured they can dance the Electric Slide with everybody else if they feel a need to line dance. I am NOT BUYING Achy Breaky Heart. Yes, there will be Electric Slide. Possibly Chicken Dance too, because I think those are funny wedding traditions I am willing to follow for my own wicked glee.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat that... drum): I saw 10.

##FOOTNOTE (I will pound on this until you get it): Please to pronounce "P-hish."

†††FOOTNOTE (three stepsisters, all in a row): Or at least my Inner Evil Stepsister.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sex on the wrong side of the tracks): Illicit sex should be rumpled, sweaty, hurried, shameful, furtive, seedy, possibly up against the stall wall in a club restroom. There should be nothing fragile or strong about it, unless you count the leg muscles it takes to have sex in a bathroom stall. Essay on love, my ass. Though that may be another way to do illicit...

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): Well, look at me!

§§§FOOTNOTE (give that man three rounds of applause!): Hans is getting really good at this. Speaking of Hans, he's very disappointed nobody commented on his prom picture. I told him I figure out there was a shocked silence as everybody in his fan club said, "I didn't know Hans was gay." His girlfriend thinks that's really funny.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (camels in the desert): And Hans knows of which he speaks -- he lived in Saudi for many years.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Sylvia's Last Stand

Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack is no more. The last truck took its last load this morning.

Posh will forever be the place I found knitters. People to knit with. Social knitting. Competitive knitting. Supportive knitting. Showing off knitting.

Women who can always be counted on to ooh and aah over Nathan's package.

[SUMMARY: It's fibrelicious!]

Posh will forever be the place I learned about mail order chickens§ from Marybeth.

Without Posh, I might still be knitting endless scarves every football season... and endless baby blankets in the spaces in between.

I might never have met Bonnie# or Kate†† or Leslie...

...or (gods forbid) Genius Sarah. Who would hit me on the arm and say, "I have a question," all the way through baseball playoffs and untangle my yarn for me when I got too eager and couldn't wait until I got home to winder and swift and muddled it all up at Drunken Knitting?

Or Meg. Meg of the Mini Cooper and the motorcycle and the intense, funny intelligence. Or Heather, whose baby shower continued my knack for walking in on big, happy Posh parties.

Or Leslie, self-professed skincare whore and funny, erudite knitting writer.

Or Natalie, who makes me spit wine out my nose laughing.

Or Liza-Spelled-Lisa who accidentally got married, then accidentally adopted a second child.

Or Rosie who loves perfume, or Ligia who is an Capital-E-Educator and lives around the corner from me.

[SUMMARY: These are the people in my neighbourhood.‡‡]

It's the end of a soft, many-plied, colourful, beautiful era.

XOXOXOXO, Sylvia. It'll be sad knowing I can't just drop by on a random Friday afternoon.

See you around.

[SUMMARY: *sniffle*]

Don't ask how much I spent at the moving sale.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): Oh, look what I did. Now he feels violated and I feel twelve. heheheheheh

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I'm not just talking about Nathan's package.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Thus continues the Summer of the Chickens. By the way, Marybeth says the chickens would, indeed, look fetching in sweater vests, but if we want to knit them we have to do it fast -- and I'm guessing not get too attached to the results -- because the chicks have already doubled in size.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): College boyfriends, high school friends, roommates... nobody was safe from the annual football scarf, twelve feet long, double-thick and ten inches wide. heheheheh. Sorry... had a moment.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Who is new, but noteworthy and has, in fact, cut her hair since this photo (just in case you see her around town).

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Who talks more than I do and gets captioned in the footnotes for it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Y'know... my *spiritual* neighbourhood. The family you choose. The next-door neighbours of my soul. People who certainly deserve better photography than I've given them here.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Hooray Football!

Don't get me wrong, the Rockies have given me a little something to hold onto through the long, dark days of summer and I'm grateful.

Golf has been pretty good, though Tom Watson missed it by * * that much and my boy Phil was out for a chunk of the season.

[SUMMARY: Sports summary. ESPN needs me.]

But it's time.

I fancy I can feel a nip in the air and see that particular slant of the light that means the season is changing. Maybe not quite from summer to autumn, but from baseball to football.

Did I mention I'm a Denver Broncos season ticket holder now?

[SUMMARY: *wham!* Bad horse! Get up! *wham!* *wham!*]

Because of the, y'know, mail thing, I set up my tickets to be picked up at will call.

Last week I called, if you will.§

I took the Mile High Walk through Broncos Country...

...past horses of sky and water... the gates of Valhalla, that sacred space I've longed to tread.#

And my dorky little heart almost burst with all the extras.

I would have been content to just get my season tickets in a plain brown wrapper, but, like a good independent sock yarn dyer,†† the Broncos know those little extra touches will keep me coming back for more.‡‡

Here it is, my peeps.% My own personal, long sought, symbolic and literal, plegmatic and devine... my holy grail:

And get this: I had them print my name on them.

For those of you who care nothing and know nothing of football, we will return to our regularly-scheduled programming@ next time.

Meanwhile, sit back, relax and enjoy the fact that we didn't talk about chickens for the fourth day running, despite the fact Marybeth§§ got them in the mail yesterday and posted a couple of wee, fuzzy chickie photos¶¶ on Facebook.##

[SUMMARY: Oops.†††]

My grail runneth over.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): Despite the fact that the Weather Channel app is telling me it's going to be nearly 90 today. Did I mention I got a phone that has apps?

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Y'know... the seasons that *matter*.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There is a chance I don't just think I'm funny, I may also think I'm clever.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The photo doesn't quite show it, but the bronze Italian horses are running up a river.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Like sainthood with shoulder pads and cheerleaders. Ooooh... when I get all my saint points do you think I can get my own cheering section?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You may be witnessing the first time the Broncos organisation has been compared to sock yarn dyers.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because you know if it wasn't for the stickers and the sweepstakes, football would just be unwatchable.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not to be confused with Marybeth's wee fuzzy chickie peeps.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): I can hear you laughing.

§§FOOTNOTE (I get mixed up sometimes): Who is, indeed, Marybeth, and not Mary Beth as I've been so callously calling her.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (peep peep): And they would look SO fetching in tiny little sweater vests. Oh, and that's pictures of wee fuzzy chickies... not photos of chickies that are the size of a postage stamp and kinda blurry.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding the point home): If you are my Facebook friend, you've probably seen the tiny, fuzzy chickies. If you aren't my Facebook friend, what's keeping you? Tiny, fuzzy chickie pictures, people!

†††FOOTNOTE (it's your cross to bear): Chickengate: Day 4.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

A Couple of White Chicks Sitting Around Talking About Chickens

Marin: I can't wait until Mary Beth posts pictures of freshly-delivered chicks, right out of the box.

She BETTER post pictures.

Cassandra: otherwise, you'll cut a bitch?

Marin: I'm curious as to how chickens are packed for shipping.

And, yeah, when my curiosity is thwarted, I can get fucking BREEZY.

Cassandra: ok

how much do you love me?

Marin: More than chocolate.

Cassandra: no, HOW MUCH DO YOU LOVE ME

Marin: SO VERY MUCH... why?

Cassandra: Ready?

Marin: sitting down...


(the page header ALONE...)

Marin: O M G

I may love you more than chicken permits.

Cassandra: I'm SAYIN'

Marin: "Shipping chickens from one place to another is easy if you know what to do."

Cassandra: ah, would t'were it ture

Marin: I wonder how many Google hits a day "How to ship a chicken by express mail" gets.

Cassandra: "pop the chicken in the box...."!

god, the interent is good

Marin: It seems like the Dark Ages when we didn't have it right here, educating us about lipstick and chicken shipping.

I think I like saying "chicken shipping" even more than I like saying "chicken permit."

Cassandra: heh

Wednesday, August 12, 2009


I was telling Hans about Mary Beth's chickens yesterday.

"When I heard about mail order chickens, I suddenly wanted chickens. I've started sizing up my deck for a chicken coop."

"Aren't they loud and smelly?"

"I'm pretty sure. And I have no desire to have birds of any kind. I just want to get chickens in the mail. And have a chicken permit. I wonder if I could get a chicken permit to hang on my wall if I promised never to keep actual chickens."

My shiny objects get weirder every day.

Once again, I wanted to share with you.

Once again, you're welcome.


Let me first say that I do not work for CU.

I admit I consider CU my home team, but have been largely unable to watch them for their vast suckitude, lo, these many years.

I won't be buying season tickets.

Heck, I'd only go to a game if the tickets were free, someone drove me and I had nothing else to do that day.§

I have no desire, agenda, dog in the hunt, cash incentive, care in the world for *you* to buy CU football tickets

That said, this website/ad for CU season tickets is a variety pack of awesome. I actually got a chill when Coach called me from the end zone. I will be forever grateful to Shanny for sending it my way.

I want to share with you.#

You're welcome.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): College football-wise. I'd go for my alma mater, but they don't really play college football so much as dabble and I *never* get to see them on national television.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I suddenly realise I have no idea how to punctuate "lo."

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Like watch SEC football.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yes, slightly cheesy, but I found it creative and found myself wondering why we don't have more ad campaigns in this vein.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because you are the wind beneath my wings.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Tuesday, Tuesday... la laa la l-la laaaaaa

I played hooky yesterday. It was marvelous.

For some reason, sitting around knitting and reading and communing with the North 40 is just so much better when I realise Hans is in the office working.


You know what those 13 little stars mean... we're going to lick the pig!


This is not my story to tell, but I feel I must relate it anyway. Many of you don't know Mary Beth and most of you weren't there when she was telling it. I feel I would be remiss if I didn't spread the word.

Wherever you live, there's a good chance the question of urban chicken coops has come up recently. I thought it was that way in Denver because of recent changes to city ordinances, but it turns out it's just part of this big push toward organic self-sufficiency.

Anyway, Mary Beth is going to raise chickens. Which takes a lot of paperwork and governmental meddling.

First, she had to be issued the application from Community Planning and Development and Neighborhood Inspection Services. The completed application was then filed with Animal Control.

Somewhere in here, she bult a chicken coop which apparently rivals the Ritz Carlton and Mary Beth wants to move into it herself and maybe let the chickens have the run of her house.

Animal Control did a home visit to see that the chickens would be clean, comfortable and pest-free. She was approved for six chickens, a feat only slightly less bureaucratically arduous than fostering a human child.

THEN she paid $50 for a chicken permit.

Finally, she ordered -- I love this part -- an assortment of chicks.% Which come by post. From

Getting on the Internet and ordering the six chicken assortment and "mypetchicken-dot-com" made me so happy. Some days, just knowing things *exist* out there is totally happy-making.


You will all be delighted to know the sleeves of the guitar sweater for TFN's birthday are on their holders§ and I'm roaring down the sweater body with speed and something approaching accuracy.

Intarsia also makes me happy. Frankly, I'm usually not that big on the look of a lot of it, but it's engaging knitting, the kind where time flies.


I'm beginning to think the new Big Girl Phone may be too much phone for me.

I'm wondering if I want to be *that* connected. Ah, well. I signed a contract. I'll live with it for a couple of years and probably become one of those asshole people who can't leave her phone alone for two minutes and insists on texting at her own wedding.#

It does take nice pictures, doesn't it?


My father is getting married August 22nd. I am in charge of two things: the music for the wedding itself†† and the food‡‡ for the "bachelor party"§§ the night before.

I'm kinda hoping I get some ripe tomatoes from my garden before then.¶¶


Speaking of gardening, did you know cucumbers don't put out big root systems? They have to be watered more frequently than, say, tomatoes or peppers because they won't go looking for the water, you have to take the water to them.##

This was a lesson hard-learned. I lost many baby cucumbers††† before I read that particular bit of cucumber wisdom.



Hammacher-Schlemmer apparently heard from my nephews about my spider preferences. They sent me an email about this today.

I'm assuming Batman is posing under the spider arbour rather than Spiderman because he's better colour-coordinated...?


No. 4: Diagonal - Gareth Pugh & Emilie Coppermann (Part 4 in the series)@

Marin says: Dill! Seconds of dill, then off to a very close-to-the-skin, very warm woody scent that could be a spice or richer floral tempered by a delicate amber. I certainly like it, which is good since nobody else is likely to know it's there.

For the record, I put this on mid-afternoon and the next morning I still had a very steady amber/musk finish clinging to my wrists. This would be great for long meeting days when I don't necessarily want to be remembered for my perfume, but I may still need surreptitious sniff during water breaks to boost morale.

Six Scents says: "Contrast, ambiguity, duality. Gareth Pugh said about his style: "it's a struggle between lightness and darkness." this is what I tried to translate in this perfume. The contrast between different raw materials, masculine and feminine, rough and smooth, dark and light, fresh and sensual." - Emilie Coppermann, Perfumer

Ingredients: Dill,$ Black Pepper, Nutmeg, Palissander, Black Tea, Amyris, White Amber,$ Musk.$

Hans says: Well, now, that smells like some kind of food. Mushroom? Fried mushroom? Actually, it doesn't smell like mushroom at all, but I'm sticking with it.


Speaking of Hans, he went to his college roommate's wedding this weekend. The photographer had a ring of lights thing set up, so the wedding guests took turns seeing who could take the best cheesy prom photo.

I believe Hans and Trav‡‡‡ win.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): If nothing else, it's the foundation for this whole pig-licking and I couldn't very well leave it out.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Annual. $50 a year for a chicken permit. You have to pay $50 every year for your chicken permit. By "you," I mean, "Mary Beth." I just love saying "chicken permit."

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Apparently, chicks can live without food through the first 72 hours after they hatch so they can be packed up in boxes and mailed.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): In the grand tradition of circus knitting, I am going to attempt to knit both sleeves at once on two circular needles, in situ. I see no reason it can't be done. Speaking of circus knitting, did you see some guy at Sock Summit was knitting seven pairs at once? Hmph. Been there, done that -- way ahead of you, big guy. I guess if SOME OF US had just gutted up and gone to Sock Summit, we could be famous for our Xtreme Knitting too.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And intarsia in the round makes me feel like a superhero.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): This is not an immediate danger, just an example.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The temptation to abuse this power is fierce. I could do two hours of very pointed songs. I won't, of course... the Electric Slide will almost undoubtedly feature, but I *could* propagandise.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I'm thinking a couple of homemade pizzas, a big ol' salad, some finger food in case a poker game breaks out and a cherry pie made from cherries I picked myself. Hi! Remember me? Susie F. Homemaker?

§§FOOTNOTE (backhanded bachelor party): In quotes because, as Brother said, "You have to have some kind of activity, but clearly we won't be making the bachelor do shots of Jager until he barfs, and the standard substitutes (like paintball) probably won't work..." There will, of course, be no naked girls. Or boys. Or porn of any kind. So it's not so much a bachelor party as a "get Dad from underfoot so the evil stepsister doesn't kill him before the wedding" gig.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (round, ripe tomatoes on the vine): Not quite so much because I'm looking for quality ingredients as I'd like to show off.

##FOOTNOTE (cucumber trellis): Thank you, Dr. Science!

†††FOOTNOTE (stake the cucumbers!): Very sad -- they go dark brown and crispy.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): You should go check out Nathan's pictures of the packaging. Kinda freaky, in a skully-good sort of way.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): And if I weren't so lazy at the moment, I'd Google "palissander" to see if it might qualify as "woody."

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (long and winding road): Trav is a friend of the groom's from out of town. Hans found him delightful.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Did I Break Blogger?

When I looked to see if my photo from my fancy new phone posted properly, I couldn't.

Google Sorry...

We're sorry...

... but your computer or network may be sending automated queries. To protect our users, we can't process your request right now.

See Google Help for more information.

Is it because I used my fancy new phone and angered the social media gods?

This isn't going to look very good on my application for sainthood.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): Did I mention I sent that from my phone? My NEW phone? My fancy, full-colour, 3G, Big Girl phone?

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Oddly, I can post and edit and view my posts through editing... I just can't reach my own blog to LOOK at it.

Late to the Party

Ten years of blissful, cheap pre-paid cell service and here I've gone and mucked it all up with a slick, wicked 3G phone.

Of course, I have to test it, so here is a picture of the 1999 building.

I hope.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Here, Fishy Fishy Fishy

Tallest Fuzziest Nephew joined a swim team this summer.

His AntiM was delighted because she used to swim too and, well, it seemed a bonding point.

Turns out swim team for the nephew is nothing like what it was when I was a kid. I mean, they swim, but other than that, it's very different swimming in 2009 in the Denver Parks & Rec League and swimming in 1982 in the Alpine League for Suburban Kids Who Live in Covenant-Controlled Neighbourhoods.

Despite those differences, I was eager to attend a meet and support my nephew.

I believe he may be less interested in swimming laps than becoming a Ninja Towel-Master.

That last one was taken without flash to highlight the blazing fast blur of the towel.%

Dr. Doom was asleep in the car when eBeth dropped TFN off. Brother called her to come in when swimming was immminent, but the good doctor wasn't quite ready to wake up yet, so eBeth hauled him in, groggy and anti-social.

The store of oddly-coloured dum-dums I keep in my purse for just such occasions really helped in the wake-up process.§

For posterity, here is Tallest Fuzziest Nephew beating the snot out of his "competitors" in the 25 back:

You're welcome.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which include no snack bar, no teeny tiny Speedo suits for boys and tattooing event numbers on the kids' arms with a Sharpie.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I get two every time I go to the bank. And the roomy Rory allows me to carry a much greater variety than I used to.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): More or less at the request of my fuzziest nephew. "Was it a blur? Was it so fast you can hardly see it in the picture?"

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "The blue one will turn your tongue blue."

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Sportsmanship and every-kid's-a-winner clearly does not extend to aunts.