preferences on this file still set to write
wake up late (9:30), banana chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, strong coffee that does not upset my stomach, a casual outfit which is miraculously flattering, playtime with J who poops regularly but is miraculously self-cleaning, an outdoor adventure and I remember to bring the camera (and film) (and the camera battery isn't dead), a stop at an awesome but geographically unfortunate garage sale where I find traditional but quirky item, owner parts with item at decent price due to geographic misfortune and late hour, item is actually small enough to fit into our house, more playtime with J, J gets tired and allows me to snuggle with him as he falls asleep, (ahem) private time with Marc, J awakens for one last quick snuggle before bed, late dinner of fries (doubly fried) and chocolate milkshake, I collapse and sleep the whole night without interruption.
Being Mom has supplanted being Weblogger.
Updates.
First, J. J is now three and a half months old, and has moved on to 9-12 month clothing. Seriously, he is like a toddler. He used to look small at least when Marc was holding him, but now he just makes Marc look like he is shrinking. On the plus side, he is very rarely mistaken for a girl.
Some notable milestones we've missed accounting here include: being able to keep a binky in his mouth for more than 30 seconds (just in time for us to start wondering if it is time to take the binky away); standing (with assistance); sitting (with startlingly little assistance); sucking fingers, hands, towels, blankets, pieces of his carseat, the carpet, and his stuffed animals including, tragically, Cookie Monster, who lost a chunk of fur yesterday and almost had me trying to remember infant CPR; and most notably and causing the most alarm here at Casa Colello, reaching for objects. It's still a highly concentrated effort, and he attempts to include his feet and simian toes more often than not, but he's batting the hell out of anything dangling near his face for more than a few seconds. This has included various parts of me, like my arms, hair, necklace, and nose.
Second, dwelling. We bought a house. It's the most beautiful and distinguished little structure ever built, and I can't wait to get my hands on it and rip out 35 years of carpeting disgrace and wallpaper sin.
That's pretty much it -- life goes baby baby baby BAby BABY BABY BABY baBY baby baby house house house HOUse HOUSE HOUSE HOUSE houSE house house baby... with occasional outbreaks of INTERNET! and ASHLEE SIMPSON! and CAROLYN'S GETTING MARRIED! and OIL CHANGE!.
So Internet, what's up with you?
I need help: can anyone tell me why "Maison du Popcorn" is a funny name for a store that sells popcorn? Is it a pun that I'm too dense to catch? This page (warning, pop-up) says it is.
Over a screening of America's Next Top Model:
Tyra (x4): Congratulations, you're still in the running toward becoming America's Next Top Model.
K: I can only hope this will be America's Last Top Model.
M: Actually, I was hoping it would be followed up with America's Next Topless Model.
There was a raving lunatic at the post office, upset because someone had left a dead rat in his mailbox. The postal worker suggested he go to the police, but he was hesitant: "It's not like the New London police could have captured the unabomber!"
He carried the rat around in a metal box, trying to find sympathy or at least a new place to put it down. A woman in line said, "I think he's mentally disturbed."
My reunion was Friday night. I can safely say, even in retrospect, that the years I spent in high school were, in fact, not the best years of my life. They don't even make the top ten. Clearly, there were some for whom those years were neither awkward nor beatable. I still hate those people.
With few exceptions, the people who were lovely and kind and wonderful at sixteen are still so, and thanks to them, I had a pretty decent time, then and now.
When reading this article on Disneyland fanatics, I couldn't help but wonder, as each new visitor was introduced, how far in I'd have to get for Arthur to show up.
Then it occurred to me, as I remembered how Marc didn't really seem to be having quite as much fun as us that day in the park, that it's a good thing I've never lived in Florida or Southern California.
But really, judging from my favorite part of the article:
Benji says he was once a Trekkie. “There’s no difference,” he says, then adds, “Disney fans are crankier.”
...I could never really compete with Arthur.
We're not the only ones to have let an Amazon gift certificate slip past its expiration date. There is legislation in some states to make this illegal, but not in ours. Why is Amazon committing such an obviously bad customer service mistake? I agree with the person who wrote in the link, that it is to falsely inflate their profits. Gift certificate expiration is a ripoff, but I've never had a business refuse to extend the date, until now.
Amazon just lost a lot of business from us, though it will take us a while to make up the amount they already stole.
Last night, on the way into Whale Rider...
Nicholas: Man, I've got to pee like Seabiscuit!
Now's the time when you must carry a napkin with your drink, lest you leave a ring lingering.
1. chicken parmagiana.
2. the way the yooz pronounciation of "yous" is accepted seamlessly, as opposed to New England, where yuhz will always be awkward.
3. the anger outlet that New Yorkers have in their mayor, no matter who that mayor may be.
4. proximity of Manhattan, and all that comes with that proximity, including but not limited to everybody I saw Saturday night.
I'm looking forward to expanding this list, as I'm going back today to help with preschool graduation. Expect future entries such as:
5. the taste of paste
6. hugs with pudgy little paint-covered arms
7. the smell of sweaty three-year-olds
I guess I'm technically on a break, trying to actively make my life more interesting so I have more than (current count =) nine people (where, okay, two of them are me) interested in reading about me.
I will say this about my new half job: kids in high school could do with a little less ego. Particularly the smart ones. Let's have a little less positive reinforcement and a little more flogging.
I would also like to recount this incident, which happened at practice yesterday. I was being officially introduced to a group of rowers for the first time (my few prior appearances were sort of on a trial basis), and my boss was all, "This is Kate, she's a mechanical engineer," and immediately the hairs on the back of my neck were all, "that's technically true, but still we don't so much enjoy this moniker," and then, from the back of the barn, I hear this girl, I swear, sigh, "Coooooool." So the hairs on the back of my neck settle down, but I'm suddenly all ashiver with the burden of being an inspiration to these overindulged little geniuses.
And then there's just this one more thing I've been thinking about a lot. Last night I had a dream wherein I wrote all about it, but I know things in dreams are never as interesting as when dreamt, so I'll keep it short. We have this strip mall, kind of down the road and around the corner aways, with three storefronts. The one on the left is a Baptist church. The one on the right is a sex shop called "In The Mood," where the "oo" in "Mood" looks more like this:
( . ) ( . )
For the few months we've been living here, that middle storefront's been sitting deserted. I've been racking my brain trying to think of a business that could bridge that sort of a consumption gap, and I'd finally just about given up and started thinking of it as the buffer store. The other day I drove by and saw this sign in the window that sort of answered the question better than anything else I'd considered: "Coming soon: Curves for Women!" Body worship, go figure.
Three things that make Milhouse cry, from Simpsons Math:
1. when he scrapes his knee,
2. when they're out of chocolate milk,
3. when he's doing long division and has a remainder left over.
[Bart’s Friend Falls In Love (8F22, 5/7/92)]
Self-serve truth blogging/It's the truth, I swear: Same blog. Different format. Go forth and post the truth! Now with all new orange. Er, orangish.
I'm so glad that the frat boys on the ground floor were able to retrieve their football from the porch below ours, where, with a thud and an "Awwwww...," it became lodged on Saturday afternoon. It's one of those footballs that makes the noise like we're under missile attack and I'm JUST SO GLAD for them. So glad, in fact, that I'd like to shoot one of those boastful, sweaty, sweary frat boys, sniper style, from my dining room window.
1. net art : adwords happening
The cost of words and Google adword economic censorship
via Harrumph!
2. Eating Meat on Fridays
Despite what my mother would have me believe, a by-the-book Catholic wouldn't do it.
3. Crock Pot Apricot-Glazed Pork Roast and Stuffing
Easter dinner menu item
4. stay tuned
You've probably already seen the weblog, but have you read the fan fiction?
An excerpt, from Foreign Exchange by "Laura..."
She was startled into awareness as her hairband snapped. Her thick black hair fell softly to her shoulders. “I—I have a boyfriend,” she said, backing away.
“Franzen is a pussy,” Neal said. But how could he—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Neal’s lips crushing down on hers. His heat fogged her glasses, and as he pulled away, she took them off. He looked at her. “Take off your sweater.”
I realized today where I'd seen Sarah Chalke, who plays Elliot on "Scrubs": she was the second (and, confusingly, the fourth) Becky on "Roseanne". Finally.
I love snow and all, but this is getting ridiculous. We're halfway through another ten inches today.
It's a good thing I have a week in the California sun to look forward to, or all this winter might drive me bananas. And it damned well better be sunny. I take, "it never rains in southern California," as a campaign promise from the California Board of Tourism these days.
by Fred M. Rogers
It's such a good feeling to know you're alive.
It's such a happy feeling: You're growing inside.
And when you wake up ready to say,
"I think I'll make a snappy new day."
It's such a good feeling, a very good feeling,
The feeling you know that we're friends.
Real Audio here, with the wonderful Mr. Rogers postscript.
Ten years ago, today, the World Trade Center was bombed for the first time. I was in Albany, contemplating whether I would move to New York City for college. I don't remember exactly where I was when I found out (unlike the subsequent attack, which I remember all too well), but I definitely felt a firm detachment from the event, as if nothing like that could ever touch me.
The editorial I linked is a tasteless call to arms that uses the WTC disasters in name to justify the use of force in another part of the world, against a different enemy. I agree with the writer that underestimating your enemy is the worst mistake of battle, but it's eye-for-eye retaliation like this that results in absurd levels of military escalation in the first place.
But then, I guess I shouldn't expect much more from The Post. From The Times, here is where we were, then, and here is where we are now.
Sometimes, the best laid plans for coconut chicken can run awry. But the grilled cheese sandwiches were divine, and the chicken can wait for another night.
I had my first knitting class the other night, and discovered the whole knitting thing to be just as elitist as I suspected. Tell me, how can you in good scruples attend a Beginners' Knitting class when you've already knit a sweater? Sister, you belong down the hall.
We totally voted for Julia DeMato. Twice. Rock on, Connecticut!
The cold finally got to me, and we've booked a trip to the greater LA experience for early April.
Diane, if you're reading this, the cupcakes will be pink and they will be delicious.
Sorry, but I'm still not convinced that further inspection of Iraq isn't the best idea. The conversations were convincing, but if we can record them, why not intercept the movement?
I can safely say that the Yale hockey band is the loudest hockey band I've ever encountered.
We played youngins vs. old folks at the 21st birthday bash Saturday night. (I guess turning 21 isn't the triumph is used to be, at least not when you've spent a year or so in London already.) It was me, Marc, and my brother against my parents and their friend Ray. It was a long, long game of the 20th Anniversary Edition. And it went a little something like this:
Q: What heavy metal band set a world record by playing concerts on three continents in a single day?
Matt: Hmm, Motley Crue?
Kate: Guns and Roses.
Marc: Beats me.
A: Def Leppard.
Q: What punk pioneer insisted on having dwarfs dressed as the Snow White characters backstage during shows?
Mom: Punk what?
Dad: I, I don't know.
Ray: Maybe Motley Crue?
Dad: Oh, Motley Crue. We had them before!
Mom: Was there a Mr. Motley?
A: Iggy Pop
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