Bill Mueller, My New Hero
Yeah, it's good to be from Boston, home of the Red Sox and player extraordinaire Bill Mueller. I sorely miss going to the games. My friend Joe has weeknight tickets and spoiled me to death one year taking me on an almost a weekly basis to the park. There's just something about coming up the steps and seeing that wide, bright stretch of technicolor green grass under a black sky. The guys would be out on the field throwing the ball around, warming up. And you would settle into your plastic seat with a pencil and a scorecard for a nice long night of pitches and hits, strikeouts and runs...nothing like it.
I'm far from home now, and I don't have cable, so I admit I'm not really paying attention to baseball, but Bill Mueller's history-making grand slams from both sides of the plate, and against the Texas Rangers no less, sure did catch my attention. Even though I hadn't heard of him before. Because, like I said, I haven't been paying attention. Apparently we are only 1 1/2 games behind the Yankees in the AL East. Where have I BEEN? I am a bad, bad fan. But a happy fan.
Go Sox!
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Poetic License
I've been running into a whole smorgasbord of humorous poetry lately, too humorous not to share.
First there was Karen Zipdrive of Pulp Friction with Bush Writes Haiku:
I am so tired
I think I'll call Jenna up
to score me some crank
And then we had Sarah B from Que Sera Sera, with Happy Birthday Poems for an Ex Boyfriend:
Happy Birthday!
Do I want to hear another song you wrote on the guitar?
For the love of God
NO.
And then Jodi sent me these links to Dan's Aborted Limericks:
When making banana cream pie
You need neither to broil nor to fry
But remember you must
That the secret to crust
Is to add enough butter to make it nice and flaky
And still MORE aborted limericks:
A butterfly out on a branch
Caused an awfully big avalanche
Just by flapping his wings
He set motion to things
And that's how simple people explain chaos theory
I believe some POETIC COMMENTING is in order.
I've been running into a whole smorgasbord of humorous poetry lately, too humorous not to share.
First there was Karen Zipdrive of Pulp Friction with Bush Writes Haiku:
I am so tired
I think I'll call Jenna up
to score me some crank
And then we had Sarah B from Que Sera Sera, with Happy Birthday Poems for an Ex Boyfriend:
Happy Birthday!
Do I want to hear another song you wrote on the guitar?
For the love of God
NO.
And then Jodi sent me these links to Dan's Aborted Limericks:
When making banana cream pie
You need neither to broil nor to fry
But remember you must
That the secret to crust
Is to add enough butter to make it nice and flaky
And still MORE aborted limericks:
A butterfly out on a branch
Caused an awfully big avalanche
Just by flapping his wings
He set motion to things
And that's how simple people explain chaos theory
I believe some POETIC COMMENTING is in order.
Monday, July 28, 2003
It's a Thin Line
There is one topic in particular which is decidedly off limits on this blog, laundry I'm unwilling to air publicly, but when things are happening in that department I find myself unable to switch gears and write about something else. And so it's been almost a week.
I can tell you, however, that I attended a party on Friday night with a Love/Hate theme, and came appropriately accessorized:
(it is very difficult to write upside down in Sharpie with your non-dominant hand, but I think I did an OK job)
You can just barely make out the ghastly necklace given to me one mother's day with birthstone charms (synthetic of course) of my two oldest children. It's just about the worst piece of jewelry anyone could possibly give me, and until Friday it had never seen the light of day. But this was a love/hate party, and we were instructed to dress appropriately. Jodi will be pleased to know that I wore my little black dress (with a lot of belly, I might add, showing through) and strappy shoes to counterbalance the necklace. I also brought succotash, because I love lima beans, but I know there are many of you out there who find lima beans revolting. (Little known fact: lima beans are full of cyanide! What's not to love?) Food featured at the party included anchovy pizza, sardines, rhubarb soup, black licorice, goat cheese, pate, brussels sprouts and vegemite. Brian mixed dirty martinis, we all wore nametags and there was some karaoke singing and truth or dare Jenga. AND I left the kids at home with a sitter and came home to find my kitchen cleaned (including succotash dishes), the high chair completely cleared of Cheerios, the stovetop scrubbed, and she had bathed all of my children. The woman definitely earned her pay. All in all, an excellent party.
There is one topic in particular which is decidedly off limits on this blog, laundry I'm unwilling to air publicly, but when things are happening in that department I find myself unable to switch gears and write about something else. And so it's been almost a week.
I can tell you, however, that I attended a party on Friday night with a Love/Hate theme, and came appropriately accessorized:
(it is very difficult to write upside down in Sharpie with your non-dominant hand, but I think I did an OK job)
You can just barely make out the ghastly necklace given to me one mother's day with birthstone charms (synthetic of course) of my two oldest children. It's just about the worst piece of jewelry anyone could possibly give me, and until Friday it had never seen the light of day. But this was a love/hate party, and we were instructed to dress appropriately. Jodi will be pleased to know that I wore my little black dress (with a lot of belly, I might add, showing through) and strappy shoes to counterbalance the necklace. I also brought succotash, because I love lima beans, but I know there are many of you out there who find lima beans revolting. (Little known fact: lima beans are full of cyanide! What's not to love?) Food featured at the party included anchovy pizza, sardines, rhubarb soup, black licorice, goat cheese, pate, brussels sprouts and vegemite. Brian mixed dirty martinis, we all wore nametags and there was some karaoke singing and truth or dare Jenga. AND I left the kids at home with a sitter and came home to find my kitchen cleaned (including succotash dishes), the high chair completely cleared of Cheerios, the stovetop scrubbed, and she had bathed all of my children. The woman definitely earned her pay. All in all, an excellent party.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Blogland
Watching one relationship crash and burn in blogland, and another take its first baby steps, leaves me feeling just a little...weird. Guilty? Not exactly, they chose to make it public. But weird. Blogs are weird. But I'm crane-my-neck-at-a-car-wreck fascinated by it all. Maybe this is all just because I'm not paying for cable tv anymore, so I have to look somewhere else for my soap operas. Nice of the internet to provide.
On another blog-related tack, if I read one more post by some self-important self-proclaimed blogging old-timer about what he or she does and doesn't like to read on other peoples' blogs, well...I"ll continue to not bother to comment. But it does irritate me, these people who seek somehow to set themselves above everyone else by declaring the masses of bloggers to be link-hungry whores or boring pedantics or whatever. It is what it is. Write your own stuff, quit worrying about everyone else's fucking blog. Of course, by posting this I'm ignoring my own advice, but there ya go. You'll never hear me saying what I think blogging should and shouldn't be.
And, people? What happened to the commenting? I had a lovely little readership thing going here where you actually came by and said a few things, and that made me so happy. Do I need to be a link-hungry whore to get a little participation around here?
Watching one relationship crash and burn in blogland, and another take its first baby steps, leaves me feeling just a little...weird. Guilty? Not exactly, they chose to make it public. But weird. Blogs are weird. But I'm crane-my-neck-at-a-car-wreck fascinated by it all. Maybe this is all just because I'm not paying for cable tv anymore, so I have to look somewhere else for my soap operas. Nice of the internet to provide.
On another blog-related tack, if I read one more post by some self-important self-proclaimed blogging old-timer about what he or she does and doesn't like to read on other peoples' blogs, well...I"ll continue to not bother to comment. But it does irritate me, these people who seek somehow to set themselves above everyone else by declaring the masses of bloggers to be link-hungry whores or boring pedantics or whatever. It is what it is. Write your own stuff, quit worrying about everyone else's fucking blog. Of course, by posting this I'm ignoring my own advice, but there ya go. You'll never hear me saying what I think blogging should and shouldn't be.
And, people? What happened to the commenting? I had a lovely little readership thing going here where you actually came by and said a few things, and that made me so happy. Do I need to be a link-hungry whore to get a little participation around here?
Monday, July 21, 2003
Weekend Highlights
We went to see Esther's Follies on Friday night. This is an Austin mainstay show -- political satire, magic tricks, juggling and general merry-making performed on a stage in front of floor-to-ceiling windows which look out on 6th Street so that all passers by can both watch and participate. Occasionally, mercifully, they drop some curtains down. Anyway, a good time was had by all thanks to Brian who won the tickets on the radio (answer: Hugo Weaving). We left the baby with a friend of Brian's and made our escape on the motorcycle, so all in all it was a pretty hot date. And cheap. Driving back to the babysitter's house through Austin at midnight on the back of the bike with my skirt hiked up made me feel precisely like a teenager. But in a good way.
Saturday was pozole, which always makes me happy. Then I spent the day working at Brian's house on the new, cute little computer he put together. Then a trip up to Fry's to buy accessories for my new, fabulous, shiny Tungsten T which I bought used from Brian just this week. And home to watch the DVD of 25th Hour, which was entirely worth watching. Of course almost anything with Philip Seymour Hoffman is entirely worth watching. Still, I think Spike has got his groove back, which is good, since he's young and it would be pitiful if he lost it already.
So many links! And we haven't even gotten to Sunday yet! Except, you know, Sunday was pretty much a total loss. I can't even remember if we left the house. There was an incident involving chicken broth and leftover chinese food that turned out rather badly. And, yes, at 9 pm we did manage to get out of the house to go to the local pub for dinner, but that was it. The locals were very impressed with Javi's general quietness and good nature at the pub. We explained that he had spent a good deal of time there in utero, so it was something of a second home for him. I'm raising my kids to be good little beer drinkers.
We went to see Esther's Follies on Friday night. This is an Austin mainstay show -- political satire, magic tricks, juggling and general merry-making performed on a stage in front of floor-to-ceiling windows which look out on 6th Street so that all passers by can both watch and participate. Occasionally, mercifully, they drop some curtains down. Anyway, a good time was had by all thanks to Brian who won the tickets on the radio (answer: Hugo Weaving). We left the baby with a friend of Brian's and made our escape on the motorcycle, so all in all it was a pretty hot date. And cheap. Driving back to the babysitter's house through Austin at midnight on the back of the bike with my skirt hiked up made me feel precisely like a teenager. But in a good way.
Saturday was pozole, which always makes me happy. Then I spent the day working at Brian's house on the new, cute little computer he put together. Then a trip up to Fry's to buy accessories for my new, fabulous, shiny Tungsten T which I bought used from Brian just this week. And home to watch the DVD of 25th Hour, which was entirely worth watching. Of course almost anything with Philip Seymour Hoffman is entirely worth watching. Still, I think Spike has got his groove back, which is good, since he's young and it would be pitiful if he lost it already.
So many links! And we haven't even gotten to Sunday yet! Except, you know, Sunday was pretty much a total loss. I can't even remember if we left the house. There was an incident involving chicken broth and leftover chinese food that turned out rather badly. And, yes, at 9 pm we did manage to get out of the house to go to the local pub for dinner, but that was it. The locals were very impressed with Javi's general quietness and good nature at the pub. We explained that he had spent a good deal of time there in utero, so it was something of a second home for him. I'm raising my kids to be good little beer drinkers.
Friday, July 18, 2003
Things I Already Knew But Were Reconfirmed For Me Today After a Certain Un-Named Person Decided to Act Like a Total Dickhead. Again. You Can Connect The Dots Yourself.
1) I don't like to fight. This, actually, is not news to me. But the related insight that I so much don't like to fight that I am willing to beat myself up rather than fight back, that definitely shed some more light on the issue for me.
2) Singing helps. Even singing something really idiotic like "oh what a beautiful morning" helps. Even when your kids beg you to stop. Even when you only really know the first two lines. Singing it over and over again helps. Stressing the minor note in "morning" helps.
3) Things can be shit, and I can still be funny. Maybe you don't think I'm funny, but you don't know me that well.
4) My boyfriend rocks. He can talk to me, tell me straight up what he sees, even though it's not all so very pretty, and still be the sweetest guy on the planet. And when he shows up at the restaurant on his motorcycle? Fuggedaboutit. He is all that, I'm telling you, and a bag of fucking chips.
5) Pregnancy sucks. And when you're pregnant, you cry really, really easily.
6) In addition to singing, food really helps. Especially Cuban food. Topped off with some Tres Leches for dessert. You cannot help but feel better if you plunk yourself down in the middle of some Cuban culture, no matter how crappy your day was. I mean talk about a bunch of people who have to deal with shit every day and STILL eat the best food, make the best music, wear the brightest colors and are sexy as hell.
1) I don't like to fight. This, actually, is not news to me. But the related insight that I so much don't like to fight that I am willing to beat myself up rather than fight back, that definitely shed some more light on the issue for me.
2) Singing helps. Even singing something really idiotic like "oh what a beautiful morning" helps. Even when your kids beg you to stop. Even when you only really know the first two lines. Singing it over and over again helps. Stressing the minor note in "morning" helps.
3) Things can be shit, and I can still be funny. Maybe you don't think I'm funny, but you don't know me that well.
4) My boyfriend rocks. He can talk to me, tell me straight up what he sees, even though it's not all so very pretty, and still be the sweetest guy on the planet. And when he shows up at the restaurant on his motorcycle? Fuggedaboutit. He is all that, I'm telling you, and a bag of fucking chips.
5) Pregnancy sucks. And when you're pregnant, you cry really, really easily.
6) In addition to singing, food really helps. Especially Cuban food. Topped off with some Tres Leches for dessert. You cannot help but feel better if you plunk yourself down in the middle of some Cuban culture, no matter how crappy your day was. I mean talk about a bunch of people who have to deal with shit every day and STILL eat the best food, make the best music, wear the brightest colors and are sexy as hell.
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
Lost and Found
Well, of course, the minute I posted about our newest addition, the phone rang. A woman in my neighborhood who knew about the dog saw a lost dog sign out on the road where I found her and called me with the number.
It's hard giving a dog up to a girl named Courtney, although she at least spells her name correctly. It's even harder when you learn she's named the dog "Ladybug" (Lady for short!). But she had a pretty reasonable story for how she lost the dog in the first place, and she has another dog (blind, rescued dog) at home who's missing the puppy. And there are 5 more pups from the litter available if we want one. And we have visitation rights. And honestly, a puppy right now is maybe piling on just a bit more on my plate than I care to handle. But still. Cutest puppy ever. We'll miss her.
Speaking of lost and found, r. and b. appear to have found love and happiness. She lives in Seattle, and he lives in Charlotte, so they have some things to work out, but as obstacles go, that's not such a terrible one. Go wish them well!
Well, of course, the minute I posted about our newest addition, the phone rang. A woman in my neighborhood who knew about the dog saw a lost dog sign out on the road where I found her and called me with the number.
It's hard giving a dog up to a girl named Courtney, although she at least spells her name correctly. It's even harder when you learn she's named the dog "Ladybug" (Lady for short!). But she had a pretty reasonable story for how she lost the dog in the first place, and she has another dog (blind, rescued dog) at home who's missing the puppy. And there are 5 more pups from the litter available if we want one. And we have visitation rights. And honestly, a puppy right now is maybe piling on just a bit more on my plate than I care to handle. But still. Cutest puppy ever. We'll miss her.
Speaking of lost and found, r. and b. appear to have found love and happiness. She lives in Seattle, and he lives in Charlotte, so they have some things to work out, but as obstacles go, that's not such a terrible one. Go wish them well!
Monday, July 14, 2003
It's A Girl!
Introducing...
This very sweet, very young puppy was on the side of the road on Friday as I drove home. Collar but no tags. I called the sheriff's department in case someone lost her, and spent the next three days praying the phone wouldn't ring. Ain't NO ONE taking her away now! She's now a happy member of our pack of beasts. We are all completely in love.
It seems her name is Dingo, a name I'm not overly fond of but it has great sticking power, and she IS an Australian Cattle Dog so it's not completely off base.
Is she CUTE? Or WHAT?
Introducing...
This very sweet, very young puppy was on the side of the road on Friday as I drove home. Collar but no tags. I called the sheriff's department in case someone lost her, and spent the next three days praying the phone wouldn't ring. Ain't NO ONE taking her away now! She's now a happy member of our pack of beasts. We are all completely in love.
It seems her name is Dingo, a name I'm not overly fond of but it has great sticking power, and she IS an Australian Cattle Dog so it's not completely off base.
Is she CUTE? Or WHAT?
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
Put on Your Red Black Dress, Baby...
...Cause we're goin' out tonight.
I'm going to my friend's divorce party this evening. Yes, that's right. So, what to wear? Sadly, this being Austin, everyone will be wearing the usual jeans/t-shirt combo or possibly shorts/t-shirt combo or if they're really feeling extra festive they might break out a vintage sundress. Casual is OK, to a point, but sometimes I like to get all glammed up, you know? At least Austinites have more style, and show more skin, than the folks in Madison did. The first time I went out to a party in Madison I almost cried to see the jeans-and-boots wearing crowd. Even at the best restaurant in the whole city I can remember a man who wore jeans, a pink Oxford shirt and sneakers to dinner. I wanted to ask him to leave, or at least leave my line of sight.
I refuse to let this all get me down, however, and still throw on my little black dress and strappy shoes every chance I get. Perhaps that will be the attire for tonight. After all, I won't be able to fit in that dress for much longer...
Lunch today, by the way, was a modest bowl of Udon noodles. Mid-afternoon snack was about half a pound of leftover beef brisket from the Salt Lick. Mmmmm.
...Cause we're goin' out tonight.
I'm going to my friend's divorce party this evening. Yes, that's right. So, what to wear? Sadly, this being Austin, everyone will be wearing the usual jeans/t-shirt combo or possibly shorts/t-shirt combo or if they're really feeling extra festive they might break out a vintage sundress. Casual is OK, to a point, but sometimes I like to get all glammed up, you know? At least Austinites have more style, and show more skin, than the folks in Madison did. The first time I went out to a party in Madison I almost cried to see the jeans-and-boots wearing crowd. Even at the best restaurant in the whole city I can remember a man who wore jeans, a pink Oxford shirt and sneakers to dinner. I wanted to ask him to leave, or at least leave my line of sight.
I refuse to let this all get me down, however, and still throw on my little black dress and strappy shoes every chance I get. Perhaps that will be the attire for tonight. After all, I won't be able to fit in that dress for much longer...
Lunch today, by the way, was a modest bowl of Udon noodles. Mid-afternoon snack was about half a pound of leftover beef brisket from the Salt Lick. Mmmmm.
Saturday, July 05, 2003
I. Can't. Get. Out. Of. Bed.
The thing about being pregnant, or at least my thing about being pregnant, is that all I want to do is sleep. With interspersed periods of eating. (Did I use "interspersed" correctly? I'm too tired to look it up.) That's about it. This is certainly preferable to spending my entire first trimester hunched over a toilet bowl, like so many unfortunate pregnant creatures. So I won't complain too much.
In the eating category, I was inspired by Jodi's recent post to have some Indian food for lunch today. No, there are no take-out Indian restaurants in my little hamlet, but I did have the prescience to load up on decent frozen dinners the other day, so I was able to have my very own meal of Saag Paneer courtesy of Ethnic Gourmet.
I'm home alone with the baby, who, thankfully, seems to be almost as sleepy as I am.
That is all.
The thing about being pregnant, or at least my thing about being pregnant, is that all I want to do is sleep. With interspersed periods of eating. (Did I use "interspersed" correctly? I'm too tired to look it up.) That's about it. This is certainly preferable to spending my entire first trimester hunched over a toilet bowl, like so many unfortunate pregnant creatures. So I won't complain too much.
In the eating category, I was inspired by Jodi's recent post to have some Indian food for lunch today. No, there are no take-out Indian restaurants in my little hamlet, but I did have the prescience to load up on decent frozen dinners the other day, so I was able to have my very own meal of Saag Paneer courtesy of Ethnic Gourmet.
I'm home alone with the baby, who, thankfully, seems to be almost as sleepy as I am.
That is all.
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
Fourth of Ju-BUY
Also, Mr. Insurance Salesman who stuck your plastic American flags complete with your business card into all of the lawns in my neighborhood? Two days ago? If I feel like decorating, I'll do it myself, thanks. This holiday is about INDEPENDENCE and GETTING DRUNK and FIREWORKS, it's not about advertising. I think the garbage man might have called Tom Ridge, though, after he saw me rip it out of the ground and throw it in the garbage can as they were coming around the corner. He definitely gave me a long, slow look as they were driving past my house. Maybe I should have burned it for extra effect. I hate the motherfucking suburbs.
Also, Mr. Insurance Salesman who stuck your plastic American flags complete with your business card into all of the lawns in my neighborhood? Two days ago? If I feel like decorating, I'll do it myself, thanks. This holiday is about INDEPENDENCE and GETTING DRUNK and FIREWORKS, it's not about advertising. I think the garbage man might have called Tom Ridge, though, after he saw me rip it out of the ground and throw it in the garbage can as they were coming around the corner. He definitely gave me a long, slow look as they were driving past my house. Maybe I should have burned it for extra effect. I hate the motherfucking suburbs.
Dear Mom and Dad, Guess What?
Would someone like to tell my parents that I'm pregnant for me? While I go hide under a rock? Because I'm SO not looking forward to those conversations. You see, if they'd just stayed married I'd only have to do this once.
They are going to flip out.
And I hate it that I'm 35 years old and I'm worried about what my parents will think.
Would someone like to tell my parents that I'm pregnant for me? While I go hide under a rock? Because I'm SO not looking forward to those conversations. You see, if they'd just stayed married I'd only have to do this once.
They are going to flip out.
And I hate it that I'm 35 years old and I'm worried about what my parents will think.
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
Highway Stalker
Driving home from work today I saw a car with Massachusetts plates. It was an old station wagon with a Yarmouth dealership logo stuck on the back and a Martha's Vineyard sticker (you know those horrible white ovals with the black initials that used to mean your car was registered in this or that European country but now they mean you live in/vacation in/aspire to be a homeowner in some town or island) on the rear window. And a bike on the rack. I'm so very homesick that I seriously contemplated following this car until it stopped wherever, just so I could strike up a "where ya from?" conversation with the driver. I was calculating how far I could go before I had to turn around and head back home when I came to my senses and pulled off at the next exit to go shopping, like I was supposed to. Hamish needs dog food WAY more than I need to talk to someone in a car from Massachusetts.
In other news, I'm pregnant.
Driving home from work today I saw a car with Massachusetts plates. It was an old station wagon with a Yarmouth dealership logo stuck on the back and a Martha's Vineyard sticker (you know those horrible white ovals with the black initials that used to mean your car was registered in this or that European country but now they mean you live in/vacation in/aspire to be a homeowner in some town or island) on the rear window. And a bike on the rack. I'm so very homesick that I seriously contemplated following this car until it stopped wherever, just so I could strike up a "where ya from?" conversation with the driver. I was calculating how far I could go before I had to turn around and head back home when I came to my senses and pulled off at the next exit to go shopping, like I was supposed to. Hamish needs dog food WAY more than I need to talk to someone in a car from Massachusetts.
In other news, I'm pregnant.
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