chocolate sheet cake with blue frosting

Most of the time, it tastes really disgusting.
But occasionally it really hits the spot.

I guess it's sorta like the weather in February.

the plastic proliferation of piety

Last year, my friend Janice and I discovered, in a grocery store gumball machine, the Homies Trailer Park figurines. Instantly enchanted by them (who could resist names like "Doo-Doo Dan" and "Kegger Ken" and "Catfish Clem"?!), we went on an insane quarter-spending frenzy, trying to get as many of the collection as we could. We spent all the quarters we had, then went through the checkout to change more bills and found that the cashier, too, had been infected with the Trailer Parker virus; we discussed with her which characters we'd gotten, which ones we wanted. We giggled and put more quarters into the machine. We were having a total blast!

We went back the next day with entire rolls of quarters to buy more! I kept getting 'Doo-Doo Dan'; we both did. We agreed to have a trading session the next day to even out our collections. Over lunch at the restaurant, we did the big trade. We spread our figurines all over the table, and haggled good-naturedly over which ones we were willing to give up. Her husband Mark looked on tolerantly, and tried to find enough elbow room to eat his sandwich.

It was SUCH a good time!!

Then last week, I got a letter in the mail from Janice. It contained a color printout of the Homies newest series: the Santos! I stared in rapture at the photo of the Santos; it was too good to be true! El Santo Nino de Atocha! La Virgen de Guadalupe! San Francisco! Maria Inmaculada!

When I got to New Jersey this weekend, we hightailed it to the market where she had found the Santos.

I put 50 cents in the machine, turned the knob, and pulled out the plastic globe containing my saint. Breathlessly, I opened it, and Janice craned her head over my shoulder to see which one I'd gotten.
San Juan Diego!

Then Janice put in 50 cents... San Antonio!
I put in 50 cents... San Juan Diego.
Janice got San Francisco!
I got... San Juan Diego.
Janice plopped in two more quarters. Papa Juan Pablo!
I got San Juan Diego.
Janice got San Antonio again.
The next time I turned the handle... nothing! Wah!
Janice, being the good friend that she is, generously gave me her duplicate San Antonio. I was very happy!
Then Janice got El Santo Nino!
And I got San Juan Diego.

By this time, I was beginning to feel that God was playing a mighty trick on me. We went into the store to shop.

Coming out, we did another round at the saint machine. This time Janice started. She got... someone, I forget who.

Then I got El Santo Nino!
She got the Virgen of Guadalupe.
I got El Santo Nino.
She got the angel.
I got... San Juan Diego.
She got another pope.
I got nothing! Again!
I tried again... El Santo Nino.
She got Jesus.
My turn... San Juan Diego.

7 Diegos and 3 Ninos! I was starting to feel like I was attending a football game at a local high school: Diegos ahead in the third quarter! Would the Ninos have a chance to pull ahead?

No, they wouldn't. We left.

But boy it was so much fun!!! And if anyone wants a San Juan Diego, let me know. I have plenty.

are you kidding me?!

I just received this personalized letter in a large, fluorescent orange envelope:

--WILL YOU DO US A FAVOR AND TEST TOOLS?--

Dear Kate,
Would you mind very much if I sent you a free circular saw to use? How about a free cordless drill? All I'm going to ask in return is for you to fill out a brief questionnaire on how well the handyman product I sent you performed.
Please don't delay. Return the enclosed RSVP today.
Larry Okrend
Executive Director
Handyman Club of America
______

Dear Larry Okrend,
I am flattered by your confidence in my handyman abilities; as you say, it's true that I am known among my family and friends as an 'outstanding handyman'!
I do have one concern, however. In the event that your circular saw does not perform as intended, and hacks off my right arm, I will be unable to fill out your questionnaire, and you will not receive your desired feedback. In that situation, is there a telephone number at which I can reach you to file my report?
I wish you luck in your endeavors, and look forward to receiving my free tools.
Sincerely,
Kate

some further thoughts on the negative

So, why are we all addicted to discontentment?
Well, I'll tell you.

For one, it's ground into us by our society. In fact, there's a bill before the Senate right now, proposing that our national anthem be changed to the inspirational song, "Never Be Satisfied With Anything", which adheres more closely to our country's current value system.

But I think it's also just because a crappy time makes for a better story.

Who the heck wants to hear about your idyllic Hawaii vacation? Not me.
Now, if your suitcases were lost a couple of times en route, and the shark bite on your leg got infected, I might be interested.

d'ya want yer eggs sunny-side-up, or over-hard?

More and more often, I've been experiencing moments of real contentment. Gosh, it's a great feeling! And somehow, it doesn't seem to take much, just a twist-of-the-brain, a slowing-down, an appreciation of details.

This morning, for example, has been filled with beautiful things:
-lounging in bed
-a luxurious hot shower
-a long walk in the early morning sunlight
-tasty iced coffee
-vases of gloriously-scented peonies filling my office (my co-workers bring them in every spring, from their own gardens)
-a leisurely stroll with co-workers, down to the staff coffee hour
-a poppyseed bagel with butter and cream cheese
-the anticipation of eating the last of my yummy birthday sushi for lunch
-looking forward to having lunch tomorrow with a friend
-the smell of fresh-cut grass
-the fun memory of playing with Trev and Emma last weekend
-a reminder of my upcoming trip to Oregon and California

Here's the morning seen alternatively:
-I had to get up early to take my car to the shop
-I was in a rush and didn't have long enough in the shower
-I didn't have a ride, so I had to walk over a mile back to my house
-I hadn't eaten, so I decided to stop for an iced coffee at McDonald's.
-They didn't have decaf, so I had to go to Dunkin' Donuts instead.
-My boss needed to switch lunches with me, so the lunch I had planned for today, I had to reschedule for tomorrow.
-The peonies in my office are already past their peak. And I only have tons of them myself because the scent of them is giving everyone else a headache, so they keep giving them to me.
-The coffee hour was weird, and only one person talked to me.
-I mistook the butter for cream cheese in the crappy lighting, and had to scrape it off my bagel, leaving a huge gob on the side of my plate.
-I'm in debt from having to buy the plane ticket for my upcoming trip.

-Both versions are equally true and valid, and most often, I think it's easier for me - for most people- to get stuck in the latter version. Why are we so addicted to discontentment? If anything in life is pointless, it's to spend energy on not enjoying it.

penispam & pellets

I'm sorry! ... but I get such a kick out of these! ;-)
Here's the latest:

Subj: Your weenie will thank you
-If you can't persuade ur girl that she deserves only your tiny size, so, never mind, just try out our wonderful pellet and you'll show your girlfriend a REAL SIZE!

thought of the day

Tailgating is dangerous, particularly if you're behind a tanker truck full of liquid nitrogen.

have you ever stroked your diaper genie?

If I were granted 3 wishes, I would use them thusly:
1) world peace
2) 10 million dollars
3) that actors portraying drivers would stop taking their eyes off the road in front of them and staring at their passengers for prolonged periods of time. --It's just too nerve-wracking! In fact, I find it much more suspenseful than scenes of defenseless women being creeped-up-upon by shadowy figures with gleaming knives.

Although, on second thought, I'd use wish #2 to wish for 100 wishes. (This is actually a decision I reached very early in life, after hearing countless stories of people who were granted only 3 wishes and who completely botched them up in really annoying ways, despite plenty of clear&obvious warning signs. I mean, geez!)

motherhood

I've noticed that mothers have a peculiar ability to talk, you know, just sort of on and on, randomly about stuff, and to about six different people about different stuff, at the same time, even while performing a task, like, shopping at the grocery store.

I could never figure out if it was that motherhood had somehow turned them chatty, or if only chatty people become mothers. Either way, I think I'm doomed; I just can't talk like that; it makes the muscles in my face tired. How do they do it?!

"So I was saying to her, wouldn't you prefer to... Hey, watch your fingers, honey, that's sharp... have a larger party, and we could, ...excuse me, does this come in a larger size? ...you know, bring some salads, or something, if they had the... Honey, you have GOT to stop pulling on that... if they provided the hamburgers and hotdogs... oh, thanks, they're in aisle 8? ...Hello? Yes, hon, we're just getting the last thing and we'll be home in... excuse me, the guy at the meat counter told me there were more of these in aisle 8? Thanks... home in just a few minutes, so if you could start the grill... SARAH FOR THE LAST TIME WOULD YOU PUT THAT DOWN... ok, love you hon, bye... but then... no, Sarah, we're NOT buying that today... she forgot to get the meat, and so all we had to eat was salad!"

the joys of friendship with Joel ;-)

Me: "Joel, I have something to tell you, but I can't remember right now; call me at work later!"
------
Joel: "Hey, so what did you want?"
Me: "Sorry, I have absolutely no idea."
Joel: "Still?!?! ...You know, I think it's entirely possible that when you one day do get Alzheimer's, no one will notice."

I'll take two! -more penis frenzy

"With Penis Enlarge Patch even a sleeve from your shirt will be too short to cover your penis."

WOW! Think of the possibilities! Great for outdoorsmen; doubles as a belt, AND, when stiff, makes a handy brace for breaks and sprains!

midnight madness

I saw the funniest thing while I was out walking tonight-

I was rounding a corner, and came across a group of about fifteen macho-looking guys on motorcycles, stuck en masse at an empty intersection. They had obviously been waiting for a green light for some time, and as I approached, I could see it was slowly dawning on them that in blithely sailing past the “Stop Here For Red Light” sign, they had also overshot the trip sensor for the traffic light by about 20 feet.

So now they were, all of them, performing a sort of chaotic dance in the darkness, craning their white-helmeted heads over and looking back and forth at the ground in confusion, trying to see where the lines lay buried in the black pavement. And then one by one, hesitantly, and somewhat clumsily (it had just stopped raining), they pushed their bikes backwards until they were over the grid, attempting to reach the critical mass of motorcycle metal necessary to trip the sensor, looking up hopefully from time to time at the still-red light.

I couldn’t help laughing; they were so darned cute!

such an odd thing to find oneself written down by someone else

(this is, paradoxically, the most personal thing I have posted, to date)

"Once, many years ago, there was a child of nine who loved Walter Milligan. One Saturday morning she was walking in the neighborhood of her school. She walked and thought, 'The plain fact is – as I have heard so many times—that in several years’ time I will not love Walter Milligan. I will very probably marry someone else. I will be untrue; I will forget Walter Milligan.'

Deeply, unforgettably, she thought that if what they said about Walter Milligan was true, then the rest went with it: that she would one day like her sister, and that she would be glad she had taken piano lessons. She was standing at the curb, waiting for the light to change. It was all she could do to remember not to get run over, so she would live to betray herself. For a series of connected notions presented themselves: if all these passions of mine be overturned, then what will become of me? Then what am I now?

She seemed real enough to herself, willful and conscious, but she had to consider the possibility – the likelihood, even – that she was a short-lived phenomenon, a fierce, vanishing thing like a hard shower, or a transitional form like a tadpole or winter bud – not the thing in itself, but a running start on the thing – and that she was being borne helplessly and against all her wishes to suicide; to the certain loss of self and all she held dear. Herself and all that she held dear – this particular combination of love for Walter Milligan, hatred of sister and piano lessons, etc. – would vanish, destroyed against her wishes by her own hand.

When she changed, where will that other person have gone? Could anyone keep her alive, this person here on the street, and her passions? Will the unthinkable adult that she would become remember her? Will she think she is stupid? Will she laugh at her?

She was a willful one, and she made a vow. The light changed; she crossed the street and set off up the sloping sidewalk by the school. I must be loyal, for no one else is. If this is the system, than I will buck it. I will until I die ride my bike and walk along these very streets, where I belong. I will until I die love Walter Milligan and hate my sister and read and walk in the woods. And I will never, not I, sit and drink and smoke and do nothing but talk.

Foremost in her vow was this: that she would remember the vow itself. She woke to her surroundings; it was cold. Even walking so fiercely uphill, she was cold, and illuminated by a powerful energy. To her left was the stone elementary school, deserted on Saturday. Across the street was s dark row of houses, stone and brick, with their pillared porches. The porch floors were painted red or gray or green. This was not her own neighborhood, but it was her turf. She pushed uphill to the next corner. She committed to memory the look of that block, that neighborhood: the familiar cracked sidewalk, how pale it was, how sand collected in its cracks; the sycamores; the muffled sky."

-from Teaching a Stone to Talk - Annie Dillard

grrr

There is nothing better for putting me in a really bad mood [read: dark and stewing and evil and depressive] than the following: a nap, watching tv during the day, or going to a matinee. It's a physical/chemical reaction of forcing my body to remain inert, when it should be running around and getting stuff accomplished.

Earlier today, I allowed myself to be talked into going to a matinee. I knew what the effect would be, but as I explained this to my friend, I began to feel that I was being silly and inflexible. So I went to the matinee.

Please remind me never to do that again.

Here's how it should go: If I say "I'm going to a matinee", you will say "No, you aren't."

more exciting plant trivia

In the summer, my plants drink 7 ½ gallons of water a week!
(In the winter, it’s about half that amount.)

One would assume that my upper body strength would be pretty good, after lugging all those gallons all over my apartment all year.

But one would be wrong.