Cripes, Suzette!

Mark Your Calendars

Today is the day I turned.

Turned into Maxine.

I started the day out by writing an email to MSNBC telling them I could no longer tolerate Imus In The Morning. Then I decided to repeat myself via snail mail. I followed this with another email expressing my opinion that there was something unsavory about Tim Russert continuing to cover a story in which he played a major role.

Now I'm going to write to CBS and complain about the vulgarism uttered by the reporter John Roberts in a White House press briefing today.

I guess it had to happen - its the natural order of things. You live long enough adn start to think that by sharing your life experience, you can spare soembody else the hardship of learning the lesson on their own. I just didn't think it would happen to me so soon.

Bushmas

Another riddle:

What's Catholic, from New Jersey and is bound to make things very interesting over the next few weeks? (not Suzette, although one never knows, does one?)

Guess who.

UPDATE: Slate magazine says that Catholics are in vogue now. I'm not sure about that yet - I'd have to see some cultural changes going on to agree with that. Maybe if the runways started to feature black lace mantillas and "Tantum Ergo" becomes the new "Have A Nice Day", then I'd go along with the notion.

Puny Humans! Fear My Remote Diagnostic Powers!

I may have been wrong about Jerry Lewis and Barry Manilow*, but I got Camilla Parker Bowles right. Based on my observation of her during the broadcast of her wedding, I wrote at the time:

Does  Camilla seem a bit hunched to you? I suppose she is practicing to be a dowager (or her hump is, anyway.) I hope someone sends her a crate of calcium tablets for a wedding gift.  She could use them.

And now my disgnosis is confirmed in this gushing WaPo fan letter published today:

"She is president of an association that fights osteoporosis, which afflicted her mother and grandmother, and she is passionate about good bone health."

Ta-da!
Send me your photo - I'll be glad to diagnose you too.

* I saw Barry and Bette Midler on the Today Show around the time that the Rosemary Clooney tribute album came out. At the time, I thought that Barry was very bloated around the middle and that lead me to diagnose advanced liver disease. Now I realize that he was merely puffed up with indignation because Bette kept talking over him.

 

Merry Clock Changing Day

Who remembered to change the clocks before bedtime last night? Did you have to say "Spring forward; Fall behind" so you knew which way to change them? Even when I was very young, that phrase had power over me. It was by far the wittiest thing I had ever heard.

Bear in mind that it was coal country, only three major network TV channels which we didn't watch all that much anyway, local radio stations obsessively programming polka music, no magazine subscriptions and I didn't even have a library card until I was 10. I did have the chance to read Highlights magazine at the dentist's office, but outside of the concept of  "Goofus and Gallant", one would be hard-pressed to find any wit in that. So a phrase with words that had a double meaning - my goodness, it was life-changing for me. If you think that's hyperbole, I assure you that it is not.

Anyway, the flip side of that new knowledge of the power of words was the power to make me feel like I'd better start doing something. For a person who has always been still and quiet - probably a good thing for a child , not so good as a life plan - when it came time to "spring ahead", I knew even then that I was going to fall short in the springing department. Lots of pressure there. Even then, I was pretty good at falling behind. Maybe that's why autumn is my favorite season. I am always successful in the autumn.

So what time is it now, anyway? Same time as yesterday, but a day later? Not!

Ramblin' With Suzette

Part I. Got A Brand New Bag  My new purse, a recent QVC purchase, came this week.  I got it in green because I was feeling like all my bags are boring black. Black always was the new black but sometimes you've got to shake things up a little bit, so I decided to go wild and get something in green. Green is really light black so, you know, baby steps.  I used it for two days and then put it in the bullpen right next to two other green bags, which I did not remember that I had. They are all quite different - a pistachio suede Mizrahi, an avocado vinyl Liz Claiborne and this new olive pebbled leather Maxx New York - but apparently, I've started down this road of reform before and got exactly this far.

Suzette
Pep Squad, Future Homemakers of America, Debate Team, Journal Club, Choir
"A cheeful smile for everybody."

Suzette plans a career in nursing. Future plans include moving to the big city and collecting colorful pocketbooks.

II. Handbags and Gladrags  Rod Stewart, Paul Weller, Jools Holland/ Kelly Jones, Chris Farlowe, Bill Chase, Stereophonics.

III. New Meaning for the Phrase "Man Boob"  Was this written by a man?

"If Freudian theory is correct and handbags are indeed vaginal symbols, this . . .  mania for their constant renewal finds an easy parallel in the contemporary trend for vaginal shaving, waxing, tweaking and—last but not least—vaginal-rejuvenation surgery. . . Many gals are carrying several purses at once, suggesting a terrifying hydra of multiple pudenda."

Full disclosure: I do that, especially during business travel. A red eel skin double clutch inside of a black classic knit Sak hobo inside of a Blue Coin Vera Bradley tote bag. And sometimes I put a tapestry envelope bag in the file folder section of my rolling business case. So next time you see a woman trying to cram a large overstuffed bag under the airplane seat in front of her, instead of looking on in contempt and wondering why she doesn't travel lighter, start worrying. She is out to terrify you with her hydra of multiple pundenda, most likely in retaliation for all the guys she had to sit next to who kept their knees wide apart so they could admire their own balls for 4 1/2 hours.

Riddle Me This

What’s orange and white and good to bring along if an astronaut invites you over for a pot luck dinner?

Click here for answer

I had to make this myself. Where is Mr. Bingley when you really need him?

Declaration

The dumbest housekeeping job around is the one where you have to go around scrubbing handprints off of the doors and walls. 

It Came From The In Box!

I'm not one to talk about search requests because only the petite bourgeoisie does that and the novelty has worn a bit thin there, has it not? but I would like to tell you that my mailbox has been more interesting than usual this week.

Interesting email address - Wally the commenter: demonicattrneyATyahoo.com . Gotta love self-awareness.

Interesting request -"please e-mail me some wedding photos of marykay L. and villi's nuptials. Also if you conviently cover a photo and story on NBA Tracy Mcgrady and family please e-mail also. Thank you,"
I confess that I was quite taken with MaryKay's wedding dress and I thought her earrings were marvelous, but not so much that I would seek out photos. Who is Tracy McGrady?

Tantalizing hint of things to come - from Dave in Houston. He gets me.

Annoying forward - some crap about marzipan babydoll miniatures. This caused my out box to become somewhat more interesting as well, when I proclaimed Monday as "Take Back Your Inbox Day" and blasted the ass of the person who most frequently sends me this dreck. Return volleys fired and deflected.

Dubious content - "Hello, I have just switched my email address from debrobyATearthlink.net to debrobyATsbcglobal.net. Please use this new address for all future emails and instant messages."
Who is debroby? Do I know her? Is this spam?

Charming unsolicited explanation - "As a resident of Chesterfield, Derbyshire, which is in the North Midlands of England, we constantly refer to the "top of the milk" as being just that..the cream that has risen to the top of the milk bottle! The "top of the milk" is considered the best part of the bottle of full cream milk, especially if it comes as "gold top" full fat milk from Jersey cows."
Gold top! Never heard of it; never saw it; now I want it.

Inscrutable message - from edwin zamata reyes: "cita en essalud el 14.10.2005 10:00am."
This one makes me nervous, due to an incident in my past where hackers entered the host server through comment boxes. There was a string of markers, just like hobos used in the 30s, that were tests and they seemed to be leaving mesages for each other.

Important thing I mailed to myself - Crunch Fitness Airplane Yoga. Excerpt: "Someone may ask you if you need a pillow. Just tell them "I have now reached an astral plane where no pillows are necessary." and Flying Pilates - relaxing without the aid of petite liquor bottles.

These are from the inbox of the gmail account that I use for the blog. My old Yahoo account fills up with Picks of the Week, offers from Plow&Hearth and Cook's Illustrated and E-Z Pass statements. The Hotmail accounts are almost dead, but I keep them because I can't let go of the BtC thing. If I let those accounts die out, then it's like all that never existed. And my work mail is postively bursting with, you know - work.

Notes From The Wee Small Hours

I hear banging outside. Its going on too long to be a branch against the house - if that was it, it would have blown away or pounded through by now. I suspect a loose drain spout.

There is a painting in Murphy Brown's living room that stands out because it doesn't seem to go with anything. It must have been chosen for some other reason. The composition is four simple, identical flowers on a dark background. I recognizie it now as the same artwork that was in my room at the Wynn. It didn't go with anything there, either. I don't find it especially attractive*.

4:00 am used to be a time of nothing interesting on TV. Now Channel 5 WNYC is running The Odd Couple. Hello, Felix! Howard Cosell was the guest star last night. There was a time that everyone in America over the age of 10 could do a passable impersonation of Howard Cosell. Is there any sports broadcaster today who can make his mark like that? What does Frank Gifford sound like?

*UPDATE: I don't know much about art but I know what I don't like. This is the painting. That explains it. I never found this guy's work particularly appealiing.

I Do Like A Good Jello and I Don't Care That They Make It Out of Boiled-Down Horses.

It's time to start talking Thanksgiving.

If we are going to have our usual Double Family Fiesta , we have to start mulling things over. Multiple desserts are called for and it wouldn't be the same holiday without the pumkin pie, but that seems to be the last thing that anyone goes for, what with all the banana creme and flourless choclate torte.

What say we have some Pumpkin Jello this year? If I put it in individual glasses with a dollop of whipped cream and a  leaf shape cut out of cinnamon-sprinkled pie crust dough, I think it might be a sensation.

Yea or nay?

Just yay or nay - that's all. Don't say "ew" because then we'll have to dsicuss Jello with ketchup in it. Considering the number of Lithuanians who are going to be there, this one just might go over.

Actually, there aren't that many of us left now  but the ones that are can make ourselves seem like a lot more. And Mohammed is going to be with us again this year. Not the famous one, just a regular one. I wonder if Jello is halal? (answer: no)

More Jello - look! How to make fake strawberry jam out of figs and jello. First you peel the figs and then you have to cook it up for 45 minutes! I guess you have to live more than 30 minutes away from a supermarket to make this worth your time. Gotta love pointless recipes like this.

3 Things

1. My daughter flew back to Massachusettes from the west coast yesterday. I meant to tell her that it would be worth the extra hundred bucks to fly non-stop instead of suffering through a layover someplace like Phoenix or Detroit. But then I realized that she is young and rubbery and can eaily tolerate a layover. I am not longer young but I can still claim the right to say that I am rubbery. Although now I am rubbery in an entirely different way than I used to be.

2. Julia, Julia, Julia. Nothing is more boring that a blogger gone mainstream and then trying to distance herself from her beginnings.  What can we make of this then? Boring? Is there anyone anywhere that was able to focus on her project for longer than a few days at a stretch without yawning?  One word, honey: soup. And I don't mean my Soup either  - I mean SoupSong.  Go here for an introduction to a real class act.

3. How much farther can you go once that little yellow gas pump lights up on your dashboard? I say two gallons worth, but that's just a guess. Does anyone know for sure? And then would would happen next? Does the car start bucking or something, or does it just go quiet and glide to a stop?

Funny vs. Not Funny

For the purposes of this entry, "funny" can be defined as either "peculiar" or "mildly amusing".

Not Funny - I don't see what's so funny about that TV commercial with the woman behind the wheel who is chatting on a cellphone, applying makeup and writing something down at the same time. Multitasking, people! If you think there is anything amusing about this, then you have no sympathy for busy women executives. I suppose you'd rather share the roads with all those mini-van mommies who are going nowhere but feel they have to be out there to clog things up anyway.

Funny - Thanks for all the email about chocolate. Despite your strenuous efforts to win me over, I maintain my anti-chocolate position. For those of you express concern over the notion that I cannot enjoy the purported side effect of the emotional equivalent of being in love, don't worry. The smell of frying bacon does that for me.

Not Funny - Route 34 is all but impassable today. Unexpected sunshine has brought out the you-know-whos. Everyone stay home! The roads are clogged up with mini-van mommies FROM NEW YORK! Bad driving plus bad attitude! Maybe Route 34 will run out of pumpkins and everyone will go away.

Funny - Three easy steps to get inside a pomegranate. Under water! They said easy, not neat. It's just a different kind of mess to clean up.  Although is there any neat way to do this, really?

Not Funny - I am still not over the fact that the Dick Clark American Bandstand Restaurant in King of Prussia would not sell me one or two star-shaped soup bowls. (Three years ago.) I harbor a big grudge against the restaurant for that. Nevermind that the chain went out of business. My grudges last forever. I wonder if Dick Clark himself found out that his restaurants were refusing to satisfy their customers in this manner? I bet that's why he had a stroke.

Because Of Him I Am Ruined For Life

Disclaimer: For the record, I would never illegally download copyrighted music.

A few years ago when I was visiting Dave in Houston, he played a CD he got that was made to be a give-away with a purchase at a fragrance counter. It had 21 versions of "Ain't Nobody's Business But My Own". I loved that CD so he made me one and sent it to his brother in W-B Pa with instructions to hand it over to me. 

It wasn't easy to get it away from his brother, but I did and I played that thing non-stop for weeks. It was fabulous and fascinating to hear the same compostion interpreted 23 ways from 1923 to 1995. Then I gave it away to someone who needed it more than I did.*

But once I got the hang of making my own CDs, the pattern was set and I am never satisfied with one version of anything. Last week, amongst the new work colleagues, somebody asked me what kind of music I liked. What am I supposed to say? It's too soon to tell them I have 19 versions of "Tainted Love" and 12 of "Famous Blue Raincoat"? How many "Fly Me To The Moons" does a person really need? How can I stop myself from telling them that I prefer Perez Prado over the Pussycat Dolls when it comes to "Sway"? I love the way John Cale rolls his r's on "Hallelujah" and I sometimes can't get past it to listen to my other 10 versions of the same song.

By the way, have you ever heard Louis Armstrong's 1923 version of "Oops I Did It Again"?

I suppose I should try harder to find common ground with people instead of always going off on my own tangents, but here I am on a rainy Saturday morning with no place to go and I am busy with "St. James Infirmary." I can't stop myself.

*Dave, can you make me another copy please?

Soup of the Day

White Bean Soup with Cabbage and Salmon

click here

Soup of the Day

click image below

The Joy of Soup is named Website of the Day

for 10/20/05

on the Steve Wright Show on BBC radio 2

Damn You, Women's Movement!

Yes, yes - ERA and all (by the way, how's that "Equal Pay for Equal Work" thing going? Let me know - I'm very interested!) but it hasn't been all good. You, madames, have been complicit in the diminishment and near-death of Home Economics. And because of that, there is an entire generation who have never been exposed to some of the basic tenets of life in America.

I'm talking about curtains here.

The only resource for window covering examples these days seems to be the TV decorating shows where the emphasis is on time and budget. It seems to me that while they are so busy painting the ceiling red and pounding stainless steel kitchen implements into lighing fixtures, they are doing a huge injustice to proper window coverings.

One word, America: headers! It's the part of the curtain above the rod pocket. Although you'd never know there was such a thing if your only frame of reference was those design  shows. Also, proper fullness. What happened to standards?

Doesn't it bother anybody else to see those limp lenghths of fabric hanging straight down - no gathering at all, just flopped over the rod and no rod pocket to speak of? They don't even cover the whole window and there is no lining. I am sickened!

I'm all for an airy look if your talking lace, cafe curtains or a simple swagged valence but come on. One layer of a converted bedsheet or even cotton poly blend from a bolt at Calico Corners loses a lot if the backlighting from the window reveals your shallow hems, your lack of headers and your stingy edge allowance. Doesn't it tell you something if even the most economical curtain and drape from a Big Box Mart has a header, a rod pocket and a 3" hem?

Also, quit flinging straight yard goods over a wrought iron rod. Window scarves are wrong. Period. They are so 90s, and the look wasn't good even then. You cannot justify.

Really, it infuriates me to see these design shows perpetrating and perpetuating this disservice to windows across the land. Aren't we in enough of a cultural decline already, what with the lack of available public transportation, the vanished family dinner hour and the empty houses of worship? Must our windows treatments mock us, too? I say we start a letter writing campaing to HGTV, A&E and TLC to protest and demand an end to this practice.

Who's with me on this?

 

Much Maligned

Marybeth - when does fruitcake-making season open?

Bag Sag. Dag!

My boobs are sagging.

Detailed analysis continues behind the jump. I'm sure only those who also have sagging boobs would be interested in this sort of thing. If you have a prurient interest in boobs in general, this is not for you. Also, there are no photos.

New People

I have a whole new group of people to work with now - people who don't know that they must not touch my hair or that I don't like to be hugged the first time we meet. They won't know what I'm talking about when I start carrying on about Art Cars or Stangl and they'll want me to sit in the sunshine.

I can handle all that - it's just a matter of Getting to Know You and I'm sure they all have their own little preferences. But the thing that I dread is when the moment comes that I have to tell them I don't like chocolate.

Have you ever tried telling anyone that? People absolutely will not accept it. You can say that you don't like beer or meat or peas, and no one even blinks an eye. But try telling someone that you don't like chocolate and they spring into action. What happens next is the following:

• they will tell you that they love chocolate
• they will tell you why you are wrong not to like chocolate
• they will start listing all of the fomrs of chocolate that are their favorites
• they will announce the very best chocolate thing they've ever had
• by-standers will chime in about the very best chocolate thing they have ever had.

Now you've got an epidemic. You can pretty much take all the cash out of the register drawer at this point because no one is thinking about you. Talk about invisible! They are rolling their eyes heaven-ward and drawing in their breath like reverse braying and speaking in a sort of shorthand that they all recognize - Death by Chocolate! Ganache! - and the breathless gushing about Have you seen those new Hershey kisses with the CHERRY!CORDIAL!CREME! inside?

Gawd, get a room already.

I once tried saying that I was allergic to the stuff to stave off the predictable reaction, but then I was subjected to an outpouring of condolences the likes of which you have never seen. It wasn't worth it - I'd rather take my lumps with the folks who try to tell my why I'm wrong.

Now I've got to go through it all again with this new crowd. It's going to come up probably sooner rather than later. It always does.

So tiresome.

 

Everything Old Is New Again

Nurses to be trained in hand-to-hand combat.

Nurses in Scotland are being trained in close combat skills for high-risk conflict management. Strategies include not just physical defense, but psychological ploys to protect themselves and escape from violent attack.

*schnort* Psychological ploys. Honey, you have no idea.

Aww, I was just kidding. That one time when I was passing out medications and offered a paper cup full of water that the patient was using to put out his cigarette butts was an accident. And anyway, they were HIS OWN cigarette butts, so what's the big deal?

Comment Tally Voodoo

Days go by and I am thrilled when someone makes any comment at all around here, but this ... this is something I'm all for.

It's like performance art. The guy is always motivated by material in the original post, but the comments live a life of their own. Lengthly scenarios emerge and when the character limit is surpassed, the narrative stands as it is. I love that no attempt is made to continue on in the next comment. Take it or leave it!

They commenter has a website, and as chock-full as it is with catagories so diverse as naval destroyers, pedigreed cats and ham radio, its the comments in other people's posts that move me. They spring up full-blown and have more character development than the last 3 in-flight films I was subjected to.

Maybe its the scope of the original post that is the trick to it. A little something like this can generate 7 comments, only two of which address the same aspect and there's still a wealth of prompts in there that remain unplumbed.

There's talent of many sorts around these days. Sometimes you have the good luck to stumble across it.

The Saddest Day

• It was the best day to pick up small branches that fell during the 7 days of rain.
• It was the driest day to take down your canvas canopy from the deck.
• It was the nicest weather to empty your flowerpots.
• It was the saddest day when you looked over what you had accomplished.

The sad emptiness of flowerpots.

Note how imagery of loss is reinforced by the presence of the Riderless Lawn Chair, which symbolizes the missing gardener who no longer watches over the flowerpots.

Moi, Apres le Deluge

The sun is shining, the leaves are going gold and its a glorious autumn day here in New Jersey.  If that sounds like a good thing to you, then you must not live anywhere near the pumpkin picking places in Monmouth County.

Great torrents of rain fell here for 7 days and whatever is not flooded is sodden. I predict that of the great influx of New York pumpkin-addicts that will come in crushing waves over this weekend, more than a few hayrides-full will be stuck in the mud before its all over.

One hopes.

In Which the Good Lady Kenmore Is Beset by Fairies

I believe in spirits. Why not? If the Lucky Charms can have their leprechauns and the Spielbergs can have their poltergeist, who is to say that I can't have my Dirty Clothes Fairy?

Like most fairies, this one is a creature of the night, doing its work unwitnessed while everyone sleeps.  This morning, the TV room was a wonderland of bags, baskets, and  hampers all brimming over with bedsheets, sweatpants, lingerie and socks. It must have been fairies because the lone college student that came home late yesterday for a semester break could not possibly have produced this much dirty laundry by herself. I know that because she lives in a dorm just 2 floors above the communal laundry room and where are all those containers of change we keep giving her going if not to the washers and dryers?

This particular sprite is not limited to working with undergrads. On top of the heap nearest the stairs is a button-down oxford shirt with a 17" collar that reeks of the distinctive essence of cold smoke and stale beer so characteristic of the graduate student returning home in the wee small hours.  Isn't it nice that the Dirty Laundry Fairy associates with grad students, too?

A more cynical mother might view that last as an opportunity too good to pass up for someone who is still wrestling with the concept of time management when it comes to his own laundry control strategies, but not me.

I believe.

All Wet

I never feel like drinking anything on a plane.

There are signs that tell me I am headed for a hydration challenge up there - dried out nose, cotton mouth, suspicious lack of swelling in the ankles. Never one to turn down a long, cool diet Pepsi, it just doesn't appeal to me up there. I do look forward to a plastic cupful of bloody Mary Mix but that doesn't do anything for the thrist situation.

I drink water all day long when I'm on the ground. I Britta at home, I R/O at work and I buy bottled water in between. But in the air, it's just a job. It is because I'm higher UP than I usually am and its harder to get it to go DOWN my gullet?

So I forced say yes when the steward came along bearing a tray of short plastic cupsful of the stuff. It looked better than it tasted and I remembered too late that I didn't see anybody pour it out - maybe it was that e. coli tank water I've been able to avoid so far.

It's always something, isn't it?

Hi Honey, I'm Home

What's been going on here while I've been in sunny California all week? When the plane landed in Newark tonight, I thought they built some new runways next to the Passaic River. It was only the run-off ditches next to the same old landing strips filled to the top. 12" of rain in 6 days? You people kill me.

Busy week. First of all, why was I not informed about Lake Las Vegas? Gotta love an Italian hilltown and replica of Lake Como that springs fully formed from arid desertscape.

My curling iron died a slow death. Between its lukewarm performance and the high humidity when i was getting ready to fly out on Monday, by the time I got to Santa Ana, my hair was flat in a very disturbing way. In California, I didn't have the humidity to contend with but the iron was gasping its last, so my hair was Not Flat on the first day of my meeting. I bought a new curling iron on my second evening there. By the next morning things were satisfyingly large and puffy - in fact, I was on the verge of flyaway hair. That almost never happens here. Its a good thing I left when I did becasue I'm pretty sure that I stayed the whole week, by Friday I would have looked like Daina Ross at her Central Park concert. The rain is for the flowers!

Rose bushes were in delicate white bloom outside my hotel room door. Nice and all, but roses. Eh. You know, roses. Only for those without imagination. I will say that I was quite taken with the Italian cypress. What would it take to grow them in New Jersey? Something like 12 " of rain?

Telling Myself It’s Not As Hard As It Seems

If  Led Zepplin was a high-powered woman executive:

Spent my days with a project unkind
Packed my stuff and drank all my coffee.
Made up my mind to get a new Kenneth Cole business case.
Goin to California with an aching in my Franklin-Covey planner.
Someone told me there's a future out there.
For money in my pocket and low humidity for my hair.

Back on Friday.

See ya.

Wouldn't wanna be ya.

Not too happy about being me right now, either.

The Notorious B.O.B.

I'm a fat corgi, yes I'm the real corgi
All you other fat corgis are just imitating
So won't the real Bob Corgi please play tug,
please play tug, please play tug?

The lethargic canine photo model springs into fierce tugging action at the sight of his beloved knotted rope.

Desperate Career Women

I used to be big.

Back in the day, I had an extremely popular website. I was linked all over the place and had many hundreds hits everyday, except when something was going on and then it went into 4 digits. This does not count The Soup. The Soup continues on by itself and whether I post anything new there or not, it still hits in the hundreds. It is darling of the search engines and gives relief to people who can't rest until they know how to make Italian Wedding Soup or Coffee Jello.

Its not that I miss massive traffic. I  think I miss the interaction, the connection. I never courted readers and did not indulge in obvious link-climbing , like the gratuitous linking to an A-lister in hopes of drawing their attention or showing how "in" I was. That is pathetic and extremely transparent. I was just there and people found me. Everything was exciting then. Was it high energy because it was new to me? Or new to you? Were you more interested the first time you saw me dig a potato out of a flower pot? Or was it because the content reflected more of  the real me? I can do that again - what do you want to know? That I'm gaining weight? That I'm close to broke? That I have a yeast infection? That I feel alone most of the time?

Is that what people respond to - the openess, the true voice, the common ground, the idea that no matter how fucked up their lives are, someone else is so much worse?

The reality of my life is not pretty. It's kind of funny but its not so pretty. Do you want to get into it?

 

101 Views of My Deck: Sweet Potato

Gather 'round, friends. It's time for another of the countless recurring post topics around here - its the annual digging up of the sweet potato.

Not that I'm anxious to say goodbye to deck season, but the Coleus Corner is gone past its prime as anyone can plainly see. To say that they have become leggy is an understatement. How leggy are they?  I couldn't justify spending the bandwidth on getting the tops into the frame. That's how leggy.

Start by clipping away the stems. As validation for emptying the pots now, I am relieved to see that the foliage looks much more lush on the ground than it did in the pots. Just slightly out of this frame are my bare feet in a cold puddle. It's going to be a quick ceremony this year.

The dig begins and one small tuber is exposed. And that's it. One small potato, about 2 1/2" long. Last year, I got only one potato as well, but at least it was fairly sizable. I've been planting the bright green colored vines these past years - next year Im going back to the maroon ones that at least produce cute little multiples.

Only barely qualifying for its beta-carotene pedigree, you need a sharp eye to see the slightly yellow ring near the peel in this cross cut potato. So,  a disappointing harvest all the way around this year.

I grow weary of the Coleus Corner and vow that next year, I'll put flowers in this spot. It won't be much of an event to dig those roots up, though.

Boggled By The Bobble

I never tried to hide my affection for QVC from you. I always defended them and told everybody that they had high-class stuff, not junk like the other shopping channels. But today, I saw something that made me stop short: Your choice of Tiffany Style Pet Bobble Head Accent Lamp.

"Light up the face of an animal lover with a cute Tiffany-style bobble head accent lamp. The black and white Dog sits at attention with glowing red eyes. The beige and white Cat has green eyes, pink ears, and a red nose to bring a touch of whimsy to any room. Includes one 15W bulb for the body and one 5W bulb for the head.

Get that? The head takes a separate light bulb. So its not enough to draw in the customers with the qualifier 'Tiffany -style', and an animal shape no longer is a sure thing, but now a bobbling head that takes its own light bulb.

I don't that think I can defend this one.