Misdirected melodrama a cue for windfall?
It was a very long week. This was the week when April showers came down to placate the smog. They say it brings May flowers, but it also appears to act as some sort of metaphysical serum that delivers an almost radioactive sense of entitlement to some. I find it all very amusing, but I hear I’m wacky!
Otherwise, no news yet… But if melodrama occurring just offstage is any indication, it’s going to be better than I expect!
From the Poisoned Pen of a Deceased Mind...
If I were to write a vocational memoir my high concept would be “
The Devil Wears Prada” meets “
All the President’s Men” but stupider. It would play like classic British satire but with a Brooklyn accent. A sort of saucier
Evelyn Waugh, if you will…
Now if I could just think of the Brooklyn way to unsterilize this but keep it relatively poetic:
"I came to the conclusion many years ago that almost all crime is due to the repressed desire for aesthetic expression."
I, Kalivs?
Had a pow wow with The Powers That Be. I’ll announce the news as it breaks. For the moment, the wheels are in motion. But the phrase ‘hollow victory’ keeps popping up in my head. This reminds me of my first official boyfriend, the one I brought home.
We were together on and off for a few years. There was even talk of marriage. But it was going nowhere in so many ways, it would have been what Lady Astor used to refer as “marrying below my station.” In the end, what hurt most was that I had to break up with his mother!
I still miss her sometimes, although she was so sweetly misguided. She implored with me not to leave her son, because after all her own husband had been a philandering young man and now he was a happily married man. I didn’t have the heart to break the illusion she so carefully built to protect her dignity.
There’s no sweet, loving mama here, just intrigue that would rival any episode of “
I, Claudius!” – but without the charm or smart dialogue, the costumes, the great production or historical value. It
might make a great little trashy book, the kind girls with big hair and long synthetic nails take to the beach in the summer… You know what they say about the pen being mightier than a katana, right?
Let all the poisons that lurk in the mud hatch out, indeed!
Beauty Personified
You know that feeling of being in love, that moment you recognize it and feel a mutual surge of electricity that binds you to another? That’s exactly what today feels like.
There is no humidity, it is about 80 degrees but with a faint breeze to take the sting of a hot sun on your skin for any extended period of time. This
is the apotheosis of a lovely day!
And the best part is that unlike the real thing, I know I won’t ever have to break up with the day. When it is done giving me all I want from a day, it will draw to close by turning to darkness and leaving me with the memory of true love…
Goodbye
It is done.
Yesterday, customers, donors, workers and volunteers, friends and neighbors gathered at the empty thrift store. We brought food and beverage and desserts. We gathered one last time in a place that made us an extended family – with all its ups and downs, all the dramas, and the laughs, the tears and love.
Some friendships are stronger than others and will survive this change. Some people I know I will never see again. It was fun to get together, but there was an underlying sadness that stayed with me for hours afterward. It was emotionally draining.
Still, we are planning several events – a graduation, a barbecue and another ladies’ night in the hidden garden. But Saturday put a period at the end of a long history. Like I said, it is done. There isn't much more I can say about it.
Laissez le bon roulement de périodes!
It has been a long week, and the exclamation point to end this sentence follows the discovery that with twice the opportunities before me, I not only remain in limbo but even deeper in the chasm. I’m stuck in some sort of sadomasochistic government-run alternative universe in which Albert Einstein’s quote becomes, “Bureaucracy is the death of all sanity!”
I’ll do the unexpected and restrain myself from further comment, but know that I’m miffed.
My Uncle Joe suggested that perhaps we’d want to move to the house in Santa Rosa. While I intended never to live in the house from my childhood, I figure if I’m going to be screwed, why not be screwed in paradise? We can’t right now, nothing is going to happen until after Mom has her thyroid operation. My instinct is not to go, in fact I dismissed it, but it is a women’s prerogative to change her mind, say
f*ck this and start over in any way the universe allows.
It’s a never-ending freaking masquerade, my life…
There are some beautiful masks here: http://www.maskasoo.com/
What if College Defined You?
In the wake of the shootings at VTU, the media have tried desperately to speak to former classmates and the roommate and suitemates of the shooter. Unfortunately, since the young man appears to have been a loner and a bit anti-social, their opinions tend more towards speculation than actual knowledge.
Imagine if all the world knew about you came from former college roommates? When I went away to school my first lodging was in the dorms, a ghetto of beer aficionados. My roommates were two blondes named Lisa. I had nothing in common with those girls. I left shortly after moving on campus because I felt more comfortable in a less crowded space and surrounded by upper classmen. We were still friendly whenever we saw each other, but we were not friends.
My second roommate was a 16-year-old little pilgrim that prayed over my corrupted soul. Constantly. She probably gets down on her knees and prays for me if she ever remembers me. I didn’t go to church, I often spent days away sleeping god knew where! She actually lectured me once about how a girl’s reputation was her most precious asset. I was 19 (never mind that I was still a virgin, she didn’t know that and it was none of her damned business anyway).
The last roommate and I had no frame of reference to understand the others’ upbringing. We didn’t go to the same parties, we didn’t share friends, interests, tastes in food or fashion, we had different majors and we even slept different shifts. We lived completely separate lives. I had three separate posses and she was happy hanging out with the girls in our suite. I was there to explore and expand my horizons, and after 16 years of being sheltered I was ready to run wild.
What if the only data available to define me was the reminisces of these four? Two probably thought I couldn’t rock out, one probably thought I was the actual whore of Babylon and I have to idea what the last one thought. Certainly you’d get a picturesque description but nothing close to whom I am.
Counting Blessings & Coughing a Hairball
I had friend who owned this magnificent and enormous longhaired cat. Mom called him Lard Butt, and he responded to it – inasmuch as cat responds to anything or anyone, though we suspected he thought he was a puppy (what with the fetching and all). I used to be the designated cat-sitter whenever his mistress went out of town. My allergies were just beginning to rear its ugliness at me then. This meant I could only spend two nights in a row and then the third night I needed a cat free environment. He’d get really pissed about it, but if I sat with him, played with for a while and stayed in watching TV (while hand-feeding him popcorn), he’d forgive me…
This morning I awoke feeling as if Lard Butt had slept on my chest the entire evening. This requires a lot more than Mucinex is designed to do.
Yet, despite how horrible I may feel, I can’t really complain. Today across the tri-state area there are thousands of people underwater, some had their homes destroyed in floods. And then there was that massacre at VTU this morning, leaving thousands horrified and helpless to make it better.
The End is Near!
The news around here make it sound as if we’re on the path of the
Armageddon Storm – a historic thing that will forever change the essence of life as we know it (insert ominous music in your head here).
Accordingly, I have decided that our last meal in the
World We Know should be stewed chicken with potatoes. Simple and understated because even the end of the world is nothing to go crazy about, come on... Nobody around here seems all that taken despite al the warnings of impending doom.
But if you are keeping track, the end is coming shortly after midnight. I want to watch “Marie Antoinette” before we all go. Have a fabu rest of the weekend for all survivors!
Noreaster Past Easter? No way!
They have promised us a legendary storm starting Sunday. The National Guard is ready to mobilize. Sounds serious to me! I don't quite believe them, because they've been wrong a lot lately. But this is freaky. I have DVDs, I have food and I expect very little of the coming week. So why not add snow to mix? My life isn't surreal enough...
How's this for planned obsolescence?
According to
The Independent, a white paper published on the journal
Reproduction: Gamete Biology claims scientists are readying to produce sperm from women’s bone marrow tissue – which may allow them the opportunity for an all-female conception.
Researchers have produced sperm cells from male bone marrow and giving them the opportunity to restore their fertility. In the case of female bone marrow, it still remains to be seen whether it will be viable. Scientifically we are nowhere near all-matriarchal reproduction. And researches say that because any sperm produced from female bone marrow would create only daughters, because it would lack the Y chromosome to create boys.
But theoretically speaking, it is possible that we can have all-female conception and a new race of
Amazons*. That is awesome!
I should live so long…
*If you are interested in the continuing research on the genetics of the Amazons, read this interview with Jeannine Davis-Kimball.
When the Universe Sends You Fruit...
I got home tonight and a friend of ours sent me a little gift: a bunch of green seedless grapes.
Is the Universe sending me
fruit? It would be awesome if life could be that simple. You have a whim and the Universe acquiesces to you. But then poor Brad Pitt would get no sleep. Not from me, I’m more interested in Andy Garcia but I am fairly sure he will never leave his wife.
Our late friend Albert (which is a funny way to refer to him because he was always late and we were all convinced if there was a physical way to do it, he’d be late for his own funeral; instead it was the priest that showed up on
San Juan Time and we thought that was a great tribute to our flaky friend) – anyway, Albert was a devout Catholic and he strongly believed that if you asked God nicely for what you needed, he’d answer your prayers.
What does it say about me that what I pray for is the base of wine – sweet, sweet wine? And now UB40 is singing “
Red, Red Wine” in my head. I’ll try anything to make myself a little happier.
Lying Fruit?
I just outright lied to myself today. Got a little fruit salad with cottage cheese for lunch—a nectarine half, some seedless grapes, pineapple, cantaloupe, kiwis and a little Jell-o
(there’s always room for Jell-o!). But what was the point of that? It isn’t as if the last 10 unhealthy lunches will be erased from some cosmic slate and the Epicurean gods will forgive me my sins and take off 20 pounds right off the thighs…
That actually didn’t cross my mind, I saw the fruit and immediately wanted it. The frost of the last week and the upcoming few days will cause the supply to wither and the prices to go the way of gasoline. I don’t know when I’ll be able to afford or see fresh fruit again.
Plus it throws my office mates when I come back without chicken. I like being an enigma of sorts.
Sweet, sweet garlic!
A very good friend sent us a box of reading materials. My personal favorite, as I’m sure she knew it would happen, is a little book called “
Side Dishes,” by Deirdre Davis.
Two recipes in particular stole my heart. One involves three things I really like: carrots, black olives and 2-dozen garlic cloves. The second recipe, surprisingly, involves garlic too.
(Who saw that one coming?) That one is about pickled whole garlic cloves. Not for the faint of heart…
It’s something to look forward to in a week when I am bound to be disappointed several times over. Thank Goddess for girlfriends that treat you right and give you nourishment in more ways than just candy-coated!
Good Friday at Grandma's
Good Friday makes me think of
escabeche for dinner.
My great grandmother used to have this giant glass jar that she used for it and you could see the beautiful layers of fish and red and green peppers, onions, garlic, herbs, olives and specks of pepper and beans. It sat, marinating for a week, soaking oil and vinegar and citrus juices.
She’d serve it at room temperature, over rice or sometimes with boiled tubers. Sometimes she added chopped tomatoes and slices of boiled eggs (I also love it nestled in rounds of avocado). I never learned her secret and no one else ever made it as good as hers. If there is a heaven, she is in it, cooking – and making angels sing and doing a little dance the way I did when she fed me.
Labels: escabeche, fish, food
Grumpier She-Monster
I was grumpy yesterday. Cranky applies too. Occasionally, I’d catch myself in mid-bitchiness and it would throw me for a loop. The worst part was that I made everyone else bitchy too. It was viral bitchiness and I was Typhoid Mary!
Nothing in particular happened to have created the seething madness.
Today I figured it out. Lots and lots of interrupted sleep!
Our sudden return to winter in April has caused my chest congestion to return and this morning I awoke dreaming that I was being smothered by a dark, faceless giant. It is very hard to have a good night’s sleep when it feels you have a 70-pound weight sitting on your chest and there’s Niagara Falls dripping in the back of your throat, except it tastes like liquified burnt plastic (sorry, I know how gross that sounds; imagine how I feel about it). It’s enough to piss you off for hours and hours. Hopefully it will be over soon. Allergy season interrupted by a cold spell with snow flurries can’t last forever right? BTW, anyone got Al Gore’s cell number? I want a word…
People, boundaries!!!
Etiquette dictates that a lady should never apply more than lipstick in public … This behavior was drilled into us since childhood. At the dinner table, the most you may do is reapply lipstick and even that is still considered rude by many. Even in an age where we are so pressed for time, I turn my nose at women who choose to do their grooming in the subway (though I was certainly guilty of this in my youth). I could expertly apply mascara and eyeliner in a moving train, even the old diesel engines that traveled to Long Island. But I never went to Tammy Faye extremes and was done in less than two minutes. (Admittedly still guilty.)
I have seen old women bring out their bag of tricks with dozens of miracle potions and begin applying foundation and layers of spackle to masses of morbid spectators, virtual prisoners of their fate, during rush hour. Then they move on to the hair, the hairspray, the mousse and the perfume, and finally the retouching of the mask.
This morning I was writing in my little journal when I heard this tiny electronic whine. I was wondering where the heck it was coming from, when I inadvertently voiced the question. The guy sitting next to me flicked my knee with his pen, I gave him the evil eye and he gestured to the row of seats across from us. Sitting there was this fat dude in a suit, with a miniscule battery-operated razor shaving his face as he read a book!
I looked at him in complete disbelief and I wanted to say,
“Wow, that’s the smallest dildo I’ve ever seen.” I think it’s enough that the rumble we all felt was Emily Post desperately trying to get out of her grave to come into the R train and slap him. Yes, slap him! I believe that whole
freakingheartedly.
Grooming in public is just not sexy, my friends... Though it looks good on this guy -- but that's because he is half naked and has lovely pecks and abs. The rest of you: do it at home!
When a "Sure Thing" Falls Apart
Friday night Craig Ferguson did a hilarious bit in which he picked the championship teams. Based solely on team logos, he immediately eliminated the Georgetown Hoyas because their bulldog resembled a San Francisco leather queen’s dog. He also eliminated the UCLA Bruins because their big bear looked like he plucked his eyebrows and had some hair product up top (like there’s something wrong with a metrosexual bear).
Fergie’s champion was OSU because, while he has no idea what a Buckeye is, their team logo is a giant O and
“nobody beats Oprah.” That's what youc all a sure thing, if you're a betting man, right?
This seems absolutely ridiculous, but I think he guessed correctly on every major sports event of the last year (World Series, Super Bowl, Stanley Cup championship, etc…). I watched almost expecting a miracle comeback from Ohio!
I asked my Mother exactly what a Buckeye was and her response was,
“Stop asking me that, I already told you I don’t know! Why don’t you just Google it?!” Whatever it is, it got eaten by Gators! (It says it’s “the inedible nutlike seed of the horse chestnut” but I didn’t know horses had nuts on their chest.)
Update: Called the agency and they’ve offered an alternative that would allow me some room to extend the period before I bolt. It was well received. It remains to be seen, but I am willing to respond with good will of my own if shown some. I don’t understand why a simple request is harder to consider than one with a threat attached to it, why not avoid unpleasantness? Why must there be
poking of the kitty? ‘Cause that’s a mistake…
A Return to Happiness (another fool's errand?)
The last three days were a sort of retreat for me.
I spent it decorating Easter cookies with these really cool edible ink markers. I spent Saturday night watching the final four duke it out of the championship. I wrote my monthly
food column (two kick-ass vinaigrettes). And I made peace with my decision. No heavy lifting or existential baggage to carry forth.
Word has come down that the situation will be resolved in two weeks. This gives me a definite timetable and I will accept it at face value. However, I will also do as I intended and prepare to gather up my things and go if this doesn’t happen. My first phone call of the day will set things in motion.
I can’t celebrate what isn’t a reality and to disregard the history there would be ignorant and stupid. Best to be prepared…
This weekend was one of quiet reflection, time to mourn what might be lost and a time to gather up whatever I have left within to propel myself into a new beginning. Things are going to change in one way or another. Perhaps this time the change will lead to something more tangibly resembling success. The difference this time is that I’m going forward with the knowledge that I have more power than it appears, ultimately whatever may come, I make the final decision where to go, when and how. I am, in fact, mistress of my own destiny!
