It's officially true: I am one lazy-arsed bitch when it comes to vacations. Suddenly whatever frenetic energy enables me to care for kids and home and school and outside interests while keeping my beds made and my bathroom spotless: gone. Last night I sat in bed and read Watership Down (parts of it out loud to my children when they'd come in and ask for it) while my husband bathed the kids and cleaned the garage and I just sank further and further into the mattress. What gives?

I decided to operate on the principle that if we listed some things we had to finish it wouldn't feel so bad to come out of a weekend knowing we'd done our fair share of R&R. So Ralph accomplished the lawn-mowing work, wired the house up for network printing, and worked on bike lights. I cooked a lot this weekend: fresh bagels, roasting a chicken, sourdough starter, soup from scratch, zucchini quiche and some rather excellent pancakes. It feels great to work so hard on things that literally get consumed so fast it's as if I did nothing at all.

And finally: we finished this latest issue of the zine (available for download late tonight). Mailings and distributions start tomorrow.

Labels: books, SNF

This morning at nine AM we dropped Sophie off at the countywide Young Authors Conference. On her shirt she sported a name tag and group designation, in her hand she clutched the book we finished today, "A Lost Mermaid." You know your child is happy and proud of their work when, looking it over, they are smiling with their mouth open.

Sophie and I worked together to write her stories, and "Mermaid" was the one she chose to commit to binding and illustrating. But this one was my personal favorite:

Some lions just hide in bushes until the zebras come close. Then the lions jump out and eat the zebras' meat.

Sometimes lions dress up as sebras and they play wiht them... then they take their makeup off and attack the zebras.

Some lions fly planes in close to catch the zebras.

Labels: books, Sophie

My daughter's kindergarten homework gives evidence of something I used to do myself: intellectually twiddle my thumbs by embellishing schoolwork easily mastered. Examples: having filled out a grid with numbers one through one hundred, Sophie will go back and embellish each void space within the numerals 6, 8, 9 and 0; she will write notes in the margins or put flourishes in her name. Even on an occasion last week she corrected an error in the homework itself. Volunteering in her classroom I have not seen any other child do this to the extent she does.

However her intellectual prowess, such as it is, does not manifest in boredom or ennui in a way that is easily detected or even harmful. In fact she is cheerful enough to go to school and fine sitting on the carpet being not-challenged by the academic exercises. She enjoys her social time and navigates confidently. She has learned bullying behaviors and how to be an Alpha Female; that is, rude to some of her other classmates although quick to say "sorry" and respect her teacher's authority. She seems to like all subjects. Last Friday while getting ready she said, "I have P.E. today," then paused... "so I need some sweats." As if kindergarten physical education needs to be geared for.

Still, today I notice that her abbreviated day at school (8:30 to 11:15 AM, cut short for conferences) seems to result in her being less keyed-up and more receptive to the remainder of the day's activities: visiting the bike shop (a new kickstand and - ding! ding! ding! - my xtracycle parts are in!), having lunch in a cafe with my mom and a friend, stopping at the library, and finally, returning home to start our dinner with Nels and I (he is always willing and able to be a great help in the kitchen). This latter exercise was the most fun for me. All three of us took our knives to trimming green beans and carrots and did the dishes together afterwards. That done we retired to my bed to each of us to read silently for a while which in turn made me too sleepy to do much of anything else until Ralph returned home and I biked the four or so miles to this evening's preschool Board meeting.

It's only spring, and the beginning of spring at that, but already I long for the long days of summer with my children in my house and out of doors.

Labels: books, food, Nels, school, Sophie

I have to admit, there was no real reason for me to hang out for the Group Circle time at my daughter's class (which started two hours late today for snow delay) except I had missed seeing those children (I skipped last Thursday's classtime due to illness). Today when it was their turn to talk both Sophie and Nels separately shared about Sophie's new bed. Tom especially always says hi to me, and seems to relish saying "Mrs. Hogaboom". I think all the children like me. It's not that I'm all that likable and not only due to the fact I feed them something each week; it's because children are easy to please when you take time to pay attention to them.

Before I left Sophie took the teacher's chair and read a book of her own premeditated selection (Theo and the Blue Note, a great story) to her class. She did a great job. I was fighting back tears. Not because of the "accomplishment" of her reading but because it struck me how fast our children attain skills and kindnesses when it seems only yesterday you felt confused how to help them find them.

But today went sideways in a couple ways. For one, I was up at 4 AM today with a head packed full of cold again. By 7:40 AM I already felt weary and dejected, and my day was just starting. Then it bellied up and got cold and snowed, preventing a bike ride this morning. And later, after running grocery errands with my mom and Nels, it happened again. This time was funnier because my mother was unsure of the 8 oz. cup capacity (adequate for the 3 year old's bladder) and because I "made" her take the still-warm pisscup into the house to throw away. For some reason she did it, too, with that expression on her face like a cat makes when it smells something rank.

Here's hoping - hoping! - for a restful afternoon.

Labels: books, Grazdma, grocery opus, Nels, Sophie

Not everyone has pieced together that I actually do work outside the home. Every Monday I volunteer in my daughter's classroom assisting, usually, with an art project and letter and number exercises. Thursdays I return and bring a snack and (sometimes) a little extra lesson to go along with the snack. Sophie's teacher Mrs. P. is awesome at directing me in a way that corresponds to what they're working on during the week (this week is the well-loved tale The Mitten as illustrated by Jan Brett). About every other Friday I have a shift at Nels' preschool. I'm the secretary on the Board of that preschool which involves a sometimes crippling amount of small but very detail-intensive - well, not exactly busywork, but administrative work. You know, the kind of thing a lot of people don't do until they're older and realize a lot of quality institutions need volunteer work exactly of this caliber. The kind of work you get little thanks for - except from the others working alongside you. And lastly, the whole family is involved in various aspects of running the program at the 7th Street Theatre which isn't as scheduled but is definitely detail-oriented.

My favorite job has to be Sophie's school, so far. I feel it is such a privilege to be able to participate as much as I do in her education and that of her peers. And I have put enough time in to her classroom that I not only feel I know a lot (but certainly not all!) of what goes on during her day, I also know her teachers, her friends, and her world. I never thought of myself as good with kids but my time in her school has made me a kid person, because I see the value in hanging out with children more and more. Each child, to a soul, is treasured by me. Each child is different. Every experience with each child fits them in their own unique way that leaves me storytelling to most anyone who will listen - my parents and husband, usually. The kids make me laugh and surprise me, every day I work with them. I would take any of them home in a minute. I mean, don't worry mom and dad, I don't mean it literally. I mean, "your children have touched me in a very special place and I'm pretty sure I've touched them"... OK, I'll stop there.

Today involved a sewing exercise - students cut out two mitten-shaped construction paper patterns, then we adults helped them punch holes in the perimeter of the mitten and directed them to a running stitch to bind the two pieces. Let me tell you, it restored my faith in my favorite craft of sewing. Every child to an instance enjoyed the process. The boys and girls were of equal ability and interest. Each child was proud of his or her finished work in a way that many previous paper-and-glue projects have not quite spawned.

Even more fun for me was the fact that two of the children who typically struggle with the academic and social learning aspects of kindergarten really excelled at the sewing. One has a speech impediment of sorts that over time I've improved in understanding. The other spends a lot of time in the "watching chair" (time out). Both of these children completed their mittens quickly. One of them was the only child able to course-correct after doing a whip-stitch error. I just loved in my heart to see them do well at something they enjoyed. Because not only do these students get the consideration / stigma of "special ed" kind of help, I get the feeling they are often treated with that "don't expect much" attitude by some of the adults in their lives. It would be tactless of me to say a lot more about the situation, so I won't. Today I was happy to report to Mrs. P. how well each did and how interested they were in the process. I felt proud of them, although they aren't mine and I only get to borrow time with them every now and then.

On my way out of the classroom I stopped into the library to get Sophie's new reading book for study. We reward her with a new comic book each time she gets a 100% test (she is currently joyfully swimming in the Boneville series). It isn't just the comic book reward that keeps her interested in reading; today when I handed her the new book in the car her brows furrowed and she read aloud, perfectly, to her brother. They both simply love to learn and love the world around them. They truly deliver energy and inspiration to the depths of me.

And Nels... "I like your sheets."

Labels: books, gratitude, school, sewing, Sophie

(I've been getting a few emails lately in response to recent posts. I've had a lot of positive feedback and a lot of support. I want to take this opportunity to thank all who've written or said kind words. I will get back to you personally via email but it takes me a few days to catch up.)

This morning finds me walking with Nels in the jogging stroller. First we drop his sister off at school along with her AR reading book and the small collection of supplemental bread-making activities for this week (read=I am a big nerd. Breadmaking Hoga-book download: [here]). Walking, walking, walking. Nels was quiet and happy so I put my earbuds in and had some musical bliss.

We were headed to meet my parents at the hospital for my father's PICC insertion. This will be the third time in seven years my father has had a long catheter inserted into his veins to deliver poison. I am not afraid of medical procedures and I don't want my children to be, either; hence at any opportunity we accompany him if he's willing (so far, he always has been). I have to admit it is a little alarming to watch a nurse pull a three-foot long wire out of my father's body. It is a little sad to see him in that old-man-skinny look where he can cross his legs like a stork and waits patiently on the bed for whatever horror or annoyance they have for him today (in researching more about his new type of PICC I happen to think the flash screen on the PowerPICC site is actually kind of frightening rather than reassuring). His white socks are stained with smudges of blood from a rash his body is covered with, a skin irritation that lives on even though it's been a couple weeks since his last type of medicine. He gets dosed again with something less pleasant tomorrow so he is no longer having time to heal and recover before he gets more help/poison.
Still, having Nels and I (and of course, my mother) attending seems to fortify him. Talking to him about the process and involving ourselves pulls him out of a depressive funk and makes him feel, if not fully alive and well, valued and loved and still interesting as a person. Staying away from the reality of medical intervention and treatment would keep it "not normal" which can feel scary. I don't want him to be scared; I don't want to be scared. And while talking to him and the attending nurse an inspiration struck: I will knit an armband for the PICC site to keep the area secure and warm. I give a little thank you prayer for what seems to me a good idea.

Nels for his part loves the hospital. Today he is doted on by nurses who give him a coloring book and crayons, fruit snacks and a special little table for drawing. It would have been nice to have Sophie there as the attending nurse tells me she would allow my child to view the procedure. Sophie is a scientist; a frame of mind and state of being that keeps even the most obscure or disturbing medical facts anchored in a rational, curious, and strong mind.

Tonight the family splits forces: Ralph and Nels to a website meeting for the preschool, Sophie and I to swim lessons and then a Knit Night at my LYS. I have a sweater to repair, socks for Suse to finish, and an arm-band to start.

Labels: books, illness, knitting, Nels, the Ghost of Christmas Bastard

Insomnia. Again. No external culprits: no late-night caffeine, no alcohol. Exercise earlier in the day. No illness. Just nerves. Alone, abandoned, sad. Listening to my family sleeping. At least the cats are outside cold (yes, I'm about to let them in). At night I tell myself that in the morning I'll feel better. It doesn't help much but, of course, eventually I do sleep. If I was prone to ulcers I'd have developed one.

My days are good. I have been so busy lately - in a good way. I've been working really hard at helping my daughter's class in their learning and enjoyment of school. Her teacher is awesome in that she will help me integrate a food or food activity into the lessons they do during the week. Ever since we started dong this stuff my little bird-brain gears spin away, bordering on the way-too-involved. Today was pumpkin pie day, pumpkin pie being the food the kids voted on earlier in the week (I'm sad they didn't vote for the soup, which would have been more fun to make!). Two-dozen individual pies and one large one for the teachers. The kids sat and unfolded a napkin and we listened to a song about manners while they all ate. It was a nice scene.

Next week I'm even worse. I am currently cooking recipes and planning a little school unit on bread-baking which includes book holds at the library, a Sesame Street video podcast, and a book the kids and I worked on today.

I have been putting together my zine (website pending) which I must finish before I allow myself to sew again (post-Halloween resolution). I am on the preschool board and run little errands for that which aren't rocket science but nevertheless take up a bit of time. Ralph and I have had two meetings each this week (I missed one), being more active in the film / theatre community here. And just trying to keep on top of housework and stay happy with the children and take Sophie to her swim lessons and enjoy peaceful evenings at home. We're hitting it dead-on this week, for a change. No strain, just fun.

Here's the thing: anytime someone tells you they're busy it's easy to not care, to tune out what they're doing. But the point is I decided these things were important. I decided I cared about them, I committed to doing them. It's different than a paid job where someone gives you a formal accolade or a formal paycheck and says, "Yes, that's what you should be doing." It's a good groove though; I'll admit. Today after baking pumpernickel bread my children opted out of playing together to come back in the kitchen and help me make two-dozen rolls (homemade burgers tonight for my dad's dinner). One nice thing about having an at-home parent is your children learn so very much from you. It is truly an honor and inspiration to have them as pupils, too.

The hour grows only later and my body does not feel ready for sleep. Nevertheless I shall try.

Labels: books, food geekery, homesteading, nerves, sahm, school

OK first, I'm so in love with our library. Don't ask me why, but in seven years I never did more than set a toe inside the PT version a few times. Part of the reason might be the PT library had an assy kid setup; kids didn't stay where they were supposed to and it was kind of a "hush"ing library; furthermore there was no way to do grownup stuff or even look for a book without abandoning your children one floor down - not a possibility for those with younguns. The HQX library has an upstairs that is much louder (at times, depending on number of children) than any library I've been in - which is to say it sounds like a normal building but quieter. Lately I've taken to going daily and letting my kids read / play while I do - this, blogging. Or reserve holds, write an article for the zine, whatever. It's good times. Before we leave Sophie and I check out five books from Timberland's list of 100 to read before school.

There are technical aspects of the library that are just precious. For instance, they have a mid-nineties-esque computer use registry (which is actually quite handy to use; last night I registered station 3 for 11 today, each station funnily enough called HO-INET) and the browser (some version of IE) will not let you find a webpage unless you painstakingly type the "http://", technical pickinesses that further inspire episodes like the one this morning:

At 11 I'm sitting next to this dude who is probably under 60 but has the fretting, soft voice of a much older man as he struggles to do something on the computer. I hear him saying stuff like, "Oh no, not that..." and "I don't understand!", "Oh dear," then, inexplicably, "They always make it look easier on TV." I start feeling like either he talks to himself (which I suppose one should ignore?) or he is hoping I will horn in and assist him with whatever (modest, I'm guessing) computer task he's undertaking. One thing about HQX, you learn to roll with the crazies and more or less mind your own business until they try to talk to you, ask for help, fondle you, or all three.

Sure enough, a few moments after I've noticed his self-talk he says, "Excuse me miss... Do you know how to do things with the internet?" (I am not joking and think he even said something weirder but in my spontaneous glee I was not taking careful mental notes). I get up and look over his shoulder and see he is trying to submit some recepits to Rite-Aid for a refund. He's been doing this for however long without successfully having signed into their website. I take him to the page to do so and give him instruction, then sit back down as he hen-pecks agonizingly and talks to himself some more ("My title? ... What's my title?") and finally clicks something that sends him back to fill in required fields he'd omitted. He asks for my help again and I get up again and look and he says, "Do I click on the star?" (the asterisk denoting required fields). I tell him no, click into the empty text box and ask for his email address. He freezes. "No, I don't have one. Can't you tell? I'm sorry. I'm sorry." (he said, "I'm sorry" no fewer than ten times in our brief transaction, indeed the only thing that even slightly annoyed me).

Apparently he was willing to spend a half hour on these pennies from Rite Aid but getting an email address is the most terrifying thing he's heard of. His self-effacing smile freezes on his face and although I tell him it would only take a few minutes to set up an email account, he shakes his head and says, "No, no..." He puts his hand on the mouse and sighs and says, "I'll just ... kill myself. OK?" (I'm hoping he means close his browser window). Then thanks me, repeatedly and (I think) logs off the workstation. I hear him a few minutes later talking to the librarians: "I found out you have to have an email." Their gentle, flyaway grey spirits are also unsuccessful in convincing him to get an email account and he eventually floats away, after once again passing by, thanking me, and yes, finally putting his arm around me briefly (I have been groped in this library an average of every other visit).

Meanwhilw I log into my account and look at how much longer I have my current audiobook; I'm thinking my parents would like to take it along when they set out next week to drive to southern California. Shhh! Don't tell!

Labels: books, inter-tron, library

Today I was trying to think of a way to do a weighted list for the front page of my zine (I am biting my tongue to keep from further discussing this publication right now). And I had another in a string of sad, disappointing realizations about my current reality. See when I used to work outside the home I could actually decide to figure some technical project like this out and have the time to do it in a linear troubleshooting fashion. Sure, maybe I didn't get the whole 30 minutes straight to mess about formatting something on the computer (although that was usually easy enough to arrange) but at least if I started it and was called away no one got on my workstation and messed with it or opened an IM client or shoved a CD in the drive or dragged the kitten's ass across my desk. I can't count on any of these things not happening - or even something worse (Nels darted across the street today before Ralph could stop him; later exploits in the day included handling the dirty kitty litter box into the cat's water dish; there's more, I'll stop now). I have a lot of control over my schedule (as the House Boss) but very, very little over how much peace, decency vs. chaos or drama ensues from my two semi-retarded simian coworkers.

Yesterday a friend told me that "if someone didn't know [me] better, they'd think they needed to call CPS on [me]!" alluding to, I think, the darkness of my writings and my unedited Mama sentiments. I just want to point out I'm perfectly capable of warm and fuzzy feelings and I post those often. I'm actually slightly too bummed out and overwhelmed to list a few other things that suck that are going on. For now it's getting by day to day, enjoying the little things (Sophie found a snake on the trail today and dedicated it to me; I visited my mom who's sick and made her tea), and trying to ask Ralph for what I need (and hoping he can help provide it).

Today I am planning on making bagels for dinner and cleaning the kitchen whilst listening to my first-ever audiobook (Rex Pickett's Sideways). If I can't get a full day off I can at least get an hour or so plugged into an iPod while I do chores.

Labels: books, burnout, family life, food geekery, i'm a hater

Last night I had a dream I made out with someone - not Ralph. And I'm not telling who. OK, it was Farm Boy Justin. I always liked Farm Boy Justin and I've made no attempt to hide it. I don't know why I liked him except he was a nice person, he had a big booming laugh, he had a nice body, and there was something clumsy and earnest about him. Let me be clear: I have never been close to risking my marriage on another man. But in years past - ah, the days of single life - I did make out with boys. And boys like this one.

The whole dream experience, upon waking, took me back to my days as a bachelorette. I remember being so cruel to cute boys (I'm not sure if Justin qualifies as "cute boy" or "nice boy", really - still mulling that one over). It wasn't that I deliberately played games or tortured them to keep their interest - quite the opposite, in fact. I think my friends and I literally believed cute boys could not experience pain or disappointment, had less of a soul, than your more typical average guy. My girlfriends and I had a culture of absolutely torturing these boys because it was easier than being invested in them. I spent years and years making out with boys and assuming it meant nothing to them. Some of them, God bless them, were articulate and mature enough to tell me they didn't like it that I didn't call. Most just accepted what I threw to them and either went happily or miserably on their way when nothing else evolved. I will never know.

I do know that despite being relatively amoral in my past - uniformed, really - I have always been drawn to these boys and mostly just wanted to flirt, to tangle up on the couch together, to experience the excitement of connection. I want to say I'm very sorry to the boys I was insensitive to or those I misread. Thanks for the memories. And I'm very sorry I molested you, Justin, in my own mind. It was a surprise to me, too. P.S. you seemed to like it just fine if that's any consolation.

I've been meaning to include an excerpt from The Pleasure of My Company, a novel by Steve Martin (yes, the comedian), that I read recently. I guess I don't want to say too much about the book for risk of spoiling some of it - but I found it not only funny but very sweet and human. These are a couple paragraphs that made me laugh:

Santa Monica, California, where I live, is a perfect town for invalids, homosexuals, show people, and all other formerly peripheral members of society. Average is not the norm here. Here, if you're visiting from Omaha, you stick out like a senorita's ass at the Puerto Rican day parade. That's why, when I saw a contest at the Rite Aid drugstore (eight blocks from my house, takes me forty-seven minutes to get there) asking for a two-page essay on why I am the most average American, I marveled that the promoters actually thought that they might find an average American at this nuthouse by the beach. This cardboard stand carried an ad by its sponsor, Tepperton's Frozen Apple Pies. I grabbed an entry form, and as I hurried home (thirty-five minutes: a record), began composing the essay in my head.

The challenge was not how to present myself as average, but how to make myself likable without lying. I think I'm pretty appealing, but likability in an essay is very different from likability in life. See, I tend to grow on people, and five hundred words is just not enough to tget someone to like me. I need several years and a ream or two of paper. I knew I had to flatter, overdo, and lay it on thick in order to speed up my likability time frame. So I would not like the sniveling, patriotic me who wrote my five hundred words. I would like a girl with dark roots peeking out through the peroxide who was laughing so hard that Coca-Cola was coming out of her nose. And I guess you would too. But Miss Coca-Cola Nose wouldn't be writing this essay in her Coca-Cola persona. She would straighten up, fix her hair, snap her panties out of her ass, and start typing.

Labels: books, girl life

Last night I missed something I'd been wanting to see: my daughter diving off the diving board and into the deep end of the pool. My husband and parents were at her swim lesson (I'd requested that Ralph film the swim class, the first one I've missed I believe, but he wasn't feeling up to it) but I was at a board meeting in my new position as secretary for my children's preschool.

There seem to be two camps of thought on this thing: those who can in no way picture why you'd want to be on a volunteer board for a preschool, and those who've done it so at least they get the purpose and necessity, and may in fact enjoy it as well. I was one of the former, now one of the latter (not so sure about the "enjoyment" part yet...). There are so many elements I dislike about participating in groups like this but the more I woman up and do it the more I either resign myself or discover the necessity of these idiosyncrasies - I'm not sure which, yet. Small example; I sit there wondering why we can't nix the small talk and get to the meeting and get it over with. I know I am not the only person there that would rather be home - I mean, other women there are surely antsy and only marginally enjoying the socializing. Yet we sit and talk and b.s. and I'm thinking, "I don't want to b.s. here. I want to be watching my daughter's swim lessons and b.s.ing with family or friends."

For a good five minutes I wondered why I couldn't just take out my iPod and watch something while I waited for the fucking meeting to start. If I was in a group of strangers I could do it. If I was a man I could do it. I did it, for a few minutes. As it turned out, I didn't have anything I wanted to watch. Note to self: load iPod with something good, maybe Blue Velvet or American Psycho; fervently hope Ricky Gervais will start doing a video podcast.

Anyway, as I sat there realizing the food was just arriving and the ladies would be starting to eat rather than meet I was in a minor agony; not having anything to contribute to discussions about how much husbands can't do certain chores or whatever or c-section dates. A woman next to me gets her dinner, a salad with lots of French dressing and a sandwich. A big sandwich. It had some kind of meat, and ham, and a fried egg. The woman eating it was pregnant although I did not notice at first; it turned out about a third of the Board were (there are no men on the Board). I really liked that woman and was impressed with her sandwich. She is continuing on in the board and I'm glad.

Once the president called the group to order things moved forward quickly; even though the meeting was started late it ended at 7:30; far less than an hour. This group breezed through issues in ways my previous co-op had not (my former group also took closer to a painstaking hour and a half and was not allowed to drink alcohol throughout; these ladies were sucking down Mudslides and I saw a Long Island Iced Tea). I also learned the president and vice president will continue their tenure on the board; this coupled with great leadership from the children's teacher(s) will likely (and I say this crossing my fingers) ensure a well-run board that's fun to be a part of. I left first, after saying goodbyes, and feeling enthused about participating.

Then I got home to find out Sophie had jumped off the diving board, and I'd missed it. Oh well. Being home with the kids full time, I suppose I haven't missed much (except a life of my own, har har) so that's OK.

Good job, my wee little girl.

Last night I also finished the book I was reading, Our Town by Cynthia Carr. It was a good book; I suppose now I will stop having dreams about the Klan. They weren't scary or violent dreams at all; I suppose you'd have to read her book to understand the sadness and loneliness of the dreams I had.

Labels: books, Sophie

If I had a cooler blog, there'd be all these need badges and audioscrobbler add-ins that would be impressing you. Well I don't, and there aren't, so here you go:

Listening to:
Muse's Origin of Symmetry - love it!
(Recently purchased):
Bright Eyes' I'm Wide Awake It's Morning - hmm. not sure yet how much I like it. I only bought it a couple days ago.
Air's 10,000Hz Legend (which I'd owned but lost somewhere along the way) - excellent!
Arctic Monkeys' Favourite Worst Nightmare - Ralph and I really enjoy it.

Watching:
"Arrested Development", still. I only get an episode or two a week in. This show is very, very funny and amazingly clever. I am just starting the third (and last) season now.

Clerks 2. Ralph rented this and is begging me to watch it. I saw a couple minutes while he was burning it and I was irritated. But I will watch it because I love watching movies with Ralph - he so seldom wants to slow down to do it.

Want to watch:
Mel Gibson's Apocalypto. I will be the last person on earth that still likes that dude (OK, I like his MOVIES anyway, and tons).

Downloading:
Super-secret project I can't talk about yet because a CERTAIN PERSON reads my blog a lot.

Eating:
I had half an apple for breakfast and of course, coffee. I'm heading out for a smoke soon. Last night I went to my mom's to use her serger (a $1600 beauty Husqvarna courtesy of my grandpa) and I had Ralph stay home to make homemade calzones. I am "making" him cook more. He is enjoying it and I think it's reinforcing not only his ownership of the house but also his appreciation of how much work cooking is.

Reading:

Last week I finished Donna Tartt's The Secret History. Well, I loved it. LOVED it. I think I'm going to have to read some Bret Easton Ellis now, since he was her benefactor and friend and wrote similar stories of the elite morally vacuous world.

A couple days ago I finished Patricia Cornwell's Portrait of A Killer: Jack the Ripper - Case Closed. I found it very interesting. She claims to have identified the murderer. I knew nothing about Jack the Ripper before I read this book. I really enjoyed it but it was also a very creepy read.

Currently reading Caleb Carr's The Italian Secretary, a Sherlock Holmes story. I loved two of his books, The Alienist and Angel of Darkness. And I have read everything Sherlock - or at least all Arthur Conan Doyle's stuff plus The Seven Percent Solution by Nicholas Meyer (which I loved). But this book is borrrrrrring.

Next up: my mom gave me a copy of How to Make An American Quilt by Whitney Otto. I don't like chick books much and it's going to be borrrring to read this after all that murder. But maybe I need a break from grisly stuff.

Labels: books, film, food

Due to a combined positive life circumstance of being in a more brain-ready place, and a negative life circumstance of being sick enough to warrant significant couch-time, I have been reading books like mad.

Yesterday I finished Ariel Levy's Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture (which I loaned to my mother today) and today I started Donna Tarrt's The Secret History (her following effort, The Little Friend, I count as one of my all-time favorite books). I liked Levy's book and was not surprised to see it was her first, her previous writings comprised mostly of articles and essays. The entire thing felt like a long, well-written series of articles on a related subject. A sort of mini-Naomi Wolf. I look forward to her next effort and yeah, her book changed my opinions.

Now on to Caleb Carr's The Italian Secretary: A Further Adventure of Sherlock Holmes.

Labels: books, illness