But Call Me Betsy

Downton Abbey Awaits

2012-02-05T20:41:00.001-05:00

I don't have much time here, people, because DA--the show for people who like antique pocket watches and leather valises, and fat white labs running across green lawns, and lovely dresses with delicate collars and beadwork, and candlesticks, and dastardely footmen vying against holier than thou butlers--shall be on in 16 minutes. However, I don't like an entire week to go by without at least geting something written in the blog, lest you stop checking it.

Have been reading lots of drafts of short stories in both the class I teach and the class I take, and the levels of skill are astonishing--ranging from people who seem to have a good command of the story, to those who have had very little practice writing short stories. Just this afternoon, I read a piece for the class I'm taking that was heavy with images that were unintentionally funny; comparisons being made between chest hair and ants, just as an example (something like: "his hair was stiff and short like ants marching up a hill." It's usually a mistake to compare essentially inanimate objects with really animate ones. Otherwise, the reader might start to wonder if maybe the chest hair is falling off and then perhaps carrying other pieces of chest hair with it back to some hill somewhere to see the Queen). I think in the case of the story I read today, the writer is more of a poet than a short story writer. I am so scared that I'm going to be a terrible poet, going to make amateur mistakes. I always, always, always want to be the best in the class, regardless of what the genre is.

Now, let's see about the Lady Mary, that little strumpet.

Short Stories are Not Instruction Manuals

2012-01-29T14:14:00.000-05:00

Been reading a lot of student fiction lately and submissions to Philadelphia Stories for the next magazine publication, and there are a couple of hiccups I see sometimes in the work.

One is the impulse to be very specific about which side a person might be using to complete an activity. For example, sentences like this (not from any real manuscripts): "She picked up the fountain pen with her left hand and began writing on the paper while resting her right cheek on her right palm." While I get the impulse here--writer wants to be sure we're very clear on the way the person is poised--it is unintentionally humorous (perhaps she's sitting on her right palm while writing, if you catch my drift) and unnecessary unless the story is actually a Sherlock Holmes-esque mystery involving forged documents by a person who's really right handed. Better just write: "She picked up the fountain pen and began writing." The additional description of her face resting on her hand while she does this...Not sure that it gives us any really substantial information or insight (unless again, we learned in the previous paragraph that she has a bullet hole in her face and needs to staunch the bleeding while completing this note about who has shot her). What it does do is distract the reader long enough to make her stare off into space to try to figure out exactly which hand is where and in the middle of this, she might be distracted by her cat attacking the yoga mat and get up from the chair, leaving the story to cool on the kitchen table.

Another thing writers can just do away with is the impulse to address the other character in every other line of dialogue. To wit:

Hey, Julie, can you hand me that pencil with your right hand?

Sure, Jennifer, not a problem, Jen. Here it is.

Thanks, Julie.

Any time. Though I am left-handed, you know, Jen.

Think about how frequently or infrequently you use a person's name in conversation. I would say that it happens very little, and the better you know a person, the less you use it. Or you use it only when you really want to get someone's attention, like, Emma! Quit it! Readers are smarter than you think. As long as you have some dialogue attribution (Julie said, Jennifer said), we'll be able to keep people straight and don't need the false ring that comes with constantly being reminded of the names in dialogue.

Bad Poetry

2012-01-26T14:56:00.000-05:00

In this Penn grad class I"m taking, we get to write a short story and then we're going to also be writing poetry. We had our first fiction workshop this week, and it seemed clear that some of the students might be more comfortable in the poetry realm--lots of heavy imagery and repetition; stuff like :"words, words--what are words? Silent words Words as heavy as snow. Wordsmith-ing of the word in the dark scream of the throat." (Reminds me of Woody Allen's Love and Death, where the characters are parodying Russian literature... "Wheat.....wheat.....fields of wheat.....cream of wheat....."). Of course, I am terrified of poetry--I am sure most of mine will be bad. In fact, I know that I write fantastic at bad poetry. Here's a poem I wrote yesterday after eating lunch at Pod with a writer friend of mine:

The dumplings
sat fat and juicy
Like the heart of an over
weight midget
Yum

Maybe I will be okay if we can write narrative poetry ala Billy Collins. You can actually read a post from 2007 where I reference the one time I met him. I am told that I might also like Pablo Neruda.

The first thing I found upon Googling Pablo Neruda:

"A Dog Has Died"

My dog has died
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.

Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer

This has now given me permission to write poems about Henri's dying. Mostly, it would have to have lines line: Lion head, kitten heart, white paw like a ladies glove.

I won't do that. I can just give you the visual proof from 2009. He was always hiding.

Snow

2012-01-21T11:07:00.003-05:00

I didn't have much time to take photos of windows this past Christmas, but here is one I captured. It looks like one of those roadside memorials--you know, the place where a car or bike accident happened and someone died. Here, it appears as if perhaps Santa was run over right outside of this house.

Last weekend, Dan and I decided to be nice to ourselves and stay at a bed and breakfast in Lambertville. However, when we got to the B&B, we found it was run by a crazy old lady and her creepy son. For $155 a night, you might expect a luxurious room with a jacuzzi. This place had a TV the size of a shoebox, a plastic stand up shower, and kitschy decorations. The room was tiny, the wallpapers bubbly and water-stained, and the decors was tacky and gross. My biggest fear was that the son had privately drilled holes all over the place and would be watching us as we changed our clothes, took showers, and slept. We left, but not before having a terrible altercation with the strange owner--this older woman with button brown eyes, who refused to give us a refund. She and I got into it, and she finally left and then shouted at us from behind the closed door, You're insulting my home! I'm still waiting to see if we can get a refund. She charged us $204 to be in her house for approximately 5 minutes.

We went back to Dan's house, but then returned to Lambertville the next day so that it would kind of not seem like a lost weekend. Lambertville has lots of antique stores and below, you will find an example of some of the art available, not unlike the art in the B&B we fled:

Why? And I think the picture cost something like $300. We didn't love the town. Had lunch at the Blue Moon Cafe and the waitress hated us because there was a misunderstanding with the soup. Went into a store for dogs and the owner warned me not to pet her Yorkie. Some of the townspeople were nice, but overall, it felt like a town that resents the traffic of tourists it needs to not be a total slum.

It snowed last night, spoiling Emma Carol's desire to roll on the back patio.

I had this impulse to go ahead and throw her out there just to see what she would do. I resisted. If you look to just outside of the door, you'll see the indent in the snow of when she stepped out and broke through.

Could not adequately explain to her why her life is so hard.

Last Pictures of Henri

2012-01-19T13:43:00.003-05:00

I had to put Henri to sleep last Monday. He was about 17 years old--give or take six months. We took him to Penn Vet Emergency Hospital and they were very nice--gave me all kinds of options about euthanasia--if I wanted to be there or if I wanted to just leave; if I wanted his ashes or not, gave me time to say goodbye (too much time. When you know you're about to put your cat to sleep, it's difficult to do anything like enjoy your time with him. I just wanted it to be over); they wrapped him up so he was cozy in these nice blankets.

I had to do this one other time with Gretel, and that was terrible and this was terrible too--not terrible as in traumatic, because he was so out of it, he didn't seem all that upset. Just terrible to have to make that decision. What that must be like when the creature in question is a human? I can't imagine.

I stayed in the room. It helps to see it happen. Otherwise, I could imagine myself worrying about how it went down, if he was distressed or hurt. And this other fantasy I could see happening--someone at the vet hospital falls in love with him and they keep him alive by extraordinary measures. Or he's shaking and crying and a dog is barking and they forget about it and he suffers. So, yes, being there made sense. And it also seems like the nicest thing to do for this animal who has been in your life for years and years--through Chicago, and grad school, and moving to Philly--you know, the least you can do is to be petting his head when he dies.

The hardest parts are the afternoons after work--he's not there anymore when I get home and it takes me a second--oh, he's gone. And then the same thing happens again in the morning--I walk down the stairs and he's not there again. How strange to think that he won't ever be there--that is still a hard concept to grasp.

These photos are from November. The two cats sitting together--unbelievable.

It's happened a couple of times recently that I've glimpsed Emma Carol out of the corner of my eye and thought it was him. Here, you can kind of see why.

I miss him. I don't believe in heaven--not for Joan of Arc, or other saints, not for ordinary people, and not for bashful cats who spent 40% of their lives hiding under things to escape notice. But I do have pictures of him and even a video or two, so that is what is left. It reminds me to always take pictures; I wish I had more, I'm glad for the ones I have.

"My Little Hands"

2012-01-08T16:09:00.001-05:00

We'll start a new fiction writing workshop tomorrow night with Philadelpia Stories; the class that I teach. Ten students signed up, all women. Funny, but most of the fiction classes I take or teach mostly consist of women.

I've been thinking a lot this weekend about what to discuss for the first night. My impulse is to tell them everything that they shouldn't do---to talk about the things in writing that don't work---mistakes that I see writers make frequently. But then, that seems negative and too many warnings can leave you feeling stuck every time you sit down to start writing. It's hard enough to write with your own voices of doubt in your head, let alone new rules given to you by an instructor. Instead, we'll talk about what a story is--what makes a good short story, how you get started, maybe a few ways to turn off the negative internal voice so that you can keep writing.

But, can I just mention to you a few pet peeves I have in fiction writing, just to you?

1. Day in the Life Of...These are the stories that begin with the alarm going off and end with the person going to bed or some variation of that theme. In these stories, we see a slice of life of someone--usually someone slightly unhappy (that's good--we want our characters to have some despair. Otherwise, how can we hope for redemption), but we also tend to get his story on the day that nothing much happens. It's like the writer mistook her own detailed character notes for an actual story, forgetting for a moment that this story should be the day that something exceptional happens--a day when the character's life is altered in a significant way. Often though, this leads to another problem, which is...

2. The Day That All Hell Broke Loose...Stories wherein the central action centers around a disaster--an earthquake, a suicide attempt, a car accident, a murder. While these stories are preferable to the Nothing Happened tales, the problem can be that the story gets enveloped by the action--the disaster--and there's no time for other elements of fiction, such as character development, internal conflict, description, or epiphany. It's simply a Really Shitty Day. You can save this story, however, by knowing what the really bad thing was and writing the story about a character who struggles with her entire self to get over that terrible thing. That plot line allows for change and growth, for insight and revelation.

3. The Precocious Child First Person Narrator. This is so hard to do well and so hard to do without "cute-ify-ing" the voice. These are the five year old kids who have adult observations and use adult vocabulary interspersed by somewhat age-appropriate language, something like, "My mommy sobs in the front seat of the Ford Tempo, big hippo tears that stream down her face in rivers of wa-wa. My mommy is sad. My mommy is inconsolable." Then you'll have sentences where the writer has the younger narrator describe herself in ways she would never be able to do, having no sense of perception, like, "My little hands patted my mommy's jiggly arm, my fingers like star fish on her flesh." Unless the child's hands are unnaturally small, they wouldn't seem little to her. It's too precious. Be careful of writing precious children. We don't want to be smarter than the characters we read about--we want in some ways for them to be capable of being smarter than us.

But What Color Are Her Eyes?

2011-12-18T17:05:00.003-05:00

In my fall fiction writing class, a common suggestion during critiques went something like: "I couldn't tell what kind of haircut she had...I wanted to know what color her eyes were. I just couldn't tell what she actually looked like!"

Sometimes, another person might try to help the writer along toward a more concrete description by suggesting that the central character give us this information by catching sight of her reflection in passing mirror or window, or in the bend of shiny spoon, or the wavery pool of a lake. Whenever someone asked wanting to writer to pause to describe the protagonist, I wanted so suggest that we refer back to any of the published stories we'd read for class. Very seldom does E. Annie Proulx have a character stop and ponder the amber sheen of her own eyeballs or the flowiness of her blond hair. Raymond Carver, though he may describe the blind man in "Cathedral," doesn't pause to ponder his own bloodshot eyes in the bathroom vanity. But both writers do give us a sense of the characters through the action of story--by how they behave, by how others react to them, by how they feel about themselves in general.

The genre makes a difference too. In a novel, the writer has more time to give us the physicality of the characters. In a short story, you have to make every sentence count.

The other problem with this suggestion is that, particularly if you have a first person narrator, it's very difficult to have him describe himself without sounding awkward: "At 5'2" and 187 pounds, I realized I was a real fathead." So, I say, if it doesn't matter to the overall arc of the story if the narrator's hair is blond or brown, frizzy or in bouncy ringlets, skip it. Otherwise, you end up writing what Janet Burroway calls All-Points-Bulletin (APB) descriptions, like the one mentioned above; descriptions that give us the same generic detail a witness at a crime might mention to the cops but not much insight into the interior life of the character.

Perhaps what the workshop critic meant was that she didn't have an overall clear sense of the characters; couldn't see whether she sailed tripplingly down the sidewalk or clomped like a Matterhorn across the cement.

Unfortunately, this suggestion led to subsequent drafts where writers were trying very hard to let us know if the person had blue eyes or brown. In a book like Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, this detail is necessary and important to the plot. However, in a story about a girl going to the grocery store to try to pick up the last available ham for a last minute family reunion, brown or blue doesn't matter. Unless she's adopted, or perhaps a model or if a plot point in the story will feature her eyeball being poked out by an angry customer angling for the last ham.

In the latest issue of Poet's and Writers, there's an article called "Get a Job" by Benjamin Percy, where he gives this advice about how to write good physical descriptions (though the piece is primarily about another good bit of writing advice, to consider the character's job and how it impacts his life): "The trucker does not describe his laugh as a booming bassoon. The trucker laughs like a hot tire ripping apart at eight-five miles an hour. The kindergarten teacher has Crayola-blue eyes, not gunmetal blue eyes. Unless of course the title of the story is 'Mrs. Snodgrass Finally Snaps.'"

So, the next time you start writing a story, worry less about communicating the eye/hair color of your character and more about how you're going to use each sentence to create an interesting visual image of her movement through the world. I suppose it doesn't hurt to know in your mind how she looks, but unless her long hair is going to get caught in the machinery of a Ferris wheel, or her azure eyes are going to give a Jewish woman entre into the Third Reich, let those details slide and focus instead on what can be revealed about her internal life and conflict through exact descriptions.

Christmas Bob + Writing Prize

2011-12-15T11:33:00.001-05:00

My friend Janell is also into the humiliation of pets for personal gain. Here is the evidence:

I also got some good news today. I won first prize in Zoetrope's all -story contest, which means some money for me and possibly action from literary agents. My story as chosen from 2,200 entries, so I feel good about that. It's a story I wrote last year in one of my Penn MLA classes.

As with anything, I only allow myself to get excited for about 35 seconds, and then, I'm usually like, Well, but that's in the past. What's next? But maybe I'll try to enjoy this for a little while. The other thing it does is remind me that I really need to be sending my work out. Not to sound like a jerk, but I usually get a fairly positive response from my fiction. For this particular story, I even received a nice rejection from Tin House earlier this fall. So, you never know--what one journal might reject, another might really like.

It also makes me self-conscious about my blog, because people I don't know (other writers, in particular) could now be coming to it and noticing that my content is a little on the light side (read: cats and subway photos). I could write more about writing. Maybe that's a promise I'll make now. That I will try to do one post a week about writing stuff.

Dashing Dasher

2011-12-13T08:32:00.001-05:00

Ernesto proved no easier to reindeer-ify. I promise that one of these days, I will write a post with some substance and no cats. Until then, maybe you can vote on your favorite.

Abusing the Elderly

2011-12-09T08:34:00.001-05:00

Henri is 105 years old, but that didn't prevent me from forcing him to wear antlers. Please do not report me. Mostly, it was his pride that was damaged.

Blitzen

2011-12-08T08:36:00.001-05:00

Leigh Ann has graciously loaned me a cat torture device---a set of reindeer antlers with a jingley bell attached.

Emma Carol was the first victim. This is the best of about 500 attempts.

Stay tuned for Henri (Comet/Vomit) and Ernesto (Dasher).

Subway

2011-12-06T08:40:00.001-05:00

Here is a photo of what 65 percent of people are doing on the train (myself included). I wonder--is he surreptitiously taking a picture of me at the same time that I'm snapping his?

Thankful for Dog Beach in Longport

2011-11-24T10:21:00.001-05:00

I love this Blogger app--let's me blog on the fly. We're on our way to Dan's mom's house in Sussex County. Here is an adorable pic of us from last weekend for y'all to give thanks for.

Wed AM subway

2011-11-23T08:28:00.001-05:00

Here is the scene. One thing about the subway in Philly; if you hear it approaching as you're on the steps, you've already missed it. Don't bother rushing-- you will only be left standing forlornly on the platform as the doors shut and everyone who made it in stares at you with pity.

Dogs of Atlantic City

2011-11-22T07:51:00.001-05:00

This is just a test to see how it us to post a blog remotely. Not sure how it will turn out...If it does turn out, what you're viewing are a bunch of dogs we saw this weekend on the dog strip of the beach in Ocean City, NJ.

Be happy for the little miniature collie above who looks like he's about to mount the bigger one. His name is Lucky and he's 15. Still living it up, as you can see.

Now I'll Have to Learn to Cook

2011-11-14T22:30:00.000-05:00

Well, it's mostly done. The appliances are in (thank God) and the light switches have been changed out. Overall, it was both harder and easier than I thought it would be. Harder because things came up that I didn't anticipate (needing a shut-off valve for the oven, having to put in two extra electrical lines for the microwave and dishwasher, appliances not fitting through the door the first time around) and easier because it's not like I really did any of the work. My friend Colin took care of the design and hand-holding in picking out the specifics and the installer and electrician and plumber did the other stuff. Well, I would say that pulling out the cabinets (with Dan's help) was a chore, but that was also the fun part. Now that it's done, I feel a little out of sorts--like I need something else to obsess about. The bathroom is next, but not until I recoup some of the savings I just shelled out for the kitchen. And here you have the final product.

Stove, it fits! Microwave, it works!

Side view.

I'm already messing up the look by adding magnets.

Aforementioned way too expensive garbage can.

Everything is silver now.

Note matching cat water dish on the floor.

Interior door with my piddly seasonings.

And the four things I eat.

All of the light switches have gone from white to black and silver.

And that's it for now. I will have to figure out the lighting at some point and I'm also thinking about adding shelves, but we can call this mostly a wrap.

How Much is that Garbage Can, Again?

2011-11-14T10:07:00.001-05:00

Did you know that you can buy a garbage can from Lowe's for $104? And it is not self-cleaning, it doesn't go around your house and collect the trash on its own, nor does it double as a back massager. It's just a garbage can with a step pedal and a slow moving top, so that as it closes, your cat is allowed extra time to leap into the trash. I would like to also add that it's not super cheap to buy dimmer switches and the like. One could spend $18 on a black light switch to match the decor. What kind of fool would do such a thing?

I also bought a mission-style bed frame from IKEA and Dan and I spent about two hours putting it together last night, only to get the very last step (putting on the box springs) to discover that I'd purchased the full-sized side slates; not the queen-sized ones that would actually allow my box spring and mattress to fit on the bed. So, will now have to disassemble side pieces and haul them back to IKEA, in hopes that they will allow me to switch them out for the proper size.

These are such bourgeoise problems, I know.

Everything but the...

2011-11-08T15:14:00.001-05:00

Kitchen sink? I've been listening to too many Will Shortz quizzes on NPR lately. I can tell you that if I ever had to compete on that program, I would fail every single question, because I'm sure I would be too nervous to think straight. Well, and plus, the questions are sometimes hard and require the kind of mental gymnastics my brain won't perform, like, "Take the first letter of the last word and switch it with the second letter of the third word to come up with something that rhymes with the clue given and reveals the name of a Canadian sports team."

Anyway, the counter tops were put in on Monday, thanks to Dan being willing to stay at my house to let the guys in. They also added in the under mount sink. Supposedly, it's all the rage these days.


Don't be fooled. There's no plumbing under there.

Lovely

I put him up there. He didn't like it.

Next steps: electrician comes on Wed. to look at putting in outlets for the dishwasher and the microwave and then plumber has to come to hook up the sink, dishwasher, and the garbage disposal, and I also have to get the rest of my appliances. And then do the lights. And then we should be pretty okay.

Wherein I Try on 20 Ill-Fitting Black Dresses

2011-11-04T12:59:00.003-04:00

We have a black-tie awards ceremony tonight for work. This means we need to dress up in ball gowns or something like that. I always tell myself that I'm going to get something really pretty and nice, and I sort of half look for dresses all year. Then, the day before the event, I realize I have nothing new. I try on everything in my closet and realize that most of the dresses either don't fit or are too low cut for work friends. And then I wear the same black sheath I always choose by default. I also bring heels to fancy it up, but then only can stand to wear them on for about 15 minutes. I was not meant to be glamorous.

Except this year, I found something really special.

Just as an aside, thanks to Carrie for sending along this link to a blog that recreates famous album covers with cats. Love it!

Here's my favorite so far:

I Dreamed a Dream of a Kitchen

2011-11-03T16:34:00.001-04:00

Seems like every time I think I'm going to move forward with the next step of the kitchen, there's an impediment. Today's non-installation concerned the dishwasher. It's a mini-mini, 18" piece of technology that they were going to put in today, except...Of course, I have no sink and no plumbing yet, and so they can't actually install the dishwasher until that happens. Instead, they just set it into the cabinet where it will eventually function.

I guess I didn't realize the steps. Like, you have to have the sink in prior to the dishwasher. It seems like common sense in retrospect, but having never done anything like this before, I didn't consider it. I also need to have an electrician install another box? canister? plug thingy? into the wall for the dishwasher and for the microwave, which was also put in today, but doesn't work either b/c of the lack of a plug.

The stove guy was able to put in a shut-off valve without further complications. I also got a call from the counter installation people and they're on for Monday AM. I'm hoping Dan ca be there to let them in because I don't like to miss work for this stuff.

God, how bourgeois of me to complain about my kitchen renovation.

Here's the non-working bitty dishwasher. It's like something you might find on a ship:

And here it is in a larger context alongside the makeshift counter that the cat jumps on a nearly breaks every night:

The microwave--it's so much wattage that I need a whole new power source:

I should put in a good word for the guys who installed the cabinets and then came back out and put in the microwave lickety-split. They are from John Mitchell Renovations. They will also offer you advice about other household projects and warn you if possibly your dining room light might one day burn down the house. I recommend them highly.

Limbo House

2011-11-02T12:04:00.001-04:00

This title does not refer to a house where much dancing is done. It's a house in a state of anticipation. Rather, a kitchen that is holding its breath for the remaining pieces to fall into place.

My whole Saturday was taken up by waiting with some trepidation for the Lowe's appliance delivery guys to bring my fridge and stove. They showed up earlier than expected, but quickly figured out that the fridge wasn't going to fit through my narrow doors. The guy than checked my stove to see where the gas turn off was. He couldn't find it and told me that I also needed to get a plumber in to install a shut off valve. And I needed to find a way to get the storm door off. I looked at the storm door. It doesn't have like two screws on it--has massive security screws that require a special bit to remove. I asked him if he could take it off. He said that he wasn't allowed to do it. I said, "Well, who's going to do it then? God?" I wasn't on my best behavior. I even dropped the f-bomb. I was a little like Veronica from Willie Wonka, stomping my foot and saying, "I want it now!" But truly, wouldn't you think that Lowe's might have let me know that I should anticipate these two things so I could've had them taken care of ahead of time? Tomorrow, the dishwasher people are coming to put that appliance in and I have arranged for them to also install the shut off valve. And the counter people (one person named Dan, actually) came on Monday to measure that portion out. Is this so boring or what?

To counteract that, here are some pictures from the Halloween party at Jane's house on Saturday night.

This is Doug. He works in IT at Penn.

I forget this guy's name, but he had the best guy costume of all. And he brought a date.

Very cute witch girl brought along by Colin and Jeremy. They were Mormons. I took a couple of pictures of them with my phone, but they didn't turn out very well.

Greg's brother, Bill.

Colorful witch. Jane's Alice in Wonderland. Unfortunately, I didn't get a good picture of her.

She is an extremely generous hostess.

Lisa Marie's was the best girl costume. She is a futuristic Lady Gaga.

Jane's devil-eyed dog, Lola.

The demure Snoopy.

Chicago Dog.

Notice the warning sign to the left.

I often choose costumes that are puns. Can you guess the pun here?

Luke as a Super Mario Brother

He was allowed no candy with nuts even near it.

At school.

That's all for now. Will update you with dishwasher pics later.............................................

Doors

2011-10-28T11:16:00.001-04:00

Somehow, despite feeling like I remain inert most of the time, this kitchen is getting rebuilt. You may have to endure a few rounds of this as appliances get put in on Saturday and next week and counter tops arrive. I did take a picture of my light switch that I won't subject you to.

Here is where the dishwasher will go, if the dishwasher people can ever get around to scheduling a delivery.

I have lots of drawers. I'm not sure why.

The cabinets. The counter people are bringing the sink. It's an under mount sink and should be easier to clean.

Can't wait until that broken oven no longer mars the beauty of the room.

Shelf beside the fridge. More drawers.

Side cabinet. Drawers.

We were going to try to run the counter across to the shelf, but I don't think I want to do that anymore.

Easy storage for cats.

He's always only thinking about how he might be able to get outside.

More Kitchen

2011-10-27T17:05:00.001-04:00

I can't stop. Here are the cabinets that they put in yesterday. Today when I get home from work, all of them should be installed, down to the very last faux silver handle. Thank you, Colin, for making up this whole entire design while I stood passively by with little or no opinion or feedback to offer.

New cabinets with actual glass on them.

The hole to the right is where the tiny, baby dishwasher will go

The only thing I will miss about this fridge when it's gone is the Obama sticker

It's hard to make the photos exciting

Looking in. Goodbye, shitty oven

In this empty area, there will be a new microwave

These drawers should be in when I get home tonight


Equipment

And just because I realize other people's house crap is boring, here's my co-worker, Jason, dressed as Gumby. He scared me when he came in looking like this.I am not a fan of the full body costume.

Some Halloween Windows for You

2011-10-27T07:58:00.000-04:00

Lots and lots of great window displays and house decorations this time of year. South Philly people do not skimp. Not like me who has a 99cent felt pumpkin Scotch-taped to the window.

I pretty much hate this one because it's too scary.

Here's the fuller view. You have to admire the amount of work put into this, along with the dollars wasted.

Frankie

Awesome witch and ghosts.

Ick.

And cute!


Home-made.

Naked Kitchen

2011-10-26T11:16:00.003-04:00

The kitchen has been stripped of all of its cabinets. Today, the professional IKEA installation men arrived promptly at 8 AM to begin IKEA-fying the new space. On Saturday, I sat around biting my fingernails, waiting for the cabinets to arrive and they did at around 7 PM. Not sure what to expect when I get home. He said it would take about two days. I can't wait to put my cereal boxes away. The hardest thing, I think, will be not having a sink for the next couple of weeks until the counters get installed. And also dealing with the angst of the cats who are locked in the basement currently and probably eating one another.

Here's some photos of what we did two weekends ago.This is Dan bravely painting with his eyes shut to avoid retinal damage.

Side view.


I did help too. I cheered him on.

And then this past weekend, we tackled the hardest part of the kitchen which was the sink cabinet.

First, Dan had to disconnect the garbage disposal and work with the plumbing, and then we had to figure out thebest way to get this mo-fo out of the front door.We did it my way, which is to use blunt force and jam it out as fast as possible, regardless of consequences. No one was hurt, though the cabinet did start to come apart.

My neighbors love me for trashing up the place. When I got home from work on Monday, I discovered that someone had removed the sink. This sink with the faucet we broke on the way out. They took it all. Fingers crossed that the garbage men will toss this whole thing in their truck. Otherwise, I might just start hosting outdoor drink specials.

Lovely and amazing. Didn't bother to paint this part b/c it'll get covered up by cabinets anyway.

Emma Carol's momentary interest has waned.

No Sleep

2011-10-23T09:57:00.000-04:00

I had a hard time falling asleep last night--no real reason, except for my friend Liz was telling me about her friend who was walking to catch a bus recently and a tree branch fell on his head and he died. Such stories can prompt one to wondering if perhpas she isnt wasting a little too much time on marathon episodes of Law and Order SVU or computer Solitaire?

I also had just finished Janet Fitch's bok, White Oleander, which I purchased from a thrift store for a quarter recently. I would say that a quarter was about what one should spend on this book. That's not totally fair; I did read the whole thing pretty quickly (skimmed most of it), because it did have a compelling central situation and character, but it also made me wonder just how much bad stuff can happen to any one character in a novel. This girl could not catch a break. First, her mom was a sociopath-ish murderess who ends up in jail. Then, the girl is sent off to a series of foster homes, none of which are good foster homes. She gets seduced by the older boyfriend of one of the foster mom's, then shot in the stomach by this same mom, attacked by a dog so she has scars all over her body, discovers that one of her favorite foster parents has overdosed and died, she turns tricks, ends up selling all of her clothes, takes drugs, and then finally, in the last ten pages of the book, meets a nice guy and settles down in Berlin. But whatever, at least this woman wrote a book. My writing life is desolate in comparison.

I finally fell asleep and dreamt about a boy I knew in college. He had returned for a party, and he looked almost exactly the same as he had in school--same sharp face and curls--and was still elusive and pretty much uninterested in me. Will I be 95 years old and reliving my past rejections from my twenties in my dreams? That seems like some kind of awful modern day fairy tale curse.

Overheard in Philadelphia + Painted Walls

2011-10-17T15:03:00.000-04:00

Dan and I were sitting at the light on 11th and Snyder, on our way to Home Depot, when we overheard this couple standing on the street corner. We noticed first that they were arguing, and so Dan nonchalantly rolled down his window so that we could hear what it was about. The woman was half-crying, and she said, Tell me what I physically did wrong! I could be mistaken, but I think she meant that he should tell her what she literally did wrong. Unless, of course, he was her dance teacher and they had just come from a recital at the Walnut Street Theater. This didn't seem to be the case. That's my grammar snobbery for the day.

Here is some street art for you:

And then this is window dressing from the American Apparel store in West Philadelphia. The "in" thing for youngsters now is to wear petticoat's on your head, apparently. It reminds me of being in high school and how we used to think it was funky and subversive to put giant bows in our hair ala Material Girl Madonna.

Love this display of lit-up pumpkins. You can find it on 11th Street, near Tasker (I think).

Spooky spider web window.

just liked this one because it looked like artwork authentically done by kids and not fake-authentically done by Hallmark

Skeleton.

And then this is a photo I took on my way to the Philadelphia Stories' writer's conference this weekend at Rosemont College:

The conference was great, as I got to be a speed date editor and pretend for an hour or two that I knew something about the publishing world in Philadelphia. I met some awesome people. I had a pretty low number of embarrassing situations, though one does stand out. I was talking to this woman I just met--a very funny and friendly editor of a new literary magazine. I liked her immediately because she was wearing a funky yellow dress and cowboy boots. Anyway, we were discussing writing teachers at Penn and she told me how she took a nonfiction class that she liked a lot; she said it wasn't like a typical undergrad class where you're writing alongside a bunch of 18 year old's. I said, Oh, yeah, that sucks. They all write essays about their grandmas dying. She hesitated for a second before saying, Oh, well, that's what my essay was about, but it turned out pretty good. And, unfortunately, she wasn't kidding. I'm an idiot.

But I can make it up to her (a little), by plugging the journal, which is called Apiary and can be found here. All donations to support the arts and the writing lives of artists young and old are welcome! Or just send me $20 and I'll get it to them somehow.

House Renovations

2011-10-14T12:00:00.000-04:00

The whole kitchen is coming down. A couple of weekends ago, Dan helped me take out the cabinets on the wall above the oven. This weekend, we will try to paint. I was very happy to not discover giant holes in the wall or a family of Scarab beetles or 100 mice coveys. Still, it's not pretty right now.

Friday Photos

2011-10-14T11:48:00.000-04:00

Happy Halloween windows from South Philly.

Like a Sit Com Character

2011-10-13T15:04:00.002-04:00

Last night, I had a moment where I thought, Oh, please, please, let me just go back in time. What happened was that I was in a nightgown (I change out of my work clothes even before I've arrived in the door. My key is in the lock and I'm already kicking off my shoes) and I decided to take out the rest of the trash. It was already dark, so, even though I was barefoot and wearing something that looks like a slip, I figured I could quickly take out the trash and run back in. This is called laziness. And cutting corners. And general foolishness, because I was in such a hurry to get out of the door and back in, I didn't put on a coat or a pair of shoes or grab the house keys. The second I opened the door, Ernesto burst out of it, onto the sidewalk and down the street. I panicked and shut the door after him. That's when I realized that I had locked myself out of the house. And was on the street in night clothes without a phone or any other device for rescue. Also, the cat was still running away. I could feel the immediate panic; not knowing what to do. I think I even stuck my hand in mail slot, as if my hand was going to suddenly shrink down small enough to fit in, and then stretch around to the door knob. I went after Ernesto--I could see he was near the alleyway and if he ducked down there, I would've been in real, real trouble. The last time that happened, Dan and I spent two hours walking around the neighborhood trying to find him. So, I went down the sidewalk, calling him, and he was freaked out enough to come to me. I grabbed him and hurried back to the house. I imagined myself going to my neighbors house and asking for help, but they don't have a key and I haven't memorized the cell phone of anyone who does have a key. Once at the door, I used my super human adrenaline terror-filled strength to break open the screen door and and shove Ernesto through the cracks and then I could reach in and turn the knob. The whole thing took like 3 minutes, but I needed like two more hours before I felt normal again. Morale(s) of the story: Always bring your keys. Always wear a bra. Never own cats.

This is what happens when you are locked in due to fears and inhibitions.

Aside from my pride, here is the only injury I sustained knocking in the screen.

And here is what Emma Carol did to my other hand the day before.

You are now officially caught up on my life.

Friday photos

2011-09-23T10:04:00.000-04:00

Even though I haven't been walking quite as much lately, I do find the occasional moment to snap pictures of windows.It's been rainy and gross in Philadelphia lately, but next week should be better and I will try to get out and about more. Until then:

An Ernesto look-a like

And this cat looks like it's looking at the cat about it ala the boxes in the opening of The Brady Bunch

He just wants to go outside

Perpetually looking as if she's saying, What is this mess on the floor?

Awaiting your return

And this is the second in the series of ink drawings Dan is doing wherein he takes regular song lyrics and substitiutes the word kitty or cat somewhere.

Slowly but surely

2011-09-22T09:34:00.000-04:00

The kitchen is getting taken apart. Last weekend, Dan dismantled the center island and removed the cabinet, so now the wall by the fridge is completely ready to go.

And Dan moved the shelves that were on this wall into the living room. Voile.

Now all I have to do is order the rest of the cabinets and counter tops, figure out when they're going to get them installed, coordinate that installation with the delivery of appliances, and figure out what to do with the lights. Meanwhile, here's a very rare sighting of Emma Carol and Henri together on my lap. Blood was shed shortly hereafter, but it was nice while it lasted.

As Rare as a Loch Ness Monster Sighting

2011-09-21T09:41:00.000-04:00

These photos show the never before seen journey of Henri outside--for the second time in his entire life (16 years? Maybe 17?). I lured him out using cat treats. He sniffed the air cautiously, like pre-man emerging from a cave after 1000 of years of darkness. He ran back inside when a distant car horn sounded, but at least he will die having actually smelled fresh air two times.

No Time For You

2011-09-16T15:39:00.001-04:00

I am suddenly taking two writing classes and going to a conference tomorrow and so have been too busy this week to write. And I still need to finish up a few tasks, so here is your bullett-ed update:

1. Screenwriting class: no text, which I think is a little weird. 11 students, all but three are guys. Does that mean that men are more interested in screenwriting than women? Is screenwriting, like, the masculine writing discipline? Teacher played some clips from This American Life and stand up by my new favorite person, Mike Birbiglia. We got out early and have 10 pages of work due on Tuesday.

2. Fiction class: I don't like it when we read our stuff out loud in a circle. For one thing, I'd rather spend the time talking about the craft of writing. And for another, I am not totally shy, but I am secretly a little shy and then I wonder about the other people around me who might be really shy. We also did two guided visualizations; one was more productive for me (about grandparents), but it's not my favorite way to work. The teacher brought in her Havanese dog, Mr. Bojangles and I was so happy the whole time. He looked like this except all grown up:

3. We pulled some things off of the kitchen wall to repair for the kitchen renovation. Will have to post pictures later.

4. It went from being air conditioning weather to tights-wearing weather in the scope of 12 hours. I'm secretly glad of this as my PECO bill was $210 last month.

5. Went to see the teen slasher, 3D movie, Fright Night last Saturday. I thought that maybe it would be good because Toni Colette is in it and she seems like a smart woman and Colin Farrell also has a role and he seems not totally washed up. It wasn't that great. I have issues with plausibility in all movies, even the vampire next door genre. But we still had fun.

That's all for now. Will try to write more next week.

More Brooklyn

2011-09-09T16:45:00.001-04:00

I almost forgot that I took a bunch of pictures from my real camera last weekend. Now I miss Brooklyn. Not Liz or Luke or JJ, just the city. But first, here's a time when my worlds collided. Dan brought Luke in to my work last Friday. They climbed on the Button. Kids simply cannot resist it.

Dan and Luke on a Penn icon

At the House of Pigeons

I didn't capture the whole thing--someone feeds them tons of bird seed every day.

Love the scary lion

Dan with JJ.

Liz with Blue Monkey.

Incongruous. Baby at Cemetery.

Same day, different lion.

Basquiat is buried here--not exactly here, but in this cemetery.

The picture of grief

This is Tessa. She drools.

Dan working on a design.

We spent part of Sunday at Brighton Beach and then walked over to Coney Island.

I tried not to think what would happen if you threw up in this thing.

Dan asked me to take this picture.

Roller coaster.

Old photo of Coney Island.

Does anyone ever win though?

Like the teacups at Disney except not.

He is a very good baby.

This was a side show. What if that were your job, to show up and be the headless body each day?

Why children are scared of the Scream Zone.

He is wet from the beach, not from his diaper.

This person was dressed like a woman but had a black mustache drawn on his /her face.

For dinner, we ate at this lovely restaurant called The Farm (http://thefarmonadderley.com/). I have the same skirt, but never wear it. There's hardly ever an occasion where it's called for.

Books and More Books

2011-09-08T10:33:00.000-04:00

Still on my Edgar-Award winning book series. This past weekend, I finished In the Woods by Tana French. It's interesting in part b/c the narrator is male, though the writer is female. That's refreshing to me. Male writers seem to have no trouble picking up other genders/races, but women writers don't do this as often. Her voice is convincing, and the story is a page turner, but I was so disappointed that she didn't solve one of the central mysteries. I won't spoil it for you in case want to read it, but what happened to the kids??? It was just beautifully written and compelling. Also finished Walter Moseley's When the Thrill is Gone ; liked it okay, but got a bit confused by the characters and their motivations. It involves twins, if that explains the potential confusion. Restocked my books from the Penn library and just started The Serialist by David Gordon (narrator's a tiny, tiny bit too cutesy and aside-y... Has one of the worst, self-conscious first lines to start the action that I've ever read. Something totally confusing like: "Dressed as my dead mother with my fifteen year old business partner at my side, I opened fan mail from the serial killer") and also got The Janissary Tree by Jason Goodwin and two others I don't recall at this moment. I'd also like to know how it is that the last issue of The New Yorker had a fiction piece in it that ended with a single tear running down someone's cheek. It's a story called "Town of Cats," (you think I would love it instantly) by Haruki Marakami. This is last paragraph containing the tear reference:

With his hand on the doorknob, Tengo turned around one last time and was shocked to see a single tear escaping his father’s eye. It shone a dull silver color under the ceiling’s fluorescent light. The tear crept slowly down his cheek and fell onto his lap. Tengo opened the door and left the room. He took a cab to the station and reboarded the train that had brought him here.

Here's your quote of the day (don't worry, I won't start doing this regularly): "Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx.

Brooklyn

2011-09-07T14:23:00.000-04:00

For our Labor Day, we went to see Liz and Luke in Brooklyn. I love Brooklyn with all of its high buildings and people and cool coffee shops and dogs (we actually didn't see that many dogs, unfortunately) and the diversity--you just don't see that many Hasadic people out and about in Philadelphia. I took a bunch of pictures, but here is just a sneak peek. I'll put the rest up on Friday. This is Dan driving. Overall, he did a good job, as he always does--I, of course, was a terrible passenger.

This is the Verrazano Bridge

And again.

Her is JJ, chewing on the blue monkey we brought for him.

Wish these weren't so blurry. You can't see how beautiful he is.

In motion.

He is a very good baby. Hardly fusses, eats his veggies, smiles all the time--my only complaint is that you can't carry him around everywhere. He prefers his parents to a virtual stranger who is constantly making animal noises to capture his attention.

Why Don't I Do This Fiction Writing Thing More?

2011-09-07T13:10:00.000-04:00

I just found this short piece I wrote for the writing class I was in last fall for about two seconds. I stopped going, but I worked on a few things while I was there. Here is one of them. It needs a better title.
Tragic High

Bentley, James (Jimmy). A tree branch crashed on his beautiful blond head as he stood goalie for the championship soccer match. Those of us who knew him even a little bit wept in the hallways at school, holding on to one another, looking sideways at the passing students, to see who was noticing how sensitive we were. Jimmy Bencusky with his strong, broad swimmers’ shoulders, bright blue eyes, and orthodontically straightened teeth. None of us had ever dated him, but we daydreamed about it. Lucky Jimmy, in a way. He went out in the prime of his life. He would never age. He got a full page in the senior yearbook next to his picture with the words, “In Loving Memory of One of Dunedin’s Finest Boys.” We gawked at his sisters during the funeral. They looked different from us. They had real tragedy, whereas all we had were parents who didn’t let us pierce our ears or a failing grade in geometry or bad skin. The sisters would no longer be known as Hannah, Jennifer, and Mary—they would forever be remembered only as the Sisters of the Dead Goalie.

Caley, Todd. He earned all the leads in the high school musicals—Danny Zucko, Sky Masterson, Curley from Oklahoma. He could sing, tap dance, and imitate an impeccable British accent as Henry Higgins. His deep tenor echoed through us whenever he sang the national anthem at football games. He was never just Todd; he was always referred to in revered tones by his full name “Todd Caley.” We loved him from afar and wrote his initials on the inside covers of our social studies textbook, The World and You. We all knew he would make it on Broadway and we kept our fingers crossed that he might remember us, even those of us who were only extras in the background. Then, in his senior year, he dropped out of drama club, buzzed off his dark black hair, got his nose pierced, and declared himself gay. We were devastated, confused. What was wrong with us that we could have a long-term, passionate crush on someone who claimed to love men? Did it mean something was awry with us too? Were we gay and didn’t even know it?

Folkman, Sarah. Molested by the music teacher. He was much older than our parents, and had a shock of white hair like Beethoven. Sarah whispered to us later that she thought they were in love. She didn’t see anything wrong with it (then again, her parents were atheists). When the affair was revealed, she cried real tears in the locker room while we were dressing out for gym. She said, “He was the sweetest man I ever met! He taught me the meaning of true love!” We consoled her, and then talked about her behind her back, some of us making gagging noises when another one said, “I picture his penis as this tiny pink thing wearing a marching band hat.” Secretly, we were glad we had stopped taking piano lessons in the seventh grade. Sometimes, it seemed, quitting could be a good thing.

Mowe, Keri. The phrase “date rape” didn’t exist then. We were never bruised or beaten, just coerced; the labored “please, please, please” of a boy we liked or the bullying words of the ones who said, “I thought you were more mature.” It seemed that to say no after a certain point would be impolite. We lost our virginities to avoid appearing rude. But Keri Mowe told. She told and, after word got around, someone wrote, “Keri Mowe is a Ho” in red spray paint on her locker. The accused boy got high-fives from his teammates and two weeks after-school detention. Keri didn’t vanish off the face of the Earth or slit her wrists. She did shave off her eyebrows with her mother’s Bic razor and when they grew back in, they seemed arched in a look of perpetual surprise.

Sokol, Jenny. Stepped outside to get the mail in a rain storm. When her glittery nail-polished fingers touched the mailbox, lightning struck. What were the odds? Now, poor Jenny, who used to be the smartest kid in the junior class (and lots of us sort of hated her for that) was basically a vegetable. Her mother had to feed her by hand, just like she did when Jenny was a baby. Jenny would never again have a normal life. She would never shop with her mom at Macy’s in Tampa for senior prom dresses or give the valedictorian speech about the road less travelled, or apply to the state university. Jenny would have to learn to walk, talk, and eat on her own. We were sorry for Jenny, but a little relieved too; one less person to make us look bad by comparison.

Walters, Andrew. He and Patricia Clemens had been sweethearts since the sixth grade. Both were beautiful and perfect. But then, after her junior abroad in Spain, rumors spread that Patricia had slept with the Spanish teachers’ son, Danny. One Friday night, Andrew confronted Danny at the Exxon gas station. He got in his face, a big linebacker next to a much smaller boy who wore glasses, and threatened to kill him with his bare hands. Patricia rushed to Danny’s aid, and Andrew threatened to kill her too. He jumped into his Ford Bronco, and pealed out, his blue tail-lights disappearing in the night. He drove the car into the family garage, shut the garage door, but kept the engine running and the radio turned to 92.2-YRock. When his little brother discovered him, Andrew’s lips had turned an icy blue. Scott Roach said that all his hair had fallen out too, but we didn’t believe that. We did believe the part about his blue mouth. We would wake in the middle of the night years later, shaken from a dream of Andrew floating in the air above us like a ghost, exhaling a cold breath of air from his dead mouth.

We learned about his suicide at an emergency assembly called by the school principal, Mr. Peterson, at 8 AM the following Monday. “I am very sorry to announce an unfortunate tragedy…” Mr. Peterson told us that if we had any feelings of anger or insecurity or thoughts of harming others or ourselves, we should talk to someone; a priest, our parents, the school counselor, God.

We kept quiet.

Didn’t they understand that we all felt those emotions to some extent every single day?

The Others: There were the cutters, and the girls who starved themselves into something inhuman and insect-like, flat chested beings, luminous and ethereal, with their skin stretched tight across their protruding bones. Or the pale boys with the skinny legs and concave chests who could never go out for the swim team. The person with the birthmark like a map of North America stamped on his face; a mark that flushed a deep crimson red when he was embarrassed, which was often. And also the fat kids, the ugly kids, the weird girls who wore handmade dresses with calico cats cart wheeling across the fabric, the two straight-backed black girls we never spoke to, the foreign students, endlessly teased for not speaking exact English and for having unfamiliar, non-Christian names. Eddie Zappato forever transformed into “Eddy Go Potty” after he wet his pants in third grade. The redheads, and Patrick, the one deaf boy in our school who read lips, but spoke in a slow, atonal voice. He sometimes misunderstood what was being said and there were those of us who purposefully talked too fast or covered our mouths with our hands when we asked him a question, hoping to get a laugh from one of the others, hoping to deflect negative attention from ourselves and on to someone (anyone) else.

Pretend that You Care

2011-09-01T14:19:00.000-04:00

I was going to title this post "House Porn," but when you put any even slightly provocative words in your blog title, you end up getting tons of spam comments. My friend Colin at work is helping me to plan my kitchen renovation and he and I and Dan went to Lowes on Tuesday to force me to commit to choices. I didn't actually buy anything, but here are the things I'm going to buy, in ridiculous detail.

The oven or stove, whichever you prefer. It has 5 burners!

I will also get a matching microwave, to save on counter space.

This is the tiniest dishwasher in the world at 18". It can fit 2 teacups and 3 spoons.

French door-ed fridge

Interior

Side door with Dan.

Interior doors with Dan's band aid (not included in cost of fridge).


Possible back splash idea. We have moved to IKEA at this point.

In total, the three appliances would end up costing a little over $3,000, which doesn't seem that bad to me. I could go with more basic pieces, but I want them to be nice. The oven and dishwasher are GE and the fridge in Samsung (they didn't have a GE fridge that matched).

Will I ever really do this renovation? Not after watching many of the shows on the DIY network, where they always have these renovations that grow exponentially in cost as they realize they're located on a sacred Indian burial ground or discover a family of friendly raccoons within the walls or install everything upside down. So, maybe I will take a break from those shows so that I can gather my courage.

In the meantime, we always have this:

Cat Drawing

2011-08-31T10:50:00.001-04:00

Remember that Ace of Base song, "All That She Wants...Is Another Baby?" Well, taking inspiration from this blog, Dan and I (mostly Dan) drew the cat version of that, presented here.

If you have rewritten a pop song to add a cat to one of the central lyrics and would like it transformed into a cartoon drawing, let me know. We were thinking maybe Michael Jackson's "PYT" could be revised to reflect "PYC" (i.e. "Pretty Young Cat"). You see that we have a lot of time on our hands.

Just a few more Philly pics before I forget that I took them. I saw this yesterday morning and was really tempted to read it. Was it a fairly benign, move-your-damn-car note like, "Hey, please stop parking next to this telephone pole. This is my telephone pole!" Or was it a love note like "since you won't answer my emails or texts, I was forced to leave this letter. Meet me at the Philadelphia Airport at 8 PM EST. I have two tickets to Barbados. We never have to return." I didn't read it though--because what if the content created a moral conundrum where I had to act--some kind of a threat or a promise of harm or something really mean and nasty that I would throw away, causing the person who wrote the note to get even angrier at the lack of response and subsequently beating up the owner of the car? I decided to just take a picture.

And then this was some new family-inspired graffiti I saw on an outside wall this morning.

Lost in the City of Brotherly Love

2011-08-29T14:43:00.000-04:00

Did you know that it's possible to get lost in Philadelphia, even if you've lived here for going on seven years like I have? It happened to me last Friday, when I decided to walk to Penn's campus via Fitzwater Street. I figured that somewhere around 24th street, I could just cut North and West and find the South Street Bridge. Instead, I found myself faced with a sudden Naval Square and jumbled streets---Catherine meeting Christian, the numbered ones suddenly seeming to veer East/West. I'd accidentally found my way into the no man's land of Grays Ferry. Granted, I have a terrible sense of direction, but it was still a weird sensation not to have any clue which street to take, especially when I knew it was only a few blocks away. I found my way back via the modern version of following pebbles along the path--I used my map app on my i-Phone--the one that tracks your progress as you're walking, which I find to be in equal parts creepy and fascinating.

So, this morning, I took Bainbridge, because I knew it was easier to find South Street from there. Here are some photos from that trip.

Tempted to take this even though I have zero interest in astronomy and the telescope is likely broken.

Christmas in August

I liked this because of the wildness of the yard.

Self-explanatory.

Woke this cat up by tapping on the glass. He still looks groggy.

The Aftermath of Huricane/Tornado/Mild Thunderstorm, Irene

2011-08-28T12:35:00.000-04:00

Well, we can still get flooding from the Schuykill River which is supposed to peak at 2 PM today. I was briefly listening to Fox News this morning at the gym and one of the reporters said, We're taking viewers' questions and the one that keeps coming up is: "If this were a snowstorm, how many inches of snow would we have gotten?" That's maybe the dumbest question I've ever heard in my life. Like asking, If this had been squirrels falling from the sky instead of rain, how many squirrels would have landed and would they have survived or just been flattened?

In any case, I categorized the devastation for you. Millimeters of rain fall flooding my street:

Recyling bins filled with inappropriately heavy material toppled.

Fortunately, the neighbor's blow up pool, which comes out at the first sign of spring and stays out until its frosted over by ice, did not fly away in the night. Little Paulie can continue to play in it rather than ever being able to go down the shore.

Trash blown across the streets--including someone's umbrella. However, it should be noted that the streets of Philadelphia look like this (and much worse) every single day.

Tiny flowerpot in window blown over.

Dogs across the city confined indoors.

And yet, the spirit of Philadelphia lives on its hardcore patriotism and love of wooden Santa figures dressed in denim.

And the love of the Phillies Phanatic.

Squirrels, please don't fall from the sky!

Disaster Preparedness at the Ernesto Household

2011-08-27T09:17:00.000-04:00

As mom's are bound to do, mine is worried about me during this impending Rapture event known as Hurricane Irene. To set her mind at ease, here are a few photos to illustrate that, even though I have not sought out sandbags, I am still taking the storm seriously.

To wit, last night, Dan and I cleared out the entire back patio. No possibility of flying projectiles of ceramic birds or wind chimes are present to shatter my back window.

Side view. Please also note that my none of my nearby neighbors have large oak trees with long branches.

The back patio decorations have been stored inside. I kind of like having them around and may not ever move them out again.

Cats have a full week's supply of food and back up food and two water bowls filled to the brim.

My bathtub doesn't really have a plug that works (you're supposed to fill up the tub), so we found these instead. I am not sure what I'm supposed to do with this water, but it has something to do with flushing the toilet.

Plenty of things to do, even in the dark. Two NYTimes crossword puzzles, collections of essays by David Sedaris and Amy Hempel and my journal, where I can record my musings about the storm.

Exterior view of my house. No trees availabe here either to crash through the windows. I also bought duct tape in case I need to replace a window with tape in a pinch.

Plenty of extra water, plus one Diet Coke if the coffee machine doesn't work.

3 flashlights with new batteries, plus a bunch of candles, plus extra matches stolen from Pod, plus Emma Carol's death stare X-ray eyes in case I'm without power.

No cans of corn, but I have boxes of crap to eat.

And let's not forget, I'm across the street from a church, so there's that protection.

Dan showed me how to use a piece of spaghetti to get at the hard to reach wick's of used candles.

Hopefully, this whole thing will be anticlimactic. And if the looting begins, I have a cache of freshly-sharpened knives at the ready. Don't worry, Mom.

I Have Been Singing the Song This Way Since it Came Out

2011-08-26T14:53:00.000-04:00

Original artwork and other pieces can be found here.

Friday Photos

2011-08-26T14:46:00.000-04:00

Not time to write, but here are some photos for you. The first is not a cat in a window, but a lion in a yard.

Stuck inside on a nice day.

Ceiling Fan in My Spoon

2011-08-25T12:50:00.001-04:00

Remember that song by the Lemonheads? I still don't get what that means. In any case, here's my new ceiling fan (photo request sent in by Mother):

Light off.

If you look on the far wall by the door, you can see the fan settings--one button to turn the light on and off, and one button to turn on the fan. Very convenient. No real arm work required. The electrician who did it charged $175; I think that's pretty reasonable.


Light on. Find the cats.

Here they are. Sometimes, they can lay together nicely, and sometimes, they try to tear off each other's throats. They're huddled together b/c the ceiling fan is so effective.

Dan also finished painting the back patio. If I ever had any guests over (which I never do), I would be proud to have them outside.

The next house improvement will be the kitchen. If I can get myself to commit to shelling out a few thousand dollars to buy the cabinets and appliances. My friend Colin came up with some lovely designs for renovation, so I didn't even have to think of anything. It does mean getting rid of some shelving, so where in the world will I put the cat bowls? You see what a swarm they are.

PBS on Sunday Nights

2011-08-24T12:40:00.003-04:00

You can catch all kinds of not terrible programming on PBS, as I'm sure you know, and you can sometimes catch shows that you wish you liked more. For example, Dan and I tried to watch Masterpiece Mystery last Sunday night, hoping that it would be an episode of Zen, but instead, we got Lewis and Hathaway. Maybe we were both just tired, but it was a hard show to follow, mainly because we couldn't understand the accents (here's where Padhraig would say, "Racist") or the colloquialisms. I swear at one point, one of the coppers said, "Put a badger on the grill and smack off the what z-it." Not sure if this was an insult or a misunderstanding, but most of the rest of the show was like that--we were in need of subtitles. Later, Dan made me fall sideways laughing because he saw fat Emma Carol stretched out on the bed and said, in a British accent, "Look at you, you sack of potatoes, you like your crunchy food?"

On Saturday, we watched the first hour of A Roman Holiday starring the adorable Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, but it seemed awfully dull. I related this to Leigh Ann and she said she thinks it has to do with the fact that the films are in black and white. She said she could easily get through Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz (only in black and white half the time), but could not manage even a thrilling Hitchcock movie. I think it's also because some of the earlier movies have been redone so much that though the premises were new and fun at the time, we've now seen them 100 times over. Also, as much as I love Audrey Hepburn and her cute short haircut in the movie, it now seems to be a little on the corny side. To wit, the poster. That's Eddie Albert of Green Acres fame on the back of the moped:

Writing Idea You Can Steal, Though I'll Sue You if You Do

2011-08-23T15:26:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking that someone should write a story that's a modern day equivalent of the Cyrano/Roxanne story. It's so much easier now to hide your identity online--to pretend to be someone you're not and know a person for an extended amount of time just via the web versus real life. So why couldn't you write something about a woman or man who asks his/her friend to pose as him and write all of these love-causing things to the object of his/her desire? I suppose the only complicated thing about it would be that some of the ways we communicate now don't necessarily lend themselves to deep contact; I'm not convinced that it's possible to fall for someone over text messaging or IM-ing. Someone must have thought of this idea already? After having worked for awhile as a letter writer for the President at Drexel, I toyed with the idea of writing a reversal of genders-type thing in a similar vein, but who reads letters anymore? You would then have to invent an exotic destination or some other scenario where the two communicated by letters for some reason. It's so old-fashioned now. So, let's stick with email for this premise--can you fall in love with a person over email? If they were long emails, maybe. Probably this idea isn't much more than a "Shouts & Murmurs" column using Facebook wall posts.

Photos for You: Nothing Exciting

2011-08-19T14:26:00.000-04:00

Yes, of course I have a few cat photos to make your Friday better. Here is one.

And then his close up.

In the upper window, see if you can find a doggie.

This might be a little clearer. This dog lives on Carrie and Padhraig's street. He doesn't seem to bark much.

Cat in jail.

Last Friday, we went to dinner at a Vietnamese/Thai place off Washington and 1-th Street called Cafe Diem. I had some kind of rice paste and chicken. Very good. This is the last picture I have of Carrie and Padhraig without their baby. Carrie just had Seamus on Wednesday. We haven't met yet, but I'm sure he's lovely.

If you look closely, you will see a baby deer aka a fawn. This is the last photo I took at Dan's old house. He moved on Monday. He is in a new house now with two bedrooms, a mud room, a front and back yard, and a full basement. Goodbye to the one bedroom with no oven, mo privacy, no working dishwasher. I haven't stayed at the new place yet, but I'm sure it's awesome.

And then this was a bike outside of Chapterhouse. I mean, why are you saving the rind? Please, someone explain.

5 Things I Hate at the Gym, followed by 5 Things I Like

2011-08-18T16:31:00.001-04:00

Here's a first sentence I like for a short story:"Somewhere along the line, she had gotten fat." That's how I feel in real life. Like, one day, I was wearing a size 7 jeans, and now I'm a cow. Not really. But not skinny. My friend Lisbeth and I always say to each other, "You're not that fat..." I don't feel fat--most of the time I feel good and walk around thinking I'm pretty cute, but then I'll see a picture of myself on a day that I thought I looked good and I'll be taken aback; like, hey, wait, why do my arms look like hamhocks. Example:

This is not really my arm

(By the way, if you Google the term "fat women" in an image search, you will be appalled by what comes up. Not necessarily by the size of the women, but more by the way they're treated, talked about, regarded, made fun of. It's not nice--there's one photo of a little guy riding on the back of a large woman as if she's a horse. Also, would you like your picture to show up on a site called "Fat and Ugly?" Meanwhile, I'm sort of a hypocrite b/c I don't want to become obese either).

In effort to not be listed on any anti-fat websites, I've been going to the gym in the mornings or walking to and from work, at least part of the way. I also ate 7 gummy worms today, but that's another story. You'd be surprised how many people are at the gym at 6:30 AM. A lot! Here are 5 things people do on the machines that makes me a little crazy.

1. Leave the TV on rather than turning it off. Often, I prissily go around to absent machines and turn the TV off. It's a waste of energy.

2. Don't clean the machine after sweating all over it. There's one guy who I see a lot who just hops off the machine and goes each time. I also see him on the subway occasionally and have considered bringing it up.

3. Continue to use a machine that's making a lot of noise. Or, really, to be more all-encompassing, I don't like it when people make any unnecessary noises on a machine--if you're huffing and puffing and coughing, you're working out too hard or you're too sick to be at the gym, so stop. Sometimes, people laugh on the machines b/c of something they're watching on TV. I would add this to my list, except I lol-ed just this week b/c Drop Dead Gorgeous was on.

4. Expel serious odor of any kind. This could be BO or it could be gas. I can get behind one slip up, but if you've just eaten a bean burrito, give yourself some time before exposing the rest of us to your gastro intestinal challenges.

5. Talk or text on their cell phones. The rule with cell phones, I think, is that you shouldn't be talking on it in any place where you have a captive audience. That would include public transportation, by the way.

5 things I like:

1. Watching the home improvement channel--makes time go by much faster.

2. The temperature is always just right in the gym.

3. Their bathrooms have full doors for privacy.

4. The magazines are only 1-2 years old.

5. No huge overhead TVs to distract you.

That said, I'm walking home today instead of going to the gym. But I will go in the morning. I like to get it over with.

This is my actual arm

And this is my actual face, looking as though I'm scolding a small child.

Story Ideas but No Actual Story Writing

2011-08-17T15:51:00.000-04:00

There must be something that occurs in the brain--some kind of procrastination chemical--that makes it so easy for me to think of things I'd like to write about only during those moments where I can't possibly write. I'm late for work, or I'm skiing down a mountain or I'm being mugged and that's when I tell myself, I really have to write this down at some point. And I don't. For instance, I saw this regular looking guy the other day outside of the fountain at Passyunk Square, just circling it and occasionally, very casually, dipping down to scoop the lucky pennies out of it. What's his story? The truth is that I haven't been writing (not in this blog, not in my journal), and it makes my mind and self feel creatively flabby--lazy, unproductive--even though I think about stories a lot of the time.

Dan wants to write one about his former landlady, an 80-something year old woman who's living in this giant house where her family used to be, and she's losing her ability to keep it up. The rain gullies came down, there's water flooding the basement, a giant tree smashed in the roof, and she also can't keep tenants, because she's not much of a people person. In the same breath that she told Dan she would've done anything to keep him as a tenant, she said that she also thought she should've charged him more rent b/c I stay over every other weekend. When Dan moved out this week, she just sat on a chair in the hallway, watching the movers take away his things and crying about how terrible it was, and could the movers please not track mud into the house? She might make a good subject for a story, but on the other hand, it's a fairly familiar theme--as the house disintegrates around her, so does she. I told him that I was more interested in the man who was moving out--why did he stay so long and what made him finally decide that he deserved better? A good girlfriend is what I'm thinking.

In the meantime, here are some windows for you.

A Cat for You

2011-08-11T12:14:00.000-04:00

This is an Ernesto look-alike.

I have been remiss lately at taking pictures. There's not excuse for this; I walk a lot of mornings from Broad Street to the Penn campus and see many interesting things on the way, mostly homeless people and dogs. On Tuesday, I followed a girl who was drugged out of her mind. She was dressed okay--had on make up and decent clothes and she was only about 19 or so, but she was walking with her eyes shut half the time and then weaving across the concrete.Then she did that really drugged out thing where she started to sit down and realized there was no chair. I asked her if she wanted to sit for a minute on the bench and her eyes snapped open and she said, No, I'm fine, and then she almost walked out into traffic. The other weird thing was that I approached this parking ticket lady to ask for her help, and every step forward that I took, she stepped back three, as if she were afraid I was going to punch her. I guess when you're a parking ticket person, you encounter conflict daily, but she was so timid and frightened that it seemed incongruous to her job. Like, if you're scared of people, you probably shouldn't be pissing them off every minute by writing tickets for their expired meters. Needless to say, she wasn't much help. She scurried off without saying much of anything. The drugged out girl went into the bookstore and I went with her and asked the security guy to keep an eye on her. What was she on? Oxycotin? Heroin? Do people do heroin and then go for a stroll? Maybe she just came from the hospital and was still anesthetized from a surgery? But that would never happen b/c no hospital would r

Perfect Princeton

2011-08-08T16:33:00.000-04:00

Everything in Princeton is perfect. It's eerie. They have this amazing, three-story library with every new book in stock that you might ever want to check out and a section of books you can buy for $1-$2--good books too, not all pulpy pop culture paperbacks. In recent weeks, I bought a Joyce Carol Oates book and Mary Karr's Lit, and a book on Justice by Dominick Dunne. The kid's section, which is most of the third floor, has numerous computers, a giant dollhouse, stuffed animals you can lay on, blocks, and a gorgeous aquarium.

Then there's the store Dan likes to visit after yoga b/c it has all natural food. It's called Whole Earth and they serve things like free-range tapioca pudding and little bits of chocolate-covered bark and henna Popsicle sticks. I bought some all natural, dye and chemical free, no kill lavender conditioner there this weekend for a mere $8. And these cherries.

I spent several hours on Saturday at the coffee shop, which featured work by artist Elina Lorenz. I liked her work, and it was affordable too.

The odd thing is that she had all of this brightly-colored mixed media work and then this picture was also hung up:

Something I've Always Wondered

2011-08-06T09:33:00.000-04:00

An experimental video with marginally conclusive results.

Patio Touches

2011-08-05T18:58:00.000-04:00

Thanks, IKEA, for having more fake than real plants for those of us in the world who are botanically-challenged. Here is a fake marigold (?) in a new white pot (real).

Also, a decorative rug. This is the second time I've attempted to buy the rug. The first time, I saw the line at the check-out and gave up.

I actually bought three white flower pots and three fake plants. Dan convinced me to do this, because, let's face it, I kill plants. That's not entirely true. I have one plant that Carrie gave me about three years ago that's not yet dead. And one bamboo plant (also from IKEA) that requires watering about once every thirteen months.

Emma Carol evolving onto two hind legs.

And someone who got left behind.

The Number of TV Shows I Can Watch at One Time...

2011-08-05T15:20:00.000-04:00

Equals about four-ish. Because of the myriad of channels available, I find myself switching back and forth between stations and really, depending on the show, not missing much of anything. Last night, I watched most of The Office and Parks and Recreation while at the same time catching a few scenes of Dr. Phil (topic: pathological liars.One lady with a really funny nose lied for years about needing to have a kidney transplant. She even got this device for her phone that would make it look like she was calling from the Mayo Clinic), a repeat episode of Hoarders (lady lives with 134 ferrets whose feces and carcasses are scattered throughout the house), and moments of another Discover Channel show about multiple births (parents who have litters of children vs. just one or two). Also caught a few scenes of When Harry Met Sally, but couldn't quite commit to the whole thing. Do not fret; I am still able to focus on one thing for even minutes at a time, but if the show is only marginally interesting (and that's often the case, especially with reality TV), I have a hard time investing in it. Am still waiting for The Killing to come back. That was something I could get into.

In the meantime, here is a cat beating the summer heat.

More Patio Beautification

2011-08-02T14:54:00.000-04:00

Here is a picture of the fairy cottage that Dan has rented and will move into with Luke starting mid-month. I am so excited that Luke will have his own bedroom. This means we can stay up past 9 PM when I am visiting.

The house comes with a good-sized front and back yard. This is a view of the front yard from the driveway.

The garage. Dan is very excited to have a handy place to store his tools.

It's in Lawrenceville, NJ, where one of my favorite people, Jon Stewart, grew up.

Okay, and then more patio pictures. We bought white spray paint to clean up some of the outdoor furniture.

And replace the outdoor lighting. As you can see, the patio walls aren't done yet--still need to finish up that wall and paint one more coat.

The old, rusty light fixture.

And this is my recycling bin. I think. I hope. It was stolen after garbage many weeks ago, but then I saw this one in front of my neighbor's house. I am guessing that it's mine. With spray paint, it definitely is now.

The new light.

Blue and sunflower colors.

And then that planter thing again.

There's more work to be done and I still want to put the ceiling fan in the living room, but it feels like we're making progress, a little bit at a time.

Painting Project

2011-07-28T08:00:00.001-04:00

Do you like the color blue? And the color known as "sunflower?" If so, you may like the direction my patio's going. Here is the side exterior wall---looks pretty bad at the moment.

Oh, and this is one of the two garden decorations I got at a yard sale (2 for $5). I painted it. See if you can find the bunny.

A bird that the former owners left for me, which I also painted. It's the blue bird of happiness, ya'll.

Here, you can at see how the two colors might work together. You can't tell completely from this picture, but the yellow has a little more of an orange coloring to it.

One of my jobs was to go around and paint into the cracks so that it was easier to roll over the rest of the brick.

Very little assistance from the animals.

They love being out in the heat for some reason.

We only got one coat up and it needs another to be finished, but once that is done, we can start doing the fun stuff like fixing the light fixtures and getting an outdoor rug and maybe some new patio furniture and putting mosaic tiles down around the brick planter. Just in time for winter probably!

Summer Reading: Death and Murder

2011-07-27T08:57:00.000-04:00

For some reason, I've been on a true/fake crime kick for the last couple of months (I thought that would be a good first line for a short story. Something like, "The summer she found out about the cancer, she couldn't stop reading true crime novels..." Yesterday, I went to the Penn library and checked out a stack of books that I'd found online after searching for the Edgar-Award winners. The one I should probably read that I won't is Norman Mailer'sThe Executioner's Song.
The link goes to Joan Didion's NYT review from 1979. The book itself is about 4,598 pages long and weighs ten pounds. I mostly read while lying down in bed, so I'll need like some kind of special pulley system to hold it upright. I also checked out a book about people who work with serial killers and one called, Women Who Kill. I'm also reading one by Laura Lippman called, I'd Know You Anywhere. Even the title is creepy, don't you think? Another that I've started is The Chatham School Affair by Thomas Cook; not loving this book, if only because it's thick with foreshadowing. It reads like this: "Later, after all of their lives were destroyed and many others lost in that terrible and bloody accident involving candles and Fluffernutter, he would think of this moment and remember that he had thought to remember it...." I made that up, clearly, but you get the gist.

Cats Stay Inside in the Summer

2011-07-19T09:05:00.000-04:00

News Flash: Older People Drive More Slowly

2011-07-18T17:07:00.001-04:00

That was a news headline I heard somewhere recently--maybe while at the gym since I almost never voluntarily listen to TV news.

Were there no rescued kitten stories that day?

State College Revisted

2011-07-18T11:44:00.024-04:00

We followed Carrie and Padhraig's little red car all the way to central PA this weekend to visit State College. I've been back there a few times since grad school (a couple of Christmases at Carrie's mom's house), but it seemed like it had been a long, long time. On Saturday, we went to Artsfest. First though, I wanted to walk through Heather Bloom, the apartment building/house I lived in for five years.Here is a picture of the door leading to the two bedroom apartment I first shared with Jodie, and then had all to myself after she and I became building managers. I don't know who's in there now. I didn't knock, but I was tempted.

Looks like not much has changed. Carl, who became the manager after us, is still in business. We met him when he first moved into the building and he was a recovering crack addict. He fell off the wagon once, and we had to take away the two cats he had accumulated. He climbed back on and I guess has been sober for a number of years. At least sober enough to cut the front lawn and trim back the bushes.Helen, who owns the building, is still alive. And, it looks like she still spends her summers in Alaska. She must be about 80 now.

Also, Adam Lupo, another fiction writer in my program, has clearly settled in for the duration. He's been in SC for about 12 years now. It's a good town--inexpensive, pretty, and you can make a living on adjunct teaching alone.

The outside of Heather Bloom. Jodie and I used to have to maintain the lawn and bushes and to paint and clean apartments whenever anyone moved out, which wasn't often.

The collision of my past with my present.

And this is Layla, Carrie's mom's cat. She has no claws and she will bite you if you mess with her too much.

The Willard Building on Penn State's campus. I used to each English writing classes here to disinterested college students.

Instead of going to the Artsfest, Padhraig went back to his old haunt and mine, Saints Cafe. Only grad students and former grad students allowed.

Here is Carrie with a morning cup of tea.

Clearly, these photos are in no particular order. A dog at the ArtsFest.

Some nature in Carrie's mom's yard. Find the chipmunk.

Another kind of nature.

This is a doll house that Luke and I arranged together. He really wanted to take one of the baby pigs in the house, but we decided it might be impolite to ask for it.

Find the bunny.

Oh, and two examples of the Pez dispense collection Carrie's mom has. Luke loved it.

So, yes, I miss State College, but it also seems like I lived there a really, really long time ago. It made me feel old to go back; not even because there were lots of college kids there, because I see them all the time here on Penn's campus. More because that way of living---teaching, writing, hanging out in coffee shops all the time--seems so far away.

Pictures I forgot to post a long time ago

2011-07-17T11:50:00.000-04:00

What Happened Here?

2011-07-14T09:06:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday AM, as I was dutifully walking to the gym, I passed this guy on the sidewalk:

I don't know how many details you can see from this photo, but just a few things of note. He's not homeless. He's nicely dressed and appears to have just camped out on the front sidewalk. He eyeglasses are perfectly arranged on his face--like, he didn't climb into the sleeping bag so chaotically that they are askew. He has a pillow. Someone went ahead and delivered the newspaper right next to him without waking him up. The other interesting thing that you probably can't see is that there is cat food strewn all over the place. That red bowl on the step has cat food in it and the rest of the Miaow Mix you can kind of make out sprinkled across the sidewalk.

So, what happened? I'm pretty sure that alcohol was involved, or else maybe it was some kind of What Would You Do scenario set up by hidden cameras. Would you stop and make sure this guy was okay or would you take a picture and keep on going? I chose option B.

No More Going Outside this Summer

2011-07-12T11:53:00.001-04:00

That's because it's ridiculously hot outside.I heard something on the radio today where they distinguished between the actual temperature and what temp. it would feel like outside. Like, actual temp is 98 degrees, but it will feel like 110 degrees..." I walked partway to work today, which was a mistake. By the time I got in, my hair was wet with sweat.

But never mind about that. I like this door.

Here is a cat eclipsed by the reflection from across the street.

A noble looking dog protecting his home.

And a cat with very yellow eyes.

And now, I will go dunk my head in a vat of cold water.

Happy Birthday, Trina: Here are Some Crappy Pictures to Remember it By

2011-07-10T09:33:00.001-04:00

My friend Trina had a birthday celebration on Friday--happy hour at the Continental at 18th and Chestnut. We got to meet her family and her other friends. I tried 3 of their speciality martinis: the Astronaut (unremarkable), the Tang (wherein the martini is rimmed with actual Tang), and the Twizzler (red, has a tight circle of Twizzlers as the garnish). I probably wouldn't order those again; only because they were so sugary and easy to slurp down and because I felt like I wasn't wearing the right outfit to be drinking a martini. Trina, however, fit right in. Here she is with the waitress (behind her) about to ask her if she would like the $500 check now or later.

Lisa and Trina. These photos are pretty bad and for that, I blame the mobile app.

Lisa and Casey. Casey bought me the Tang martini. Thanks, Casey!

A few of Trina's family--that's her mom to the far right; you could tell that right away because they look so similar.

And Fanny and Trina, contemplating a stack of shoestring fries (I think?).

I took a few more, but didn't add them there, because they were taken post 2 martinins, which means they were things I, at that time, thought would be interesting, like Lisa's toenail and a blurry martini glass and a speck of dirt on the floor. I'm hoping someone else was more responsible in documenting the event.

Near (though not on), the Street Where I Live

2011-07-08T10:20:00.001-04:00

In trying to keep the blogging streak for the week going, I took some pictures on the the way from the gym to work this morning. These are places or things I frequent or see pretty much every day, which I know my mom will appreciate.For example, we have Urban Jungle, a fairly newish development on Passyunk Avenue. I go in there periodically to admire the plants, flowers, sculptures, fountains, wind chimes, and bird houses. I like the idea of the possible things I could do to my back patio.

Liz and I eat breakfast here sometimes after working out. They have good coffee and they also have a jar of dog biscuits for your pups.

A potted plant. I don't notice this every day, but I thought it might be a cool photo.

Tasker Street, heading toward the Broad Street subway line. I have been going to the gym in the mornings for the last couple of weeks. We'll see how long that lasts. It is nice to have working out portion of my day done first thing in the AM.

The gym. Mostly, I just to the elliptical machine and watch bad TV. Pretty much at any time during the day on any given station, you can catch a movie with Drew Barrymore or Adam Sandler in it. I think I've mentioned this before, but it holds true.

The subway stop.

Okay, this is mean, but I can't help it. I see these two guys almost every day, either in the morning or after work. They must work together; I don't think they're partners, but they do travel to and from work together each day. The amazing thing is that the guy on the left side where's the same pair of Gap 1969 jeans every day. Or maybe it's one of 17 pairs of the same exact jeans that he owns, but every single time I've seen him, he has had these type of jeans on, with a shirt nicely tucked into the back. Today, I sat behind them and the subway and listened to them discuss some kind of video game or other; one asked the other guy how many lives he had left. I may be obsessed.

5 Things in My Office Today

2011-07-07T15:31:00.000-04:00

Being way behind the times (always), I just bought this app that allows you to take the pretend good pictures--pictures that have a kind of old-timey flair to them. I don't quite understand how it is that you get other frames around them or how you zoom in or zoom out with the lens. For $2.99, it seems kind of static. But here's what you might find around me.

First is my name spelled out in tacks, which Nicole (who used to have this office) made for me, so that I will never, ever forget how to spell it.

This is a photo of the photos on my windowsill. The naked baby in the middle is my mom in a washtub with her mom beside her.

This is a painted army guy that Jason gave to me. I have three of them.

A chocolate ballerina from Casey. When I showed it to Bart's little boy, Miles, he warned me not to let a dog eat it because it could poison him. We sometimes do have dogs here, so it was a good tip.

Books, mostly about writing fiction. I steal from these when I teach my fiction writing class.

Which reminds me, I just checked out a new book yesterday by Benjamin Black (a pseudonym for John Banville) called A Death in Summer. I read a review about it in Tuesday's New York Times and then was able to find it at the library here--I do love the Penn library.

Ballerina Shoes

2011-07-06T13:51:00.000-04:00

I bought these shoes at Green Street in Princeton last Saturday. I like them because they have a ballerina/sadomasochistic look to them, and because they're flats and so not much danger in me twisting my ankle.

But here's what they do to my feet. It's not terribly painful,but it is just a tiny bit uncomfortable. Please do not pay attention to my toenails, which definitely need to be painted.

What I Saw on the Trenton Line Thursday After Work

2011-07-05T11:29:00.000-04:00

This guy was trying to pick up the young woman sitting next to him. He mentioned several times that he had a private jet. If you have a private jet, I wonder, why are you on the regional rail? Perhaps the jet is getting a tune-up. He also asked her where she liked to shop (Guess, Bloomingdales, Sax Fifth Avenue). I couldn't hear everything he was saying, but I believe he also asked her if she had a boyfriend. Needless to say, he did not succeed in securing her phone number.

A Man After My Own Cat

2011-07-01T10:27:00.000-04:00

Padhraig sent me this video about the L'Homme Chat (the Cat Man)--a man who performs with his cats on the thoroughfares of France. Behold.

Bela: L'Homme Chat from Paul Trillo on Vimeo.

When it Rains, it Showers

2011-06-29T14:32:00.001-04:00

We had Carrie's baby shower a couple of weekends ago, and I took just a few photos. Here they are.I didn't take a ton, because it made me feel self-conscious and plus impaired my ability to eat everything.

Participants were given a letter of the alphabet to create a baby book. My letter was "L." Dan helped me make it.

Ioana and Stephanie did the decorations. It was a French theme.

Carrie and Padhriag got to keep the adorable baby clothes and shoes circa 1950s

Jenn Bing and I made the party favors--little earrings out of baby buttons + chocolate + a little candle.

This is Jeanne's dog, Dasher. He was exhausted by the end.

Twins. Both are nice (I'm told), though one is harder to get to know (they say).

Aside from my own letter, I thought "P" turned out very well too.

A giant brie.

Our host, Jeanne.

Carrie's mom, Joyce, is on the right. I do not know the other lady.

Carrie used to collect antiques, so this is what I got them. Later, someone warned them that the baby might die from lead poisoning in the paint. Jealous, much?

Gorgeous cookies made by a baker friend of Carrie's mom.

Cookie onesie.

Late in the party, someone arrived with these Eiffel Tower shortbread cookies. V. good.

The sign outside.

Not in My Genes

2011-06-28T14:51:00.000-04:00

Mom sent me these two pictures of her new quilt challenge. I can't remember exactly what the challenge was--maybe to create a quilt that focuses on reading or on the brain. But anyway, she made this quilt and you'll notice that it's covered in small handwriting; all of which she did herself.

Look closely. Those are all handwritten words.

See the detail?

I wish I had that kind of patience, but I don't. I also have never really learned to sew, despite my mother's many attempts to get me into it and the many sewing machines she's bought me, including the very nice Singer sewing machine currently in my second bedroom.. I like things to be done immediately. If I could make an outfit out of paper and glue, I would do it and wear it out the door.

I took a class in college when I was a drama major--something like Costume I and it was taught by this very tall and thin man named Fred (? I think?)and I had the distinct feeling that Fred didn't like me, but I guess he didn't like all that many people. He was grad student, had longish hair, and never smiled. I did my final sewing project at home with my mom's help; a really cute polka dotted skirt and top that was just a tiny bit too small. I guess Fred didn't buy that I made it all on my own, because I got a "D." In sewing.

Photos for You

2011-06-14T11:06:00.001-04:00

I can't even begin to tell you the clatter these high heels made on the subway steps.

Here is a cat who looks like he's in jail.

And another who is very casual.

This is a photo from this morning's walk to the subway. Very mysterious

And just so you don't think I"m too cat-centric, here is a dog from Alumni Weekend this past May.

And his buddy.

I am 95% sure that I will be going to Home Depot again today for sandpaper and to have keys made. Let me know if you need me to pick you up anything. They know me by name now.

Keep the Bugs and Cats Out

2011-06-13T16:46:00.001-04:00

Ernesto. I screened that bitch out.

Here is a terrible picture attempting to depict the screen roll-away door that Dan added to my back patio. It's ingenious, especially for a house like mine, wherein the door frame would need to be built out to add an actual door. This one rolls out and attaches via magnets, so you don't have have hinges or anything complicated. Dan installed it and almost right away, Emma Carol charged it and actually ran under the screen, as if she had suddenly morphed into water. For whatever reason, this didn't break the screen, but I could see it might be a problem in the future. I also bought a ceiling fan at Home Depot this weekend for $70. I'm going to hire someone to put it in. Dan has refused on the grounds that he might short circuit the entire house.

House Improvements

2011-06-09T15:13:00.000-04:00

The bad news first: I killed my free dogwood tree. It's totally crispy and brown. It's because I didn't water it enough. The good news is that I had an air conditioning company come out on Tuesday, and the guy fixed the central air for a mere $312. It's totally worthy it, though of course, I was hoping it would cost just the standard $89 for a tune up. He had to replace some kind of metal thing. I also learned where my filters are located. The one that the guy pulled out looked like it had 15 years worth of cat hair on it, which is probably accurate. So, immediately after that, Dan and I went to Lowe's and bought new filters. I put it in myself. Hooray! The other house improvement we made was to add a rolling screen door on the back patio. Previously, I couldn't get any cross ventilation b.c there was no back screen door, but then my sister-in-law mentioned this accordion-type screen door thing, so we bought that and Dan finished it up on Tuesday too. A miracle. I thought I would have to pay someone to build out the door or do something to the frame to give me extra space to add a door, but it's fine. Of course, it's 100 degrees here today, so I won't be even opening the door at all, probably not for the next few months of summer.

And then the other night, I woke up suddenly because one of my cats jumped on my face, or landed on my face, or leapt from my face. Here is the damage. I will never work for Avon again:

I guess you can't really see all of the marks--one above my life and two on my eye. Trust me, they exist.

Shoes

2011-06-02T12:14:00.000-04:00

Now that it's officially summer (and HOT. And my central air appears to be broken so that I sleep most nights flat on my back on top of the covers with two fans blowing on me), sandals and flip flops are back in. I don't think I ever even wore flip flops until maybe the last 5 years. I've never gotten used to having a piece of plastic wedged between my two front toes. I have maybe one pair that I can wear for any length of time. But here are a couple of examples of summer foot wear that you will not catch me in:

You can't really tell in the photograph below, but those are white patent leather shoes. How did these women get down or up the subway stairs without tripping and knocking out their two front teeth?

And then, not to go too far off topic, but I admire the bravery and unselfconsciousness of the man below, who is happy to read his subscription of Wood magazine on the subway without shame. I wonder what the articles are like and how, if you were a contributor to this niche publication, you would avoid creating pun-like titles for every article?

Cat Adventures

2011-05-23T17:16:00.000-04:00

I have bruises all over my arm because Ernesto escaped the house on Sunday night. I'm not even sure when or how he got out. He's like a ghost. It had to be when Dan was coming or going with groceries. However, we didn't notice he was gone until maybe 2 hours later, despite the fact that Dan made turkey and Ernesto is usually underfoot when food is cooking and when the food is served. I don't know why I didn't notice his absence then, but it wasn't until about 8 o'clock that I realized he was nowhere to be found. We looked all over the house (I even checked in the washing machine), and then we split up outside to look for him. I felt like an idiot walking around the neighborhood, shaking a bag of treats and going, Ernestoooooooooo! with a kissing noise at the end. This went on for about two hours--I kept thinking how bad I would feel if I just gave up and didn't look down one more street or another street. I started imagining how I would post a notice to Craig's list for a missing cat and then how I would have to make fliers to put on telephone poles to make other people really sad. I thought I would find him run over by a car and have to euthanize him with a shovel or something, like the guy in Blood Simple.

Finally, I asked Dan to go buy a can of cat food--because, like all cats, I knew Ernesto would have a Pavlovian response to the sound of the tin can opening. I walked around a few more streets and behind the church and then went into the back yard and flung myself over the top of the wall, calling to him and clicking with the can. And he showed up. I was bare foot, but climbed over the wall and dropped to the other side--I didn't want to waste any time. Then I couldn't find him. He had vanished. I was shaking. I walked to the end of the alleyway, calling to him and couldn't find him. When I turned around, he was behind me. He didn't want to come to me though, b/c he was freaked out. I opened the can and he finally trotted over. I scooped him up, and started going back to the house. By then, Emma Carol had gotten up on top of the wall and was ready to make her escape. I threw Ernesto over into my hard and realized then that I had no real way to get back over the wall. I climbed up on some of the bricks. Emma Carol was poised to leap into my neighbor's back yard. I grabbed her in a not nice way, she screeched, and I threw her over too. Then I had to figure out how to get back over--which is when I realized that I did not, in fact, have one of those adrenaline-rush super power moments where you get really strong. My arms are weak, and my first attempt to hoist myself over failed. Then I had to remind myself to be just a little careful that I didn't break my leg. The next time I threw myself at the wall, I got some leverage and was able to get over. Ernesto and Emma Carol ran inside and, shortly after, Ernesto passed out in a dead sleep on the carpet. I ordered tags for them the next day.

Found

No Time for Comments, but Here are Some More JJ Pictures

2011-05-19T14:56:00.001-04:00

Listen Up

2011-05-19T14:50:00.000-04:00

I don't always hear or see interesting things in the city. I mean, I eavesdrop when I can, but much of what I hear is irritating cell phone conversations. I did listen to a long and involved conversation between a mother and her son about how disgusting the trolley smelled (to be fair, it did have a baby diaper smell to it). The raggedy-looking homeless guy in front of them turned around and said to them, "Thank God you smell it too. I thought it was me." The mom then used the stink as a teaching moment, to tell explain to her son that some people might ahve medical conditions and be unable to help themselves from uncontrollable smells and noises. "Be glad for the grace of God, it's not you." The more they talked about it, the worse the place smelled.

This morning, I heard an Italian looking guy talking on his cell phone and going, "How 'bout I pop over for a minute. Have a cup of coffee." That sounded like a good morning to me.

Then Dan told me about a conversation her heard between a guy and a girl. The guy said, "Would you want to go with me to this concert on Saturday?" And the girl immediately came up with, "Oh, I can't! I might be running a half-marathon the next day." Good one! Does anybody decide whether they're going to run 13 miles the day of the race? Maybe.

The Cutest Baby in the World

2011-05-12T10:11:00.000-04:00

Would be this one:

Here he is, blurry,though still cute.Might I add that he loves me.

And this is Luke, the father.

The next photo illustrates why Liz will never move to Philadelphia. In case it's hard for you to tell, this subway passenger has a sword next to him.

Finally, two cats in doorways, both living on the same street.

May Day + I'm a Nerd

2011-05-02T14:36:00.000-04:00

While I'm not, you know, sad that Osama bin Laden is dead, I don't necessarily think people should be celebrating, even in the streets of New York outside of the World Trade Center. Like, it's not a sporting event. Your team didn't just win the Superbowl. It doesn't help that I don't necessarily believe that they had to shoot him b/c he was threatening--I would imagine that the special forces were told to just go ahead and kill him, regardless of what he was doing. No point in due process. Buried at sea? Hmm...Don't buy that either. He's going to be cryogenic-ally frozen to have his brain dissected or something. Am I a becoming a conspiracy theorist? No way there was only one shooter for Kennedy! The main thing I care about is that I hope, hope, hope this means that President Obama will be re-elected.

In other news, I got an "A" in my art history grad class at Penn. I jumped up and down when I saw it. I am a total nerd. And here's how messy my hair is today. I'm showing you the "good"side--the side that doesn't show my terrible roots that I'm too lazy to fix.

Weekend Life in Princeton

2011-04-30T09:10:00.001-04:00

While Dan is attending Luke's holiest of holy communions today at the Saint Christ's Church of the Apostles of the Cathedral Within the Body of the Lord, I'm sitting in the Small World Coffee in the heart of Princeton (Padhraig refers to it as Third World Coffee). Not much happening here--a few academics arguing, a guy reading a book and cleaning his glasses, an obnoxious three year old boy who's talking too loud, and no visible places to plug in the laptop, so I just watch helplessly as the power drains out of the computer. Luke's ceremony has just started, so I have an hour or more to kill and then we'll got out for breakfast with Dan's mom and aunt. Luke's mom is throwing him a communion party at her house. I will not be attending. Dan is bringing a video camera to capture the memories. I'm very curious about what it will be like. Here is my current view:

Later, we will have Luke and probably go eat at Whole Foods and maybe rent a movie from the library. Someday, I hope that I will actually start writing again. I'm thinking about taking a summer writing class at Penn--but it meets two nights a week. Could I manage that? Yes. Am I lazy though? Yes.

Friday Photos

2011-04-29T14:40:00.001-04:00

Sadly, Easter is over, but the decorations still live on. Stay tuned for Memorial Day and hundreds of flags to come.

This cat reminds me of Ernesto. He is totally enamored of a bird on the wire above him.

Dogs in windows.

We went to Gettysburg last weekend and I took a total of three photos. I am not much into the history of the Civil War.

Multiply this view by 100 and you've seen all of Gettysburg.

Here is a real life Civil War re-enactor. We got into a little bit of trouble for listening to him, because, as this blond woman explained, it was a paid tour and we hadn't paid.

I took this picture yesterday of a window near my neighborhood that just happens to look like everything we saw in Gettysburg.

The Christmas-all-year-round house.

Penn gave city-dwelling staff trees as part of their sustainable effort. Isn't that amazing? I got a dogwood.

Dan and I have since ripped out the lattice work in the backyard and the tree has leaves.

Not a very threatening looking dog if you ask me.

Fuzzy cat.

My artistic cat picture showing urban blight and disdain, but yet also, the hope offered by a fake rose...........

My Creepy Blog

2011-04-28T13:14:00.000-04:00

Liz happened on my blog recently and said she wasn't sure what I was doing with all of these subway photos of people. I haven't yet had the chance to let her know that I was doing it in part for my art history class, which is now over. I turned my paper in on Tuesday. I think that it possibly sucked. I also gave him a few samples of the subway photos. I think I might keep doing it, because I actually enjoy being a voyeur in this way.

Here are some more for you to creep out over. This girl is actually using an eyelash curler on the subway.

She's with it.

There is just no way this guy doesn't play some kind of horn.

I think I've seen this woman on the subway before. She looks sad to me.

Paper.

They can't know I'm taking their picture though, right?

These kind of photos really appeal to me for some reason.

Obligatory shot of my own shoes, as is done by every 16 year old with a new camera.

Vulnerable

2011-04-20T15:52:00.001-04:00

We saw a man get on the trolley today who looked like he had just done a Picasso before breakfast by searing off his ear with a butter knife and then patching it up with what appears to be a brown grocery bag.

The man nearest him had a birth mark on his neck. I wondered if he knew about it (probably) and how much it bothered him to know it was there (hopefully not much. I found it to be endearing. I like a little physical vulnerability in men. A little--I don't want to beat them in an arm wrestling match or anything). I did, however, have a great urge to tuck in his sweater tag.

The long view.

We saw this man too and Dan said, Oh, look, he's reading the letter (in reference to my project on Sophie Calle's Take Care of Yourself, where all of her photographs are of women reading a break-up email letter she received). I can't wait to include this in my final portfolio.