If you're very lucky, Monsters come from Jennifer by way of Nathan.
When the Monster Revolution comes, Jennifer and Nathan will be in the clear.
The rest of us should start tending our Monsters toward this end.
NOTE: If I were half-brained these days, I would've remembered to give Jennifer a shout out for being the creative force behind Cotton Monster and my new best friend. Better late than never?
Showing posts with label Nathan B. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nathan B. Show all posts
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
MonsterVision
In stunning Technicolor™!
The Monster came to live with me just before Easter.% We spent a happy day playing with my new camera† and these are the results.
We started with a glamour shot‡ by the train yard.
A train came by. And the conductor *waved* at us. It may be the single greatest moment in Monster history.
LoDo§ from the wrong side of the tracks.
There was some construction we watched for awhile. They were assembling a crane.
Like this. O hai! Crane!
We headed west past the skate park¶ to stand on the bridge over the South Platte.
A nice bicyclist thought I looked awkward holding The Monster at arm's length# to get a good river picture, so he stopped to help. Not a lot of monsters wave at train conductors and make new friends all in one day.††
It was time to get down to some serious art.‡‡ Like Common Ground, the picturesque stairway to nowhere.
We started on one side of the stairway.
Took in some rays.
Used all our America's Next Top Model training to work with our surroundings.
Played with camera angles.
Climbed the stairs, crested the summit and found a bunch of irritated, stoned emo kids hiding from the cold, cruel world there. Stepped over them and went down the other side.
Kiss the ground, we made it.
Took a moment in the shade.
"I win!"
Oh, no! MONSTER JAIL!
Braved trespass charges§§ to sit on someone's front steps.
The Monster would like to conclude with a little Public Service Announcement.¶¶ Remember kids: the more you know...
%FOOTNOTE (percented): A gift from someone who knows I am fully capable of stuffed monster wrangling as an art form.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Canon G12, for those of you scoring at home.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Flowers make everything more glamourous.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lower Downtown. Used to be a scary industrial area. Now the hub of tragic hipness and kids you want to throw off your lawn.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which we decided to skip. You know how hard it is to get pot smoke residue out of a monster?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor, sweet man; he didn't realise that "awkward" is just my natural state of being.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can say this, as am now expert on monsters.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): No art is as serious as art you can climb on.
§§FOOTNOTE (boggle): Seriously - I opened a gate and went in for that shot. Totally worth it since I didn't get caught.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (magic wands): Let's just consider that proactive community service to balance out our prior trespassing on private property. Kharma!
The Monster came to live with me just before Easter.% We spent a happy day playing with my new camera† and these are the results.
We started with a glamour shot‡ by the train yard.
A train came by. And the conductor *waved* at us. It may be the single greatest moment in Monster history.
LoDo§ from the wrong side of the tracks.
There was some construction we watched for awhile. They were assembling a crane.
Like this. O hai! Crane!
We headed west past the skate park¶ to stand on the bridge over the South Platte.
A nice bicyclist thought I looked awkward holding The Monster at arm's length# to get a good river picture, so he stopped to help. Not a lot of monsters wave at train conductors and make new friends all in one day.††
It was time to get down to some serious art.‡‡ Like Common Ground, the picturesque stairway to nowhere.
We started on one side of the stairway.
Took in some rays.
Used all our America's Next Top Model training to work with our surroundings.
Played with camera angles.
Climbed the stairs, crested the summit and found a bunch of irritated, stoned emo kids hiding from the cold, cruel world there. Stepped over them and went down the other side.
Kiss the ground, we made it.
Took a moment in the shade.
"I win!"
Oh, no! MONSTER JAIL!
Braved trespass charges§§ to sit on someone's front steps.
The Monster would like to conclude with a little Public Service Announcement.¶¶ Remember kids: the more you know...
%FOOTNOTE (percented): A gift from someone who knows I am fully capable of stuffed monster wrangling as an art form.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Canon G12, for those of you scoring at home.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Flowers make everything more glamourous.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lower Downtown. Used to be a scary industrial area. Now the hub of tragic hipness and kids you want to throw off your lawn.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which we decided to skip. You know how hard it is to get pot smoke residue out of a monster?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor, sweet man; he didn't realise that "awkward" is just my natural state of being.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can say this, as am now expert on monsters.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): No art is as serious as art you can climb on.
§§FOOTNOTE (boggle): Seriously - I opened a gate and went in for that shot. Totally worth it since I didn't get caught.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (magic wands): Let's just consider that proactive community service to balance out our prior trespassing on private property. Kharma!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Islands in the Stream of Consciousness
It could be one of *those* blogposts.†
A few things‡ have happened since last I (really) posted.
*ahem*
I could get seriously philosophical here, because, as I was lining up my excuse ducks,§ I realised how telling they really are.
My first excuse duck?¶
Werk.#
I suspect I genuinely have more work than I used to, now that I'm a Paid Hack for the Corporate Machine, but I can say for a fact that my time is parcelled out very differently. I have vacation time. And sick time. And hours.
Practically, it's not that much different from when I was contract. Philosophically, I feel a much greater sense of obligation.
Plus, the stress is enormously greater, what with expense reporting and million-dollar deadlines and million-dollar deadlines and Hans and United Way campaigns and the impending Oompa Loompa Revolution and stuff.
Duck!††
Blogui.‡‡
Steve. §§
And Nathan.¶¶
Wii.##
I lost my camera.†††
But I now have a lot of stories.
So I'll be around.‡‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): One may wonder that there's a blogpost at all. One may have strongly hinted on Twitter about one's suspiciously absent blogposts. You know who you are.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One. Two. 2010.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You know, so you can shoot them down.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): It's a good, all-purpose duck, which is a real phrase about real ducks in duck shows and one of Steve's best-loved terms. More on Steve later. But in case you wanted to know, some ducks are raised for down, some for meat and a good, all-purpose duck has qualities that make it good for both. You're welcome.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which differs from "work" in the face you make when you say it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): That's the second duck, but who's counting.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Occasional bouts of techui, under which I shamefully ignored Twitter and occasionally email for abnormally wide swaths of time.
§§FOOTNOTE (time swirls when you're having fun): Because we've been doing lots of fun stuff, and fun stuff takes *time*.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (is that a Wii controler? EEK!): Who bribed me to Vegas with martinis and sushi, then moved to New Zealand, leaving me bereft. I was totally reft before that.
##FOOTNOTE (bomp bomp): Wii is totally kicking my ass. Not in the way you're thinking. I'm totally intimidated by it and, even though My Friends at Nintendo have sent me games and a disco light and a cool game involving yarn and felt, I still play more on the nephews' Wii than on my own. Because my Wii scares me.
†††FOOTNOTE (very, very cross): Seriously. All my Vegas photos - including the Liberace Museum, which is now closed - plus the Christmas Eve Ugly Sweater Party and an assortment of other worthy subjects. I think the car ate it. The car ate Kate's CDs; we tore the car apart looking for them, but the car just spit them out two years later when I was looking for the cell phone I'm convinced it ate.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (stitched together like Frankenstein's monster): I'd do more now, only I received what I see as barely-veiled threats should I not post something soon.
A few things‡ have happened since last I (really) posted.
*ahem*
I could get seriously philosophical here, because, as I was lining up my excuse ducks,§ I realised how telling they really are.
My first excuse duck?¶
Werk.#
I suspect I genuinely have more work than I used to, now that I'm a Paid Hack for the Corporate Machine, but I can say for a fact that my time is parcelled out very differently. I have vacation time. And sick time. And hours.
Practically, it's not that much different from when I was contract. Philosophically, I feel a much greater sense of obligation.
Plus, the stress is enormously greater, what with expense reporting and million-dollar deadlines and million-dollar deadlines and Hans and United Way campaigns and the impending Oompa Loompa Revolution and stuff.
Duck!††
Blogui.‡‡
Steve. §§
And Nathan.¶¶
Wii.##
I lost my camera.†††
But I now have a lot of stories.
So I'll be around.‡‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): One may wonder that there's a blogpost at all. One may have strongly hinted on Twitter about one's suspiciously absent blogposts. You know who you are.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One. Two. 2010.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You know, so you can shoot them down.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): It's a good, all-purpose duck, which is a real phrase about real ducks in duck shows and one of Steve's best-loved terms. More on Steve later. But in case you wanted to know, some ducks are raised for down, some for meat and a good, all-purpose duck has qualities that make it good for both. You're welcome.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which differs from "work" in the face you make when you say it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): That's the second duck, but who's counting.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Occasional bouts of techui, under which I shamefully ignored Twitter and occasionally email for abnormally wide swaths of time.
§§FOOTNOTE (time swirls when you're having fun): Because we've been doing lots of fun stuff, and fun stuff takes *time*.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (is that a Wii controler? EEK!): Who bribed me to Vegas with martinis and sushi, then moved to New Zealand, leaving me bereft. I was totally reft before that.
##FOOTNOTE (bomp bomp): Wii is totally kicking my ass. Not in the way you're thinking. I'm totally intimidated by it and, even though My Friends at Nintendo have sent me games and a disco light and a cool game involving yarn and felt, I still play more on the nephews' Wii than on my own. Because my Wii scares me.
†††FOOTNOTE (very, very cross): Seriously. All my Vegas photos - including the Liberace Museum, which is now closed - plus the Christmas Eve Ugly Sweater Party and an assortment of other worthy subjects. I think the car ate it. The car ate Kate's CDs; we tore the car apart looking for them, but the car just spit them out two years later when I was looking for the cell phone I'm convinced it ate.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (stitched together like Frankenstein's monster): I'd do more now, only I received what I see as barely-veiled threats should I not post something soon.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Excuse #11
The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:
I was going to stop at 10, but this wandered across my email† and I had to take to my couch with the vapours,‡ precluding blogging for a few days. Under the subject "Subject: You might want to change your mind about Twilight" and the text "After reading this brilliant plea^ for a faithful movie adaptation of the fourth book, 'Breaking Dawn':"§
Why Breaking Dawn Must Be Made¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): From someone with a charmingly alarming sense of humour.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm not sure "vapour," when used this way, should take the British spelling. "Vapours" seems like a quintessentially Southern antebellum sort of thing.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Doubly brilliant in that it reveals that stupid vampires don't just sparkle, they SCUBA.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I haven't exactly changed my mind, but this did have the effect of making me wildly curious and likely to beg, borrow or steal Breaking Dawn just so I can witness the train wreck for myself.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know there are a bunch of delicate flowers out there. Thematically, linguistically... you're gonna want to take to your couch with the vapors.
ETA: This excuse goes to 11!
I was going to stop at 10, but this wandered across my email† and I had to take to my couch with the vapours,‡ precluding blogging for a few days. Under the subject "Subject: You might want to change your mind about Twilight" and the text "After reading this brilliant plea^ for a faithful movie adaptation of the fourth book, 'Breaking Dawn':"§
Why Breaking Dawn Must Be Made¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): From someone with a charmingly alarming sense of humour.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm not sure "vapour," when used this way, should take the British spelling. "Vapours" seems like a quintessentially Southern antebellum sort of thing.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Doubly brilliant in that it reveals that stupid vampires don't just sparkle, they SCUBA.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I haven't exactly changed my mind, but this did have the effect of making me wildly curious and likely to beg, borrow or steal Breaking Dawn just so I can witness the train wreck for myself.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know there are a bunch of delicate flowers out there. Thematically, linguistically... you're gonna want to take to your couch with the vapors.
ETA: This excuse goes to 11!
Friday, December 4, 2009
You're No Gypsy, Fredo
I thought of a chicken thing!†
[SUMMARY: You are so excited!]
I flipped on the TiVi Monday night and it warmed up‡ to the beginning of Wheel of Fortune. Pat was asking the contestants to tell us a little bit about themselves. The first guy wanted to say, "Hi!" to his four dogs and his wife§ and Pat asked him a couple of leading questions about the dogs.
The next contestant was a woman who mentioned her husband and kids, and Pat, tongue-in-cheek, asked if she had any pets she wanted to say, "Hi!" to.
"We have seven chickens, Pat."
"Seven chickens? What are their name? Do they have names?"
"They do, Pat. There's Kung Pao, Fricassee, Alfredo¶..."
I thought it was pretty funny.
[SUMMARY: You are so laughing!]
What's more, I thought, "Chickens! I have to remember to share that with all my blogfriends! 'Cause it's *chickens*!"
Then four hours passed and I lost it, but trying to remember where I put my Chase credit card this morning, I remembered the chicken story.#
[SUMMARY: You are so lucky!]
In other chicken news, Red, most-favoured pirate chicken of Marybeth, may be a rooster. Which would make him ineligible for city living. And Marybeth would have to send him to live on a farm.
Just like your dad did with your dog when you were four.
[SUMMARY: Euphemism?&]
And guess what? I got a lovely perfume sample in the mail from Ineke††, so perfume too!%
It's Friday. It's a good day. Keep your fingers crossed for Red.
*************
Field Notes from Paris - Ineke
Marin says: Love may not be too strong a word.
It's funny because this evolves in my head as something maybe I shouldn't like and I don't know why -- like a guilty pleasure, only I can't even tell you why I'd be sheepish about it.‡‡
There's a splash of sweet lime in the beginning. Like almost all citrus, it levels out quickly and leads to the most intoxicating, elusive blend of... what? I would swear there's a touch of patchouli in there, but I can't quite catch it. It's not as earthy as some patchouli, not as dark as some patchouli and definitely not as strong as most patchouli. A patchouli of song and light?§§
Something woody, but I can't put my finger on what breed of wood. Tobacco flower, definitely -- it's one of my best scents and I can usually pick it out of a crowd. Maybe the wood is tobacco leaf. It has a sweetish tang I associate with tobacco.
The more it settles in, the more it reminds me of some of the exotic pipe tobaccos I've sniffed in my years of trying to find gifts for my father.
Then the sweeter, rounder elements mellow back in the mix and an oil slick of... leather? Salt? Clean sweat?¶¶ settles on top.
I think this smells the way I want a man to smell, but I find it not unfeminine. Maybe there's a white flower floating around, keeping it from being all horses and testosterone. In any case, it may be the perfect unisex fragrance.
Ineke says: Field notes from Paris is inspired by Ineke's halcyon days studying perfumery in Paris and Versailles. It captures the romantic, nostalgic feeling of sitting at a cafe and writing in a journal while lingering for hours over a cafe creme.
This "woody oriental" structure combines the warmth of tobacco flower and leaf$ with the vintage perfumery notes of coriander seed@, patchouli$ and tonka bean. Field Notes from Paris is an enigmatic scent with a warm, comforting presence.##
Top notes: Coriander Seed, Orange Flower, Bergamot
Middle: Tobacco Flower & Leaf, Patchouli, Cedar
Base: Tonka Bean, leather, Beeswax, Vanilla
Hans says:
Marin: "I really like this one. I probably shouldn't tell you that."
Hans: "Oh, great. Now I'm not objective. Ooooh. I like it too. It's got some spice@, like... cinnamon and... spice. And everything nice.
"You can quote me on that."
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which sounds like the tawdry confession of a dirty little fetish.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Remember back in the day when the TiVi had to warm up -- and cool down? It kinda tickles me that my state-of-the-2006-art HDTV has to warm up like when I was a kid.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): In that order.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Hence, the Fredo blogtitle.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And tomorrow, when I'm trying to find my cookie scooper or my size 9 Addy Turbos, I'll probably run across my Chase credit card.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Actually, Marybeth does have a friend with extraurban farm space who could take Red. So not entirely a euphemism. Then again, said friend said she couldn't guarantee Red wouldn't end up as Sunday dinner. The suspense continues...
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): From whom I got the lovely A-E scent collection last year, only I can't find the blogpost to link to to remind you because they made me go to IE 2, the stone age version, at work and the search function doesn't work anymore.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I saw the headline for this on Nathan's blog and I couldn't read it because I didn't want his review to influence me, so I've been cold and lonely and Nathanless for *weeks*.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Sheep! Like knitting! WOOT for the KNITBLOG!
§§FOOTNOTE (spin goths! SPIN!): Did you hear that? That's the sound of a thousand goths spinning in their graves.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (nod with me): These scents are TOTALLY related.
$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I'm giving myself a little leeway on mixing up sweet lime with orange blossom and bergamot, but deducting points for not recognising tonka bean. It's a wash.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Two important notes (ha! pun!) on coriander: 1) I don't have the slightest idea what coriander seed smells like, as it turns out, and 2) Hans now claims that the "spice" he was talking about was coriander seed.
##FOOTNOTE (holiday pounds): That's what I said! Not as succinctly, but surely that's what I was talking about when I said it smelled the way I'd like a man to smell.
†††FOOTNOTE ():
[SUMMARY: You are so excited!]
I flipped on the TiVi Monday night and it warmed up‡ to the beginning of Wheel of Fortune. Pat was asking the contestants to tell us a little bit about themselves. The first guy wanted to say, "Hi!" to his four dogs and his wife§ and Pat asked him a couple of leading questions about the dogs.
The next contestant was a woman who mentioned her husband and kids, and Pat, tongue-in-cheek, asked if she had any pets she wanted to say, "Hi!" to.
"We have seven chickens, Pat."
"Seven chickens? What are their name? Do they have names?"
"They do, Pat. There's Kung Pao, Fricassee, Alfredo¶..."
I thought it was pretty funny.
[SUMMARY: You are so laughing!]
What's more, I thought, "Chickens! I have to remember to share that with all my blogfriends! 'Cause it's *chickens*!"
Then four hours passed and I lost it, but trying to remember where I put my Chase credit card this morning, I remembered the chicken story.#
[SUMMARY: You are so lucky!]
In other chicken news, Red, most-favoured pirate chicken of Marybeth, may be a rooster. Which would make him ineligible for city living. And Marybeth would have to send him to live on a farm.
Just like your dad did with your dog when you were four.
[SUMMARY: Euphemism?&]
And guess what? I got a lovely perfume sample in the mail from Ineke††, so perfume too!%
It's Friday. It's a good day. Keep your fingers crossed for Red.
*************
Field Notes from Paris - Ineke
Marin says: Love may not be too strong a word.
It's funny because this evolves in my head as something maybe I shouldn't like and I don't know why -- like a guilty pleasure, only I can't even tell you why I'd be sheepish about it.‡‡
There's a splash of sweet lime in the beginning. Like almost all citrus, it levels out quickly and leads to the most intoxicating, elusive blend of... what? I would swear there's a touch of patchouli in there, but I can't quite catch it. It's not as earthy as some patchouli, not as dark as some patchouli and definitely not as strong as most patchouli. A patchouli of song and light?§§
Something woody, but I can't put my finger on what breed of wood. Tobacco flower, definitely -- it's one of my best scents and I can usually pick it out of a crowd. Maybe the wood is tobacco leaf. It has a sweetish tang I associate with tobacco.
The more it settles in, the more it reminds me of some of the exotic pipe tobaccos I've sniffed in my years of trying to find gifts for my father.
Then the sweeter, rounder elements mellow back in the mix and an oil slick of... leather? Salt? Clean sweat?¶¶ settles on top.
I think this smells the way I want a man to smell, but I find it not unfeminine. Maybe there's a white flower floating around, keeping it from being all horses and testosterone. In any case, it may be the perfect unisex fragrance.
Ineke says: Field notes from Paris is inspired by Ineke's halcyon days studying perfumery in Paris and Versailles. It captures the romantic, nostalgic feeling of sitting at a cafe and writing in a journal while lingering for hours over a cafe creme.
This "woody oriental" structure combines the warmth of tobacco flower and leaf$ with the vintage perfumery notes of coriander seed@, patchouli$ and tonka bean. Field Notes from Paris is an enigmatic scent with a warm, comforting presence.##
Top notes: Coriander Seed, Orange Flower, Bergamot
Middle: Tobacco Flower & Leaf, Patchouli, Cedar
Base: Tonka Bean, leather, Beeswax, Vanilla
Hans says:
Marin: "I really like this one. I probably shouldn't tell you that."
Hans: "Oh, great. Now I'm not objective. Ooooh. I like it too. It's got some spice@, like... cinnamon and... spice. And everything nice.
"You can quote me on that."
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which sounds like the tawdry confession of a dirty little fetish.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Remember back in the day when the TiVi had to warm up -- and cool down? It kinda tickles me that my state-of-the-2006-art HDTV has to warm up like when I was a kid.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): In that order.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Hence, the Fredo blogtitle.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And tomorrow, when I'm trying to find my cookie scooper or my size 9 Addy Turbos, I'll probably run across my Chase credit card.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Actually, Marybeth does have a friend with extraurban farm space who could take Red. So not entirely a euphemism. Then again, said friend said she couldn't guarantee Red wouldn't end up as Sunday dinner. The suspense continues...
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): From whom I got the lovely A-E scent collection last year, only I can't find the blogpost to link to to remind you because they made me go to IE 2, the stone age version, at work and the search function doesn't work anymore.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I saw the headline for this on Nathan's blog and I couldn't read it because I didn't want his review to influence me, so I've been cold and lonely and Nathanless for *weeks*.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Sheep! Like knitting! WOOT for the KNITBLOG!
§§FOOTNOTE (spin goths! SPIN!): Did you hear that? That's the sound of a thousand goths spinning in their graves.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (nod with me): These scents are TOTALLY related.
$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I'm giving myself a little leeway on mixing up sweet lime with orange blossom and bergamot, but deducting points for not recognising tonka bean. It's a wash.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Two important notes (ha! pun!) on coriander: 1) I don't have the slightest idea what coriander seed smells like, as it turns out, and 2) Hans now claims that the "spice" he was talking about was coriander seed.
##FOOTNOTE (holiday pounds): That's what I said! Not as succinctly, but surely that's what I was talking about when I said it smelled the way I'd like a man to smell.
†††FOOTNOTE ():
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
State of the Onion
My office is roughly 2/3 of a block from the bathroom.
If you'll direct your attention the clever graphic below, I have drawn a rough diagram of my daily habitat.
The green star is me. The purple star outside the box is the bathroom. The red star is the coffee maker, the blue star the printer where my documents mostly show up and the orange dinosaur-looking thing is Hans.†
[SUMMARY: With that, you know way more about my daily life than you want to.]
The series of events:
A vague notion that I have to pee. A vague notion that coffee would be good. The certainty that this print job is going to take several minutes, seeing as it's 180 pages long.
In a fit of efficient brilliance,‡ I hit print, figuring I'd drop my coffee cup in the kitchen, cruise to the bathroom, pick up coffee and collect my printed document on the return trip.
In reality, I hit print, went to the copy machine, couldn't figure out what I was doing there, realised I didn't have my coffee cup and went back to my office for that.
[SUMMARY: It dont't get any better than this.]
I started out again, this time skipping the copy room and heading for the kitchen, where I dispensed coffee to cup, whitened it up and headed back to my office. When I hit the copy machine, I remembered I had to pee.§
I set the coffee down on the copy counter and went to the bathroom. On the way back, I was intently reminding myself not to forget my stuff at the printer and bypassed the coffee completely.
[SUMMARY: Still not getting better.]
I got back to my desk, started to sit down and bounced like a rubber ball as I remembered my coffee. I went back for the coffee, and circled the copy room for a moment trying to remember what it was I was not supposed to forget in the copy room.¶ There weren't any papers lying around to give me a clue, so I went back to my office.
When I turned back to my computer, there was an email I needed to answer. About ten minutes later, Hans walked into my office with a handful of papers.
"These look like yours," he said.
"Oh, yeah. I printed stuff! Thank you!"
I set the stuff on the desk and continued with my email.
[SUMMARY: Multi-tasking may not be for everybody.]
About five minutes later, I turned without looking and bumped the coffee, spilling it over the freshly printed stuff. I sopped up the brown puddle with the paper towels I keep in my desk just for these moments,# sighed and took a sip of coffee. Which was cold.
Thus the sometimes-vicious cycle of life in the wilds of the office†† begins again. More prints, more coffee and someday I will spill again.
*************
Wazamba - Parfume d'Empire
Marin says: "What are you sniffing these days?" asked Nathan.%
"Not much, really. I'm experiencing perfume ennui," I replied.
"I hate it when that happens," he commiserated.
The next day, Wazamba landed on my desk.
Out of courtesy‡‡ to my generous friend, I pounced, ravaging it like a starving beast ravages a plump gazelle.§§
Mmmmm... fresh-cut pine backed by a dollop of sweet-but-not-too, round, smoky, resiny incense. It mellows noticably but subtly to a gentler pine, not as citrusy-sharp, with the incense bubbling up just a little, but broadening rather than overcoming.
The smoke becomes more pronounced, but this is one of the best smokes I've sniffed -- not too campfire, not too acrid, just smooth and dry and a bit sweet, like the smell of an old church after mass.
Somewhere in here, I was thinking of applewood smoke on a BBQ. Turns out, the perfumer actually lists apple in the notes.
Now, we can chat about all the notes and bits, but there's something complete about this fragrance that wants the forest to be noted ahead of the trees. The word I keep coming back to is "enveloping." I find it cosy and comforting, and just a bit sexy, because smoke and incense usually have a little vavoom in their makeup. The sillage is poofy rather than trailing, more resembling a fog or a cloud than the stream of a peacock's tail carrying behind it.
The fragrance is incredibly long lasting. If I didn't shower, who knows how long it would have stayed? Eighteen hours after a light application, my wrists smelled like baking¶¶ and incense.
It is to be noted that Aaron (the filing clerk) walked into my office and went all dreamy and forgot what he was going to say. "Wow. It smells *really* good in here." Shanny liked it and confirmed that it goes nicely with R&B, Robert Cray-style.
So I've shaken my perfume ennui in favour of Wazamba monomania.##
It's a step in the right direction.
Parfum d'Empire says†††: An aromatic pine$ grove created around incense,$ sacred to all great civilizations. Incense, myrrh, sandalwood, cypress and apple$ fashion the enigmatic formula of this captivaing perfume. A voyage within...
Hans says: A spice. Like a cinnamon. It smells like the colour brown. Rich mahogany. Yeah, I get a spicy scent.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Hans doesn't merit a star because, once again, Hans is leaving on a deadline. We had a deadline yesterday, we have another October 9 and now we have one October 30, the day Hans is leaving for Madison.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Short lived.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You'd think this wouldn't be a memory item, wouldn't you?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): My obsessive nature doesn't only apply to hobbies and things people tell me I can't have; it spreads and permeates every little corner of my being. In this case, erroneously. That copy room haunted me all day.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, I keep paper towels in my desk. For good reason.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I watched a little Discovery Channel this weekend.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): In one of our rare moments lately -- werk is really eating into my pleasant social time.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Y'know... gentle, courteous attention much like what a six-year-old gives a big, beribboned package on Christmas morning.
§§FOOTNOTE (dervish): Huh. Maybe I watched more Discovery Channel than I thought.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (knock knock): I was really surprised to find it didn't have any vanilla in the notes.
##FOOTNOTE (pound the sistrum!): Wazamba Monomania would be a good name for a band. Particularly, as Grain de Musc so kindly provided, since a Wazamba is a sort of African sistrum.
†††FOOTNOTE (holy holy holy cats): Via the packaging. Their website is all in French and I couldn't figure out which button to hit to get to the next on the list of perfumes and I don't know French for "search" and I was looking at the parade of bottles at the bottom of the page going all Nancy Drew with the "it's a golden colour" and again with the "the label is dark brown" and I never saw a Wazamba bottle float by, which is a shame because I thought it would be funny to post the French, doubly funny if I posted the shipping particulars instead of the perfume PR.
Did I mention "obsessive"?
If you'll direct your attention the clever graphic below, I have drawn a rough diagram of my daily habitat.
The green star is me. The purple star outside the box is the bathroom. The red star is the coffee maker, the blue star the printer where my documents mostly show up and the orange dinosaur-looking thing is Hans.†
[SUMMARY: With that, you know way more about my daily life than you want to.]
The series of events:
A vague notion that I have to pee. A vague notion that coffee would be good. The certainty that this print job is going to take several minutes, seeing as it's 180 pages long.
In a fit of efficient brilliance,‡ I hit print, figuring I'd drop my coffee cup in the kitchen, cruise to the bathroom, pick up coffee and collect my printed document on the return trip.
In reality, I hit print, went to the copy machine, couldn't figure out what I was doing there, realised I didn't have my coffee cup and went back to my office for that.
[SUMMARY: It dont't get any better than this.]
I started out again, this time skipping the copy room and heading for the kitchen, where I dispensed coffee to cup, whitened it up and headed back to my office. When I hit the copy machine, I remembered I had to pee.§
I set the coffee down on the copy counter and went to the bathroom. On the way back, I was intently reminding myself not to forget my stuff at the printer and bypassed the coffee completely.
[SUMMARY: Still not getting better.]
I got back to my desk, started to sit down and bounced like a rubber ball as I remembered my coffee. I went back for the coffee, and circled the copy room for a moment trying to remember what it was I was not supposed to forget in the copy room.¶ There weren't any papers lying around to give me a clue, so I went back to my office.
When I turned back to my computer, there was an email I needed to answer. About ten minutes later, Hans walked into my office with a handful of papers.
"These look like yours," he said.
"Oh, yeah. I printed stuff! Thank you!"
I set the stuff on the desk and continued with my email.
[SUMMARY: Multi-tasking may not be for everybody.]
About five minutes later, I turned without looking and bumped the coffee, spilling it over the freshly printed stuff. I sopped up the brown puddle with the paper towels I keep in my desk just for these moments,# sighed and took a sip of coffee. Which was cold.
Thus the sometimes-vicious cycle of life in the wilds of the office†† begins again. More prints, more coffee and someday I will spill again.
*************
Wazamba - Parfume d'Empire
Marin says: "What are you sniffing these days?" asked Nathan.%
"Not much, really. I'm experiencing perfume ennui," I replied.
"I hate it when that happens," he commiserated.
The next day, Wazamba landed on my desk.
Out of courtesy‡‡ to my generous friend, I pounced, ravaging it like a starving beast ravages a plump gazelle.§§
Mmmmm... fresh-cut pine backed by a dollop of sweet-but-not-too, round, smoky, resiny incense. It mellows noticably but subtly to a gentler pine, not as citrusy-sharp, with the incense bubbling up just a little, but broadening rather than overcoming.
The smoke becomes more pronounced, but this is one of the best smokes I've sniffed -- not too campfire, not too acrid, just smooth and dry and a bit sweet, like the smell of an old church after mass.
Somewhere in here, I was thinking of applewood smoke on a BBQ. Turns out, the perfumer actually lists apple in the notes.
Now, we can chat about all the notes and bits, but there's something complete about this fragrance that wants the forest to be noted ahead of the trees. The word I keep coming back to is "enveloping." I find it cosy and comforting, and just a bit sexy, because smoke and incense usually have a little vavoom in their makeup. The sillage is poofy rather than trailing, more resembling a fog or a cloud than the stream of a peacock's tail carrying behind it.
The fragrance is incredibly long lasting. If I didn't shower, who knows how long it would have stayed? Eighteen hours after a light application, my wrists smelled like baking¶¶ and incense.
It is to be noted that Aaron (the filing clerk) walked into my office and went all dreamy and forgot what he was going to say. "Wow. It smells *really* good in here." Shanny liked it and confirmed that it goes nicely with R&B, Robert Cray-style.
So I've shaken my perfume ennui in favour of Wazamba monomania.##
It's a step in the right direction.
Parfum d'Empire says†††: An aromatic pine$ grove created around incense,$ sacred to all great civilizations. Incense, myrrh, sandalwood, cypress and apple$ fashion the enigmatic formula of this captivaing perfume. A voyage within...
Hans says: A spice. Like a cinnamon. It smells like the colour brown. Rich mahogany. Yeah, I get a spicy scent.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Hans doesn't merit a star because, once again, Hans is leaving on a deadline. We had a deadline yesterday, we have another October 9 and now we have one October 30, the day Hans is leaving for Madison.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Short lived.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You'd think this wouldn't be a memory item, wouldn't you?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): My obsessive nature doesn't only apply to hobbies and things people tell me I can't have; it spreads and permeates every little corner of my being. In this case, erroneously. That copy room haunted me all day.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, I keep paper towels in my desk. For good reason.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I watched a little Discovery Channel this weekend.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): In one of our rare moments lately -- werk is really eating into my pleasant social time.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Y'know... gentle, courteous attention much like what a six-year-old gives a big, beribboned package on Christmas morning.
§§FOOTNOTE (dervish): Huh. Maybe I watched more Discovery Channel than I thought.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (knock knock): I was really surprised to find it didn't have any vanilla in the notes.
##FOOTNOTE (pound the sistrum!): Wazamba Monomania would be a good name for a band. Particularly, as Grain de Musc so kindly provided, since a Wazamba is a sort of African sistrum.
†††FOOTNOTE (holy holy holy cats): Via the packaging. Their website is all in French and I couldn't figure out which button to hit to get to the next on the list of perfumes and I don't know French for "search" and I was looking at the parade of bottles at the bottom of the page going all Nancy Drew with the "it's a golden colour" and again with the "the label is dark brown" and I never saw a Wazamba bottle float by, which is a shame because I thought it would be funny to post the French, doubly funny if I posted the shipping particulars instead of the perfume PR.
Did I mention "obsessive"?
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
A Half-Hearted, Time-Saving Lick of the Pig
I know, but...
[SUMMARY: Defensive much?]
These days, I don't write blogs.† I barely read blogs.‡ In this economy,§ one must do everything in one's power to stay in the good graces of those willing to pay one.
Translation: Deadlines loom. Free time is short. Can't screw around.%
[SUMMARY: Excuses, excuses.]
I do have a couple of juicy tidbits I want to share, just to let you know I'm still out here somewhere and well, because they're funny or interesting.
Sarah, you're going to want to cover your eyes when we get to "interesting."
[SUMMARY: In the eye of the beholder, my friends, in the eye of the beholder.]
So on the funny front, a follow-up to the Lady Gaga fashion debacle of July 2009:
DON'T LOOK, SARAH! GO FIND A NICE CUPCAKE OR A PUPPY OR A FLUFFY CLOUD OR SOMETHING TO OCCUPY YOUR EYES!
And something I find interesting, courtesy of Kathy-now-Kathryn¶:
Meet Heteropoda davidbowie.
Yep. You read that right. David Bowie gets his own spider. Be it Martian or Glass, it seems somehow glam-appropriate... if a little scary.
[SUMMARY: All day long, my head will be shrieking, "...but where are the spiders?"]
And, since I put it together last week, I can throw this in and complete my tour of the Six Scents line... just in time for the release of Six Scents, part II#, due in October.††
*************
No. 6: Teen Spirit - Preen & Mark Buxton (Part 6 in the series)
Marin says: Bergamot.$ Definitely bergamot. Or maybe lemon of the verbena variety. It's thin and high and sour-citrusy... and as I found out later, may be the most interesting portion of the trip for me.
When the citrus starts fading, a touch of rose$ peeks through. It's very watery, both in that "barely there" sense and in that it smells like rain.$ Once the bergamot is completely gone and the sharper parts of the rose round out, it becomes a round, powdery floral, no particular rose in sight.
I think the "teen spirit" moniker is apt; this reminds me very much of something one gets at Walgreen's when one is a 16 year old girl. Love's Baby Soft. Something attributable to Brittney Spears.@ It goes distinctly soapy (must be musk$) late in the game.
Meh.
Meh meh meh.
Six Scents says: "The idea we had with Preen, was to capture an English summer garden after the rain - light, natural, floral, fresh, but not sweet. Its sprakling top note, made of calabrain bergamot an a unique seashore accord‡‡ is wrapped with magnolia and Turkish rose. The tingling spicy scent of red pepper sustained by hazelnut leaf and rhubarb give the fragrance its natural depth.§§ Finally, a touch of violet wood for the long-lastingness and pleasurable feeling." - Mark Buxton, Perfumer
Ingredients: Hazelnut Leaf, Rhubarb, Bergamot, Seashore accord, Red Pepper, Berry Rose, Magnolia, Violet wood, Sandalwood, Musk.
Hans says: Ooooh, I like that. It smells like grapefruit rind. What do you call that? Zest. Grapefruit zest.¶¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You may have noticed.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Mostly of the "funny cats" variety.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, how I hate it when people use that phrase...
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Much.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Who has the most interesting Twitter list. I did eventually have to remove Courtney Love from my follow list because she's patently bugshit insane and completely misses the seminal point of Twitter, which is its brevity, by posting roughly 20,000 words a day, 140 words at a time.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Electric Boogaloo.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can hear you cringing from here, Nathan.
$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I'm not as proud of myself as I usually am. Picking out orange and rose seems a scant talent.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Before her particular bugshit slut phase -- back in the Disney "I'm still a virgin" pink poofy feather ponytail days.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I'm officially a perfume snob. I completely dismissed this whole scent as soon as I saw the cutesy marketing ploy "seashore accord." Good thing I didn't really like the scent to begin with or I'd be torn by hypocrisy and existential angst.
§§FOOTNOTE (shaking my head, waggling my finger): If I had detected any of anything in this whole sentence, I may have been able to find something other than "meh" to say about it. Everything in this sentence sounds delightful.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (heads up!): Hans only got the first whiff. I should've made him hang out for the powdery part.
[SUMMARY: Defensive much?]
These days, I don't write blogs.† I barely read blogs.‡ In this economy,§ one must do everything in one's power to stay in the good graces of those willing to pay one.
Translation: Deadlines loom. Free time is short. Can't screw around.%
[SUMMARY: Excuses, excuses.]
I do have a couple of juicy tidbits I want to share, just to let you know I'm still out here somewhere and well, because they're funny or interesting.
Sarah, you're going to want to cover your eyes when we get to "interesting."
[SUMMARY: In the eye of the beholder, my friends, in the eye of the beholder.]
So on the funny front, a follow-up to the Lady Gaga fashion debacle of July 2009:
DON'T LOOK, SARAH! GO FIND A NICE CUPCAKE OR A PUPPY OR A FLUFFY CLOUD OR SOMETHING TO OCCUPY YOUR EYES!
And something I find interesting, courtesy of Kathy-now-Kathryn¶:
Meet Heteropoda davidbowie.
Yep. You read that right. David Bowie gets his own spider. Be it Martian or Glass, it seems somehow glam-appropriate... if a little scary.
[SUMMARY: All day long, my head will be shrieking, "...but where are the spiders?"]
And, since I put it together last week, I can throw this in and complete my tour of the Six Scents line... just in time for the release of Six Scents, part II#, due in October.††
*************
No. 6: Teen Spirit - Preen & Mark Buxton (Part 6 in the series)
Marin says: Bergamot.$ Definitely bergamot. Or maybe lemon of the verbena variety. It's thin and high and sour-citrusy... and as I found out later, may be the most interesting portion of the trip for me.
When the citrus starts fading, a touch of rose$ peeks through. It's very watery, both in that "barely there" sense and in that it smells like rain.$ Once the bergamot is completely gone and the sharper parts of the rose round out, it becomes a round, powdery floral, no particular rose in sight.
I think the "teen spirit" moniker is apt; this reminds me very much of something one gets at Walgreen's when one is a 16 year old girl. Love's Baby Soft. Something attributable to Brittney Spears.@ It goes distinctly soapy (must be musk$) late in the game.
Meh.
Meh meh meh.
Six Scents says: "The idea we had with Preen, was to capture an English summer garden after the rain - light, natural, floral, fresh, but not sweet. Its sprakling top note, made of calabrain bergamot an a unique seashore accord‡‡ is wrapped with magnolia and Turkish rose. The tingling spicy scent of red pepper sustained by hazelnut leaf and rhubarb give the fragrance its natural depth.§§ Finally, a touch of violet wood for the long-lastingness and pleasurable feeling." - Mark Buxton, Perfumer
Ingredients: Hazelnut Leaf, Rhubarb, Bergamot, Seashore accord, Red Pepper, Berry Rose, Magnolia, Violet wood, Sandalwood, Musk.
Hans says: Ooooh, I like that. It smells like grapefruit rind. What do you call that? Zest. Grapefruit zest.¶¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You may have noticed.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Mostly of the "funny cats" variety.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, how I hate it when people use that phrase...
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Much.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Who has the most interesting Twitter list. I did eventually have to remove Courtney Love from my follow list because she's patently bugshit insane and completely misses the seminal point of Twitter, which is its brevity, by posting roughly 20,000 words a day, 140 words at a time.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Electric Boogaloo.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can hear you cringing from here, Nathan.
$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I'm not as proud of myself as I usually am. Picking out orange and rose seems a scant talent.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Before her particular bugshit slut phase -- back in the Disney "I'm still a virgin" pink poofy feather ponytail days.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I'm officially a perfume snob. I completely dismissed this whole scent as soon as I saw the cutesy marketing ploy "seashore accord." Good thing I didn't really like the scent to begin with or I'd be torn by hypocrisy and existential angst.
§§FOOTNOTE (shaking my head, waggling my finger): If I had detected any of anything in this whole sentence, I may have been able to find something other than "meh" to say about it. Everything in this sentence sounds delightful.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (heads up!): Hans only got the first whiff. I should've made him hang out for the powdery part.
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.
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.
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 mypetchicken.com.
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.
*************
[SARAH! DON'T LOOK! AVERT YOUR EYES!]
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.
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 mypetchicken.com.
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.
*************
[SARAH! DON'T LOOK! AVERT YOUR EYES!]
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.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Birthday: the Last Gasp
Do you feel it?
There!
That change in the air, that specific tang to the breeze, the way the light slants just so?
That's birthday season coming to a close.
[SUMMARY: Drama R Us.]
Thus I present the final photos and a eulogy for the glittering phoenix that is My Birthday.
As previously mentioned, Nathan sent a small truckload of chocolates to the office so I could share. Which I did.
Really.
Because I'm a *giver*.
Fortunately, the people in my office are pathologically opposed to taking the last of anything, so I got at least one of each kind. My review: *grrrgle*
Fran's Chocolates make Godiva look like Hershey's.†
I love the heavy, rich boxes and Miami strip club-worthy‡ satin ribbons.
But mostly I love the chocolate. I had apricots, ginger, coconut, almonds and caramels.
And figs.
I didn't really share the figs so much. One might say I didn't share them at all.
I did let Hans look at them.
They're stuffed with dark chocolate ganache and dipped in dark chocolate and *grrrgle*...
[SUMMARY: Experiencing technical difficulties.]
Juno sent me this perfume, which smells like nutmeg and cloves and vanilla and is not nearly as sugary as you might think from this description. It's rich and ever-so-slighly understated and makes you snork your wrist as you try to go about your business.§
And just look at the kick-ass bottle.¶
She even wrapped it up in pretty pink paper.
[SUMMARY: From candy to candy-coating.#]
Speaking of spiders††...
The nephews got me what they hoped would be a remote controlled nightmare.
I had to explain that I'm not so much afraid of tarantulas. It's MEDIUM-SIZED spiders that get me.
Tiny little dance-on-the-head-of-a-pin spiders, no big deal. Tarantulas are basically eight-legged gerbils.‡‡ Medium-sized spiders are forever scuttling out of corners, dangling over my head at dinner, hiding in the sheets when I get into bed at night...
*shudder*
That clicking at the end is me trying to get the tarantula to turn around, but the batteries were dead.§§
Let's see... Dad got me a family membership here. Brother got me two tickets for this. Aunt Chris sent a gift card. I got many cards and greetings and well-wishes and comments.¶¶
All in all, a delightful birthday season, but over.
[SUMMARY: Alas.]
Time to pack away the birthday suit## until next birthday season.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Please note that none of these things is in the least bit bad, just some are gooder than others.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's all thank Hans; I'll never look at satin the same way again.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): By "you," I mean, "I."
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I took a picture of my own bottle but somehow managed to miss it in the Blogger upload. So I kyped this from a website. It's probably just as well. Mine has nose prints all over its shiny black surface.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If you cloak a black widow in pretty pink paper, are you not candy-coating in a metaphorical sense?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Yes, we were.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Which is not to say if a gerbil scuttled across the kitchen floor from a dark and hidden place I wouldn't scream like a girl and possibly wet myself. Sneakiness and the scuttling really get me. But medium-sized spiders freak me out on sight.
§§FOOTNOTE (turn! turn!): I can't imagine why. We only played with it for about an hour on my birthday.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (see? I'm tearing up from the beauty of it all): Thank you. I love you all.
##FOOTNOTE (those may be extra chocolate pounds): Y'know... like when you clean your sweaters and put them in a space bag for the summer.
There!
That change in the air, that specific tang to the breeze, the way the light slants just so?
That's birthday season coming to a close.
[SUMMARY: Drama R Us.]
Thus I present the final photos and a eulogy for the glittering phoenix that is My Birthday.
As previously mentioned, Nathan sent a small truckload of chocolates to the office so I could share. Which I did.
Really.
Because I'm a *giver*.
Fortunately, the people in my office are pathologically opposed to taking the last of anything, so I got at least one of each kind. My review: *grrrgle*
Fran's Chocolates make Godiva look like Hershey's.†
I love the heavy, rich boxes and Miami strip club-worthy‡ satin ribbons.
But mostly I love the chocolate. I had apricots, ginger, coconut, almonds and caramels.
And figs.
I didn't really share the figs so much. One might say I didn't share them at all.
I did let Hans look at them.
They're stuffed with dark chocolate ganache and dipped in dark chocolate and *grrrgle*...
[SUMMARY: Experiencing technical difficulties.]
Juno sent me this perfume, which smells like nutmeg and cloves and vanilla and is not nearly as sugary as you might think from this description. It's rich and ever-so-slighly understated and makes you snork your wrist as you try to go about your business.§
And just look at the kick-ass bottle.¶
She even wrapped it up in pretty pink paper.
[SUMMARY: From candy to candy-coating.#]
Speaking of spiders††...
The nephews got me what they hoped would be a remote controlled nightmare.
I had to explain that I'm not so much afraid of tarantulas. It's MEDIUM-SIZED spiders that get me.
Tiny little dance-on-the-head-of-a-pin spiders, no big deal. Tarantulas are basically eight-legged gerbils.‡‡ Medium-sized spiders are forever scuttling out of corners, dangling over my head at dinner, hiding in the sheets when I get into bed at night...
*shudder*
That clicking at the end is me trying to get the tarantula to turn around, but the batteries were dead.§§
Let's see... Dad got me a family membership here. Brother got me two tickets for this. Aunt Chris sent a gift card. I got many cards and greetings and well-wishes and comments.¶¶
All in all, a delightful birthday season, but over.
[SUMMARY: Alas.]
Time to pack away the birthday suit## until next birthday season.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Please note that none of these things is in the least bit bad, just some are gooder than others.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's all thank Hans; I'll never look at satin the same way again.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): By "you," I mean, "I."
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I took a picture of my own bottle but somehow managed to miss it in the Blogger upload. So I kyped this from a website. It's probably just as well. Mine has nose prints all over its shiny black surface.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If you cloak a black widow in pretty pink paper, are you not candy-coating in a metaphorical sense?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Yes, we were.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Which is not to say if a gerbil scuttled across the kitchen floor from a dark and hidden place I wouldn't scream like a girl and possibly wet myself. Sneakiness and the scuttling really get me. But medium-sized spiders freak me out on sight.
§§FOOTNOTE (turn! turn!): I can't imagine why. We only played with it for about an hour on my birthday.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (see? I'm tearing up from the beauty of it all): Thank you. I love you all.
##FOOTNOTE (those may be extra chocolate pounds): Y'know... like when you clean your sweaters and put them in a space bag for the summer.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Life, the Universe and Everything
Brother and I were talking on my birthday and he mentioned this was my Life, the Universe and Everything birthday.†
"I didn't think there was anything noteworthy after the Jesus birthday,‡ but there you have it."
[SUMMARY: For some, passage of time is noted in literary reference.]
My birthday dawned clear and vodka-soaked, as Kelley took me out for brunch,§ then to The Cooler¶ for a shitty canned beer.
I'm not being mean. That's how Kelley phrased it: "Can I buy you a shitty canned beer?"
I cheerfully mark this a white trash beginning to the day, what with the chicken and waffles breakfast and the shitty canned beer chaser.
The gifts were anything but white trash:
Tokyo Milk is a local company recently featured in The Moment in the NY Times. The owner of the company hand-sparkles the packaging.
Of course, I'm mostly in it for the skulls.
[SUMMARY: Skulls are key.]
The evening celebration was certainly more high brow. You'd expect no less -- it was Brother's turn to entertain me.#
We started not with shitty canned beer, but with the first grape Wine Spectator ever awarded a perfect 100††:
As an aside, Brother eschewed wine until about five years ago. Now he's a frickin' snob.‡‡
[SUMMARY: Reformed sinners...]
The first thing Tallest Hairiest Nephew said?
"I'm not your hairiest nephew anymore."§§
We're going with Tallest Spikiest Nephew until he shaves his head for the big swim meet in August.
Dr. Doom is his usual doomy self.¶¶
Monday, Dad and Brother were taking me to dinner.
Let me take you back in Marin history: when I was young and we'd be in a tourist trap or a Hallmark store^ and we'd see a display of personalised [ fill in the blank ].
Mom or Dad would chirp, syrup and unholy glee coating their sarcastic voices, "If you can find your name, we'll buy it for you."
I have led a life deprived of Marin license plates for my bike and Marin pencils for school.
Monday this package from Kim$ arrived just in time...
...for me to wear this button to dinner.
But the pièce de résistance##:
It's a SENSATION in the office.
Touched and grateful doesn't *begin* to cover it. A lifetime of cruel lack was wiped away in one UPS delivery.
[SUMMARY: MARIN!]
Dad and Brother surprised me with a field trip to my favourite neighbourhood Italian restaurant, Mikey's.†††
Dad and Brother had their backs to the window. I was across from them. It wasn't long before my obvious distraction distracted them.
"Sorry. I'm trying to figure out how many misspellings are on that stupid sign behind you. Pet Emporium and So? Pet Emorium and So? The paw prints are supposed to be Os, right?"
They both looked. We all marvelled. It never made sense.
The next day, my client looked at it and said, "I got it! Pet Emporium and Spa.*"
[SUMMARY: Stupid sign.]
Dad's fiancée sent a present.
This is not a present from Peach, mind you. It's a present from her cats.‡‡‡
[SUMMARY: I am not making any of this up. I have photographic proof.]
Now, this isn't *all* the birthday what's fit to print. It's all the birhday I photographed and offloaded. There's the delightful present the nephews got me,§§§ a sassy perfume from Juno¶¶¶ and a truckload of divine chocolate### from my often-Number One Bad Influence%, Nathan.
Stay tuned@...
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 42, as if I have to explain.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): 33, which may need more explanation than 42 in my crowd.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Chicken 'n' waffles with a side of bloody mary bar -- hence, the vodka soaking.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): A place with about 100 canned beers on the menu, ranging from $2 to $8.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because the man who coined the term "dick chakra" is nothing if not high brow.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I asked for a straw.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Per our conversation that evening, he does recognise this is an occasion wine, but one that probably would't get him laid.
§§FOOTNOTE (turn around when you're three, turn around when you're nine): Brother's nine-year-old self is SO jealous of TSN's nine-year-old self.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (Bambi eyes): Doom has never been so sweetly goofy.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): To-may-to, to-mah-to
$FOOTNOTE (cashed): Kim is so money, and I certainly hope she knows it. *mwah!*
##FOOTNOTE (le pound pound): French for "shiznit."
†††FOOTNOTE (speaking of Jesus): Which is neither in my neighbourhood anymore, nor is it still called Mikey's. Same owner/chef (he's a French-trained Algerian who looks like a compact Andre the Giant and used to wear wife-beaters in the restaurant. We *love* him.), same menu, now called Roma Roma and situated in a strip mall in sunny Arvada.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, imagine that): Read: Pet Em[paw]rium and S[paw]. Yeah, I know.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (cat scratch times three): Yes, they say, "meow" in the bowls. Yes, they have cat heads on top. They weight about six pounds, collectively and are beautiful pieces of work.
§§§FOOTNOTE (the creeping heebie-jeebies): Hint: "Dad, what's AntiM most afraid of?"
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (upright citizen): The bottle is worth the price of admission.
###FOOTNOTE (pounds and pounds of chocolate): Which I'm trying to figure out how to artistically photograph so it doesn't look like I've eaten 26 lbs of chocolate in the last week.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Nathan and Juno just keep leapfrogging each other. They should either be honoured or very, very ashamed. For the record, I don't believe either of them is much prone to shame.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Is this like crying wolf at this point? Do I need to re-earn your trust?
"I didn't think there was anything noteworthy after the Jesus birthday,‡ but there you have it."
[SUMMARY: For some, passage of time is noted in literary reference.]
My birthday dawned clear and vodka-soaked, as Kelley took me out for brunch,§ then to The Cooler¶ for a shitty canned beer.
I'm not being mean. That's how Kelley phrased it: "Can I buy you a shitty canned beer?"
I cheerfully mark this a white trash beginning to the day, what with the chicken and waffles breakfast and the shitty canned beer chaser.
The gifts were anything but white trash:
Tokyo Milk is a local company recently featured in The Moment in the NY Times. The owner of the company hand-sparkles the packaging.
Of course, I'm mostly in it for the skulls.
[SUMMARY: Skulls are key.]
The evening celebration was certainly more high brow. You'd expect no less -- it was Brother's turn to entertain me.#
We started not with shitty canned beer, but with the first grape Wine Spectator ever awarded a perfect 100††:
As an aside, Brother eschewed wine until about five years ago. Now he's a frickin' snob.‡‡
[SUMMARY: Reformed sinners...]
The first thing Tallest Hairiest Nephew said?
"I'm not your hairiest nephew anymore."§§
We're going with Tallest Spikiest Nephew until he shaves his head for the big swim meet in August.
Dr. Doom is his usual doomy self.¶¶
Monday, Dad and Brother were taking me to dinner.
Let me take you back in Marin history: when I was young and we'd be in a tourist trap or a Hallmark store^ and we'd see a display of personalised [ fill in the blank ].
Mom or Dad would chirp, syrup and unholy glee coating their sarcastic voices, "If you can find your name, we'll buy it for you."
I have led a life deprived of Marin license plates for my bike and Marin pencils for school.
Monday this package from Kim$ arrived just in time...
...for me to wear this button to dinner.
But the pièce de résistance##:
It's a SENSATION in the office.
Touched and grateful doesn't *begin* to cover it. A lifetime of cruel lack was wiped away in one UPS delivery.
[SUMMARY: MARIN!]
Dad and Brother surprised me with a field trip to my favourite neighbourhood Italian restaurant, Mikey's.†††
Dad and Brother had their backs to the window. I was across from them. It wasn't long before my obvious distraction distracted them.
"Sorry. I'm trying to figure out how many misspellings are on that stupid sign behind you. Pet Emporium and So? Pet Emorium and So? The paw prints are supposed to be Os, right?"
They both looked. We all marvelled. It never made sense.
The next day, my client looked at it and said, "I got it! Pet Emporium and Spa.*"
[SUMMARY: Stupid sign.]
Dad's fiancée sent a present.
This is not a present from Peach, mind you. It's a present from her cats.‡‡‡
[SUMMARY: I am not making any of this up. I have photographic proof.]
Now, this isn't *all* the birthday what's fit to print. It's all the birhday I photographed and offloaded. There's the delightful present the nephews got me,§§§ a sassy perfume from Juno¶¶¶ and a truckload of divine chocolate### from my often-Number One Bad Influence%, Nathan.
Stay tuned@...
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 42, as if I have to explain.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): 33, which may need more explanation than 42 in my crowd.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Chicken 'n' waffles with a side of bloody mary bar -- hence, the vodka soaking.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): A place with about 100 canned beers on the menu, ranging from $2 to $8.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because the man who coined the term "dick chakra" is nothing if not high brow.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I asked for a straw.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Per our conversation that evening, he does recognise this is an occasion wine, but one that probably would't get him laid.
§§FOOTNOTE (turn around when you're three, turn around when you're nine): Brother's nine-year-old self is SO jealous of TSN's nine-year-old self.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (Bambi eyes): Doom has never been so sweetly goofy.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): To-may-to, to-mah-to
$FOOTNOTE (cashed): Kim is so money, and I certainly hope she knows it. *mwah!*
##FOOTNOTE (le pound pound): French for "shiznit."
†††FOOTNOTE (speaking of Jesus): Which is neither in my neighbourhood anymore, nor is it still called Mikey's. Same owner/chef (he's a French-trained Algerian who looks like a compact Andre the Giant and used to wear wife-beaters in the restaurant. We *love* him.), same menu, now called Roma Roma and situated in a strip mall in sunny Arvada.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, imagine that): Read: Pet Em[paw]rium and S[paw]. Yeah, I know.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (cat scratch times three): Yes, they say, "meow" in the bowls. Yes, they have cat heads on top. They weight about six pounds, collectively and are beautiful pieces of work.
§§§FOOTNOTE (the creeping heebie-jeebies): Hint: "Dad, what's AntiM most afraid of?"
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (upright citizen): The bottle is worth the price of admission.
###FOOTNOTE (pounds and pounds of chocolate): Which I'm trying to figure out how to artistically photograph so it doesn't look like I've eaten 26 lbs of chocolate in the last week.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Nathan and Juno just keep leapfrogging each other. They should either be honoured or very, very ashamed. For the record, I don't believe either of them is much prone to shame.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Is this like crying wolf at this point? Do I need to re-earn your trust?
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