Le maudit Mo D.

also

GGG's big OoB show is in 3.5 hours!
Happy birthday T-square! 31 on the 31st!
I managed to stay at a party until 2:30 last night! Not a personal record, but decent for me!
Hung out with Boss Hogg and assorted other Opsters last night. First time seeing them in two years. Its great to have old friends.

the literate sandwich

As we approach the final week of Kitchen Remodel '08, I am officially sick of every median-priced eatery in greater Austin and cannot wait to resume a diet of microwaved burritos and stir-fried greens and brown rice in my own new, beautiful kitchen. I've put on about four pounds, we've spent probably $1000 on food over the last month, and I look forward to eating on the low end of the spectrum again.

Bob and I were discussing sandwich options today, and I mentioned local sandwich leader WhichWich, a smallish chain dotting the southern U.S. with special focus on university towns. Bob had never eaten there, and I only go there if I have business at UT, as there is a location on The Drag. I liked their crunchy bread/melty cheese flavor and suggested it as today's lunch spot, and so we went to one in our nearby overbloated upscalish residential/retail center.

Whilst there, I observed that, in stark contrast to the teriyaki shops in Seattle that D-Moe and I patronized a few weeks ago, one must be highly literate to successfully order at WW. They throw a lot of reading comprehension at their customers from the get-to and do not use semiotics to instruct those who are either unable to read or have English as a second or third language. At the teriyaki shops, every dish has a corresponding photograph of varying appeal and a number, so anyone, regardless of their language of choice, can just barrel up to the register and point to the sign as long as they're not blind.

Bob is one of tiny number of Americans who cannot design his own sandwich and must be told what the sandwich engineering team has deemed a good flavor combo, so the WW business model, despite its market successes, confounded and frustrated him. Thousands of literate Americans and perhaps some illiterate ones as well have successfully navigated the verbose WW gauntlet and have come out on the opposite end of the counter with a tasty sandwich, so what's the problem, brah? I hope that Bob can trust his own sandwich flavor alchemy skills and give in to the allure of the brown bag checklist method. Sometimes we are called upon to subvert our preferred cognitive paradigms. WW demands much more from us.

WW also assumes knowledge of general American sandwich conventions, as well as some pop cultural conventions. You have to know that Elvis was famous for his love of peanut butter and banana sandwiches; ergo, the Elvis Wich. A brief ingredient list follows, but I couldn't help but think that if I happened into Barcelona's equivalent of WW, I'd be thoroughly confused. Of course, in Barcelona, they have like three types of sandwiches, including cold omelet. No one here wants a cold omelet sandwich. I think this lack of variety is wise because all of this variety and control is the type of American excess that makes me wonder if I shouldn't expatriate to France. France would have me because of my name and my pledged commitment to speaking French and living in the French manner. My expatriation would bring full circle 400 years of my patrilineal ancestors escape from Bretagne to find their fortunes in New France. There would be some poetic justice, weight loss, free health care and six weeks paid vacation.

So, in a nutshell, WhichWich has made me consider the feasibility of its ordering method based on my own assumptions about the language comprehension of its customer base, the idea that a sandwich maker knows best, and that expatriation to France would be a cultural and economic improvement on my life.

Sometimes even I am shocked by just how Lisa Simpsonish I can be.

the end of nylons

Oftentimes, I notice that I am the only Geegster who wears nylons. Tights, pantyhose. I also have an impressive collection of fishnets. I guess its an old fashioned notion that legs look better and more appropriate in nylons. I was raised to believe that if you were going to wear a skirt to a formal occasion, you made with the hosiery. But here in Austin, no one else wears nylons unless they're old or they work in real estate or for the Republican Party. It's just not done here so much, owing to the heat and the casualness and everything.

With this in mind, I couldn't help but notice that none other than our future First Lady Michelle Obama was NOT wearing stockings at the conventions. She was bare-legging it the whole way, as were her daughters.

Much like how Kennedy's killed the men's hat, Michelle Obama has killed the lady's stocking.

I'm an even bigger dork now.

McPain

You read it here first: McPain.

i'm a mushroom

I realized today, as I was at UT for lex class which required much walking in throngs of people, how lucky I was that I got to attend a small, beautiful college that wasn't overrun with bodies, people, and people in flip-flops and short-shorts. UT is throng central and I suspect that its population density rivals that of Manhattan. So many bodies. So many moving bodies everywhere. And it was hot. So hot. I had left my sunglasses at home and so my enemy Mr. Sun was beating on my face something terrible and I suspected I was getting a bit stinky. So I found a shaded enclave and hung out there for a bit. Like a mushroom, I seek out cool, dark, damp spaces. I hate the sun. And throngs. Throngs fucking suck.

Anyway, today in class we compared definitions in the New Oxford American vs. American Heritage smackdown style. The prof is an AH alumna, and I gotta say, I thought their defs were crap compared to Ms. McKean's tome. (Oh, Ms. McK...you are so much cooler than Mr. Sheidlower...) To define an object, do you describe its function or its appearance? Oh, quandary. One point for NOA, in my opinion. I brought up front matter and more importantly, the fact that no one reads the front matter. (The front matter is the 10-12 pages in the front of your dictionary that explain to you how to use your dictionary and why the editors have decided to do things the way they did them) Then she assigned the homework of reading the front matter in the dictionary of your choice.

I like to think that my mention of the unimportant front matter prompted that little homework assignment. Hee hee hee...you have to read the front matter. I've already read the front matter, so I'm good. Thanks.

As the class is an undergrad course, I overheard two women chatting about their post-graduation plans, which include law school for one and a SWEET finance job down in San Antonio. "I just turned twenty-three," the one wearing a strapless top confided. "I feel so old." I turned to her and said "you're really not." She smiled at me but I don't think she has any idea what she's saying. Hell, I used to think I was old at 23, but what I meant by that was "I am a very old soul and unlike most people my age because I am inherently this very old person, no matter what my age is." "Old" implies doors closing, skin wrinkling, knees giving out, and doctor-prescribed low-salt diets. Old people do not wear strapless shirts and if they do, they are heartily admonished for their trespasses.

don't use your badge for vadge!

Big ups to Improv for Evil for a highly successful, jawdroppingly right-on premiere of COCHISE! Best line of the night is above. Cochise (Vines) censures his partner, Ramirez (Pollock) for using his badge to impress ladies. Mike got a round of applause for just stepping out on stage in his incredible cop costume. He was the chief. Eric's mealymouthed pussified mayor character wanted Majcher's hired killer character to kill the chief because "he yelled at me and made me feel bad." Bob, wearing a black turtleneck, had a turn as one of the go-go dancers at the Pink Pussycat and a flashy but easily cowed drug dealer.

I have pics but I left my camera at home so they'll have to wait.

I have to miss Obama's speech tonight but am looking forward to listening to it tomorrow.

lexication

I had my first go-round in an undergraduate lexicography course this morning. I probably could co-teach this class, as apparently my knowledge of current dictionary issues is on par with that of the instructor. Also, I am guessing that at least half of the students in the class (who are all seniors) are there because they have to take a senior seminar and this class was the only one open. The instructor even said that this was a valid reason to be in the class, but hoped they liked dictionaries.

If anyone needs help finding a term paper topic, I can help with that. I might even write a paper myself, even though I don't have to. I'm not getting a grade or anything, so I can do as much or as little as I want. I am also thinking about new words and terms that could be defined as a class exercise:

hook up (vt)
social networking

Anyway, sitting in a room with a group of 21-year-olds with varying levels of interest in the subject matter made me feel old! And it had been years since I sat in a coed undergrad classroom (12 to be exact). Boys go to college? What?

My laptop works again. Yay. I suffered a data loss but I don't want to talk about it.

And hello, BtB! Maria Bamford was fucking amazing last night. Captivating, unorthodox stand-up comedy. Someone please make her obscenely rich and famous right now. Great shows all night, though I can't get the mental image of Matt Bearden's friend who jumped into an empty pool out of my mind. Eyeballs. Yuck.

texas fresh

HEB has its own line of Texas-themed air freshener sprays with names like "Hill Country Fresh" and "South Padre Breeze." I've never thought of Texas as smelling particularly good or bad. I might consider a "Texas Smokehouse BBQ Fresh" because that's the only Texas-y smell I like. MEAT!

cochise cheesy

Please come see Bob's troupe Improv for Evil do their '70s cop show Cochise this Wednesday at 10pm at SVT so that this horrific facial hair configuration will not be in vain. Thank you.

middle east conflict

I've been getting hits on this blog from Iran and Saudi Arabia by persons in search of sexual content. Sorry to disappoint, people. I'm sure you're risking your freedoms by Googling "hot fucking" and such. Good luck.

And hi, Andrea! I got two hits from Tucson, so it must be you. See you this weekend, lady!

estupido

Yesterday, while doing some pretty decent writing on Nov #2 (the second half will be told from Philip's POV, which I love because he's a florid-speaking nerdy freakball and I love him), my MacBook's hard drive decided to take a dump and I was greeted with the horror of horrors: an unbootable computer with a flashing question mark symbol on the screen. SHIT! It gets worse: the day before (Friday), I had done some rearranging and a lot of work and guess who chose that day to forget to back all that up??? Yeah. So two days of work shot. It's not all lost, and it was probably going to be all rewritten anyway, but I have to drop the first 15 pages in the mail to Ms. Nelson tomorrow so she reads it and tells me what she thinks during her week at VSC.

Shit.

Poopers.

I think I steered some customers away from the Mad Crab, or at least pissed off the management (eat me, management, the way I ate your crappy food!) as someone from the Whidbey area Googled their way in through "crabby crab restaurant coupeville." Neener neener.

I never realized how dependent on my laptop I am. If my car had to go to the shop, I'd shrug, be inconvenienced, but ultimately be fine. I can get to 90% of the places I need to be by walking or taking the bus, so no big loss there. But my laptop...I don't know what I'm going to do with myself today. I have a desktop at home but I don't like writing my novel at home. The atmosphere doesn't work for me. I like having people milling around me even if I don't talk to them.

I have a date at the Apple Genius Bar tomorrow at noon. Until then, I'll be biting my nails or something. Crap.

horizon

I have a lot on the horizon.

1) BEYOND THE BORDERS 7. Wow, it's already time for the BtB fest again! Shit! Time flies. I used to be on the staff of this venerable fest but close readers will recall that between September '07-May '08 all I did in my spare time was plan LAFF and my Ladycollege Reunion. Adding BtB to my schedule would have been the proverbial straw, so I quit and I have no regrets. I can only do so much volunteer event planning. AND, this is the first festival that I will simply be a patron of and I am very excited about that. Just watching shows and such. Whee!

The Geegsters are in a headlining slot this year. We are honored and delighted that the BtB sees us fit to fit the bill in this big way. We have worked hard and are tickled even pinker than usual.

2) LEXICOGRAPHY CLASS. Starts next Wednesday. Can't wait to nerd it up with the local Dictionarians!

3) NOHO REDUX. I'm spending the second weekend of September in the Motherland for my second tour of volunteer training on the 'mater's dime. I'm hopefully meeting up with Father Dictionary (one of my Dictionary colleagues quit to become a Catholic priest) for some Catholic consulting for Novel #2, which will hopefully be mostly done by the end of...

4) VERMONT!!!! Only a month away! WTF!!?!? What am I going to do in the woods for four weeks without BOB? Other than write my little bum off and huff New England foliage like it's gas? Work in the kitchen, connect with the 40 or so other artists that will be in residency too. Stare at the stars. Coin-op laundry. Self-doubt. Revolution. Art. Love. Vermont. Vermont!

and then...yes...

5) CHOP SOCKY: THE RETURN. Currently fighting with insurance over this right now. I'm really going to do it this time. I've been having too many health issues of late to let this go any longer.

And finally:

6) JOBBY-JOB. I don't plan to quit writing, but I do need to go back to work and earn me some $ and have somewhere to go every day.

That's my horizon.
Now, onto rehearsal!

mocakes strikes again

I've been on a tripadvisor rampage. Today's masterpiece:

Warning to travelers: don't go to Baby Acapulco. It's not where the locals eat. Okay, if you're a UT undergrad entranced with the idea of getting tanked with all your new friends, sure, Baby A's will get you good and drunk with their grain-alcohol margaritas. If you're in town for a UT sporting event, church get-together, or some other gathering that finds you staying at one of the low-end hotels that dot this stretch of I-35, Baby A's isn't a bad choice. But if you want Mexican cuisine that actually tastes good and arrives at your table in good time without a lot of hassle, Austin has hundreds of superior choices. Baby A's is a drunk tank for people whose perception of Mexican cuisine comes from repeat business at Taco Bell. I assume that over half of Baby A's revenue intake comes from bar drinks, because without courting the drunks, this place would have shut down years ago.

I ate there for the first time in seven years today. The restaurant smelled like a combination of cleaning chemicals and feet. I couldn't help but observe a member of the waitstaff set down a plate full of entrees and then disappear for at least 10 minutes while the entrees just sat undelivered. Had someone quit mid-shift? Wouldn't surprise me a bit. We then noticed a table of unhappy-looking patrons pointing at the abandoned tray, wondering if that was their food that was in plain view but just not at their table. Pretty much their entire waitstaff walked past the abandoned tray before we pointed it out and the plates were whisked back to the kitchen without comment.

The food was okay, but I spilled my taco on my shirt and had to go home to change because the spill started to smell like vomit.

I hadn't been back in seven years because the last time I went there, I ordered a margarita before I found out what in the margarita led to speedy inebriation (answer from a friend who worked there once: Everclear). I've been drinking all over Austin nearly decade now and never before have I become so drunk so fast on ONE MARGARITA. I was with a friend who is a heavy, experienced drinker and even he was uncomfortably intoxicated. It wasn't even a fun, happy drunk. It was "what is my name and am I going to die tonight?" drunk. Awful.

Anyway, Baby A's is tacky, serves mediocre food and dangerous margaritas, and caters to travelers who don't know any better. If you want good Mexican with a similar atmosphere, go to Chuy's.

mad money

I can't watch Mad Men without opening a handy U.S. dollar inflation converter on my web browser and doing some historical math.

As a service, here are 2008 equivalents corresponding to the episode "The Benefactor:"

Ken Cosgrove's $300/week salary=$2185.07, or $104,883.36 per year before taxes

Harry Crane's measly $200/week salary=$1456.72, or $75,749 per year before taxes

When Peggy got moved up to Junior Copywriter, she was given a whole $80/week. $80=$582.69, or $30,299 per year before taxes. Sorry about your vagina, Peggy, but you're not worth as much as the boys!

My compulsion for facts is maddening. And I call myself creative??!?

SSAD!

Hot tip from Swillkes: tripadvisor.com saw fit to publish my screed against the diarrhea dump that is The Mad Crab! Whidbey Island visitors will be duly warned of the shittastic, shittacular, all-shit-all-the-time cuisine that awaits them for $20+ per plate-of-shit! Comparing their food to excrement lacks originality, I know, so I will remind readers that the place is a school cafeteria with a view. BURN!

Seattle was lovely. I adore the Wilkes clan and the city of Seattle. I was treated to only one rainy, cold, dreary Seattle day, and am back to my Summer Seasonal Affective Disorder. I can't believe it's the same sun that beats upon Texas graces Massachusetts with welcome loveliness. I don't know if it's kosher to self-diagnose, but in the summer months, all I do is cry and look at Western Mass real estate websites. No one wants to hear you bitch about the heat, and everyone thinks your nuts for missing snow and gray skies and seasons. I play up the Yankee/New England thing, but I'm wondering if my borderline-destructive response to summer isn't a mental health issue rather than a cultural preference. I really fucking hate it here in the summer and am hoping my Big Plan will hatch so I never have to look at Texas in the summer again.

But back to Seattle: I had a great time. I love Kevin and Jesse. Jesse's pottymouth and flashing of the double deuce at my camera delighted me to no end, and when Kevin said in a small voice, "Don't leave!" at the end of my trip, I almost took him up on the offer.

This week marks my 8th anniversary of living in Austin. I will celebrate by reminding myself of my Northampton trip on 9/10 and cranking up the A/C.

pennyroyal tea

I'm sitting in a Seattle coffeehouse and the baristas on duty have chosen Nirvana's Unplugged album for community listening. Isn't that a tad cliche? I mean, really?

I'm a wee bit maudlin, as I wanted to change my flight home to an earlier flight and was prohibited by Southwest's computer system from doing so. I didn't realize at the time that I had booked the last flight out of Dodge that gets me back to Tejas at midnight on Tuesday, so poo on that. I do have a long layover in Lost Wages, NV. I could perhaps wile away my two hours there in front of the slot machines like a good American.

Due to the fact that Dyna did not bring proper documentation with her, we chose to skip Vancouver, as we did not want her to be denied reentry into the US. Instead, after much cheerleading from one Jesse F., we decided to take our tourism business to Anacortes, WA. Indie rock children will recall Anacortes as a smaller version of Olympia, what with all those dear twee K-Recs types congregating there to make atonal opera or whatevs. Whilst in Anacortes, I observed that "tweeness" rhymes with "penis."

All the cheap-ass motels were sold out so we stayed at a very nice resorty place in Whidbey Island. Swilkes, Dyna and I were treated to a summer camp-esque expanse of watery views, our own lagoon, grassy fields, and an inadequately stocked bar (wine and beer only). We ventured into the town of Coupeville for a meal, only to be treated to the shittiest restaurant experience in recent memory (see below--The Mad Crab is a shitpile and can totally eat my ass). Fortunately, I am with friends and we were able to laugh off the experience through creative expressions of hatred. I attacked that dilhole nutsack restaurant on tripadvisor.com with the veracity of a scorned mistress. The Mad Crab is going down.

I also wrote a five-star review for Anacortes eatery Adrift. Adrift sold me one of the most delicious hamburgers I have ever eaten. They used top-quality Washington State beef and concocted a burger combo featuring garlic aioli and carmelized onions that was positively delightful. They also had nice vegetable sides and used books for sale. Sarah's cookie was superlative. I highly recommend Adrift.

Tomorrow is Sarah's huge bomb-ass party featuring all of her friends convening at once. Tuesday Dyna and I go to our respective homes. Then I hang around Austin for three weeks, go to Northampton for my leadership weekend thingy, come home for another two weeks, and then head off to Vermont. Then I get cut open. I have nothing planned after that, except maybe getting a real job again.

I also got another agent rejections. This one is quite curious, as the agent compliments me three times but disses me a few times, too:

Dear Monique,

All best,
Another CRA-ZEE agent

I find these rejections strangely life affirming. I'm playing the game, I'm doing what I have to do. I'm not so young anymore and recognize that probably half my life is over now (us Marfanoids don't hang out very long) and so am just pleased that I've gotten this far. I am very close to completing the two great errands of my adulthood, finding a faboola man to marry and getting my novel written and published. After that, it's all gravy. Even if I am not at peace (who ever is?) I'll at least know that I accomplished the two things that meant the most to me.

Dyna sure knows a lot of odd people. More on that later.

The Mad Crab is a dump

(posted on TripAdvisor, only without the swears)

If you visit scenic Whidbey Island with hopes of dining in the style of a mid-level amusement park restaurant or are looking for a low-quality Applebee’s experience with the taste of an airport diner and the prices of a top-end steak house, wander down to The Mad Crab, where you will leave the restaurant mad and crabby.

The menu states that the owners of this culinary sphincter of Whidbey Island honed their tourist-screwing skills in Las Vegas before opening this school cafeteria-with-a-view in Coupeville. Scouring the shelves of Sysco for instant mashed potatoes, fishy-tasting farm-raised salmon, and two-day-old rolls with the consistency and flavor of a wool sweater, The Mad Crab owners serve unwitting visitors the lowest quality foods at the highest possible prices and are very good at making their customers unhappy to the point of hauling the cook out of his kitchen to offer face-saving but reluctantly comped entrees. Our table was so sticky that the paper napkins stuck, and the floor needed a good mopping.

The cooks clearly learned how to melt margarine in a microwave to make a thick “beurre blanc” sauce for the fish while cooking in a prison kitchen. Three completely-raw shrimp rolled in paprika plus Ragu spaghetti sauce jazzed up with clumsy chunks of garlic under the alias of “Firecracker Prawns” set us back $23. The “vegetable side” consisted of mushy zucchini. And beware: these prices are justified with a liberal shaking of dried parsley over nearly EVERYTHING to fancy it up. You could do a lot better driving into Oak Harbor and hitting the Arby’s instead of wasting your money at The Mad Crab. The Mad Crab is a dump and I will rejoice when they get shut down. They suck that hard.

P.S. The “Shellfish Selection” was adequate.

anniversary

Two years married.
Ringy on my fingy.
I love Borpe.

I left my phone at the Wilkes's domicile, so I can't call Borpe to tell him I love him, but hopefully he will read this and know I am thinking about our anniversary today, as we are in different states, so I can't tell him to his face.

neil-attle

The NYTimes has an article on the current Neil Diamond tour. I am a fan of the big ND and have been my whole life. I've never seen him in concert and figured that I should catch this tour. I checked his website and all of his Texas tour dates are in October, when I will be sequestered in the Green Mountain State trying to finish my second novel. For those in Austin who are interested in being personally blessed by the greatest songwriter of the 20th Century, he plays San Antonio on October 12.

I am here in Seattle with the divine Ms. Swilkes. D-Moe will join later today. I enjoyed a healthful breakfast of bran cereal and fresh blueberries and am entranced by the pleasant 70 degree weather. Whee!

Pete Campbell is a dick. That's all I have to say about Season 2 Ep 1.

On the flight here yesterday, we had a weather situation that kept us grounded in Denver for an hour. Microbursts, which are detrimental to aircrafts, especially during take-off or landing, are detectable by air traffic control technology. Thank you Southwest and thank you air traffic control for preventing a fatal plane crash yesterday! And now I know more about weather. Science!

cool, cool seattle

Going to a place that's nice and chilly
To hang with some ladies that are cool and silly
SEATTLE!
It's a beautiful place
SEATTLE!
Let it touch your face
SEATTLE!
Pack an umbrella just in case...

Going to a more merciful city
The heat index is never shitty
The trees are green and the sky is gray
Ballard is hipster and Capitol Hill is gay
SEATTLE!
Ride the Monorail!
SEATTLE!
Paul Allen will never fail!
SEATTLE!
What will this trip entail????

Well Austin is cool but it ain't the northeast
The hot summer heat is a murderous beast
So even though its with New England that I'm obsessed
I'm gonna pack it in and head for the northwest!
Pacific, that is!

The sushi's really yummy out on the Pacific Rim
Remember the Fastbacks? Your bartender's name is Kim
Savage is there to help with your blowing and your fucking
And Seattle's there to save you from your summer really sucking!

SEATTLE!
With Swilkes and D- Moe
SEATTLE!
Tomorrow it's time to go to
SEATTLE!
Where the friends are kind and true
If you're good to Seattle,
SEATTLE'S GOOD TO YOU!

No, the tourism board didn't pay me to write this, and no, I do not consider this to be my best work. I'm at a bar, I yoinked that out of my buttocks.

I look forward to seeing all the other Seattle-ites, like Margaret and Simone and the Wilkes Parents and K-Pat, too. A veritable jamboree of good people!

my husband the perp

For IFE's upcoming improvised '70s cop show, Cochise.

08-08-08

You know you're in Kitchen Remodel Hell when you sit down to eat at a place you've been to many times before and the first thing you recognize is that the tile on the wall is 4x4 ceramic semi-gloss. (Culver's)

I've heard before, mostly from my mentor, but from others too, that you should always go with an agent from NYC. I understand this notion, but since I'm a Cali girl and my novel is a Cali novel, I feel like a Cali agent would make sense. Also, it's a good thing that the agent who is interested in my novel is from Cali, because I had a tough time understanding what she was saying at the beginning of the call:

HER: Hello, this is mmmrmrmrmm mrmrmmrmr blerble blerble Literary Agency, can I speak to Mo?
MO: (takes a few seconds to realize that it's AN AGENT) Yes!
HER: (scratchy connection) Well, I'm calling because I loved your writing, and I can't wait to see where this goes...

I thought it was someone from Little Bro's school, as it was from that area code but not any number I recognized, but then I remembered...YES! SD AREA AGENT! And I remembered her name.

I'm still a little uneasy, though. I didn't hear her say her name. But I know it was her. If had been one of a hundred 212 numbers on my phone, I might feel a little foolish and a little screwed.

Apparently there is a Mad Men display at Bloomingdale's in New York, and that they're selling "clothes inspired by the series." I have nothing but lust in my heart for all of the costumery on Mad Men. I know no one but me takes note of this, but all of the ladies dresses and suits are high-necked, and that is just what this mama needs to feel lovely and stylish. Although I am happy to be a woman in this day and age, what with those helpful sexual harassment laws and such, the fashions of today blow compared to then.

I have one episode left to watch from Season One and then I am going to download Season 2 Ep 1.

I guess Bob and I are celebrating our 2nd anniversary this weekend, since I will be in Seattle with Swilkes and Dyna on the actual day. We started out the celebration today with lunch at Culver's. Their burger patties are weird. They are super-thin and, like, shaved and compressed, if that is such a way to describe heavily processed beef. I don't know if weird beef is really a way to celebrate an anniversary, but, uh...I'll take what I can get.

Tonight Bob and I earn a the next-level sash in Tai Chi! The Chinese are right: 08-08-08 really is an auspicious day!

first request for full manuscript

An agent called me this morning!
Wants to see the whole thing!
Whee!

fameballs

I have gone to school with two members of the lowest rungs of fame:

K-FED! (Tenaya M.S., Fresno, CA) Okay, I missed him by a year. And I'm not sorry about it. And no, there's no way in hell he would have given me the time of day or vice versa. Father of the year, you say? K-Fed is a cousin of my dear friend C. C's family no longer has anything to do with the Feds because they're too trashy for their taste.

MARIO LOPEZ! (C-Juana High, C-Juana, CA, 1991) I didn't know Mario very well, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. I can still see him walking down the hall in his seafoam green silky paisley shirt tucked into ass-enhancing white Z. Cavaricci jeans. He was often called upon to rile up the ladyfolk during school pep rallies.

Mario has been enjoying a bout of renewed fame of late. His agent must be very diligent and hardworking to get him all those beauty pageant hosting gigs. And that nude photo shoot? Is he enjoying a resurgence of popularity among 14-year-olds or something?

I am eavesdropping on a conversation about books here at the T-bird. I love this kind of stuff. If I could spend the rest of my life studying English at some little northeastern college, I'd be in heaven. Of course, society sneers at such excesses. If I wanted to spend the rest of my life shooting Arabs, fine, but reading books is dirty and elitist.

Bob and I paid a visit to the financial planner this morning. It is important to get these duckies in order. I am now a little worried that I will have a tough time finding a job next year, when I hope to make a valiant return to the worky world. I have a two-year gap in my resume in which I did plenty of unpaid work. I helped plan improv festivals and a college reunion, I wrote a novel, I wrote another novel, did a residency, and basically did not sit on my bum. But I did not have a paid job. Perhaps I will easily find decent employment. Perhaps not.

In related news, I have been reading the book DICTIONARIES: The Art and Craft of Lexicography for my upcoming class at UT. It is surprisingly readable and non-dry, at least to me. (If the reading isn't dry, does that mean it is wet?) Huzzah! I'm not suggesting you run out and read this fine textbook, unless you really care about the topic (and why wouldn't you? and while we're at it, is your dictionary old and stale? if it's over 10 years old, shouldn't you update it to a more recent edition? you know, "google" is in the dictionary now!) It contains the first definition of the word shite (from 1780-something). Now that's some interesting shite.

skinny girls and queso

Every restaurant that I haunt these days, and they are numerous, has as patrons a table of twenty-something women clustered around a bowl of queso. Skinny fingers saturate corn chips with liquefied Velveeta flavored with Rotel and then pop these fatty morsels in their mouths.

I'll be honest with you: queso gives me wicked farts. It is the worst-ever social food out there. I usually avoid the queso in order to not clear a room with my noisome butt gas. I want to maintain my friends, thanks. But there are plenty of skinny chicks in their 20s with alimentary canals of steel. Either their ass-cramming skills outshine my own, or they were blessed by the Lord with the perfect intestinal absorption mechanisms ever.

HOW DO THEY STAY SO SKINNY WHILE EATING ALL THAT QUESO?? And they usually wash it down with 2+ beers. FART CITY! Consuming that would have me on my knees begging the porcelain god for mercy! Chips and queso: pure fat! Salt! Processed cheez food. And they're still slithering into size 4 jeans on the regular. I call bullshit on this. Bullshit. There. I called it.

Little Bro is at a college fair right now. My mom called to report that he is having a dandy time. She also told me that I would make an excellent college admissions worker, as the lady who gave the keynote speech apparently reminded her of me, with her bubbly personality and fine public speaking skills.

When she said that, I realized exactly what has made me feel so terrible of late. I fear that I have missed my calling, and that calling is PUBLIC SPEAKING. I should be giving speeches on arcane subjects. I should have in my hand one of those little red laser pointers and I should be enumerating and elucidating in front of hotel banquet halls full of bored, sweaty listeners! There should be sweaty pitchers of ice water leaving condensation puddles on goldenrod tablecloths whilst I alternately dazzle and bore the shit out of people who are being paid to listen to me bloviate. Of course, teachers are essentially public speakers. But I don't like non-gifted children, so I call bullshit on that. Bullshit.

The P-graph improv class has come to an end and I am a bit sad about it. I learned much in those six hours + countless meaningful bar moments spent discussing improv while eating other people's fries and assorted deep-fried vegetables (mostly zucchini). My love of the "boring scenes" still warms my heart, as do R, K, and K. Heartwarming people and a fab artform. Yay.

come back to me kitchen

We've been sans kitchen for two weeks now. Two weeks of dust and paint thinner smell and plastic sheeting waving in the breeze. There are strangers alone in my home right now. Our clothes and sheets and towels are spinning in several communal washing machines at the Washeteria.

I am really looking forward to cooking again. I hope that Sarah and I can make some awesome meals next week in Seattle. I'm spending a ton of money on eating out everyday and have put on three pounds even though I am mindful of what I am eating and try to order healthy stuff.

The kitchen is going to be awesome when its done, though. It already looks different thanks to the cabinets' paint job.

narwhal

Last night's GGG show was about stuffed narwhals. It was a good show. The audience loved it and Jason was an awesome BOS.
I am considering adding one of these guys to my stuffed animal collection.
I have to think long and hard about who to add to the collection. I get super-duper attached to these guys and then I worry about them as if they were real pets.
I don't much care for real animals, but the stuffed ones break my heart.

eleemosynary

It seems that someone else out in Internetville has the same favorite word as I do: eleemosynary. It means (according to my beloved former employer): of, relating to, or supported by charity. I think I first heard it in high school as a lyric in a 10,000 Maniacs song (income eleemosynary, oh!), but that might have actually been a mondegreen. Mondegreen is one of the current rock stars of the word world, having just been given a place in the latest printing of the 11th Ed. It basically means "misheard song lyric." Go look it up yourself.

Eleemosynary might be a good name for my second novel, or at least an apt one.The working title doesn't really work for the book anymore, since I changed Anna's death from a suicide to a brain aneurysm. Of course, it's not a word that's used in popular American parlance, so no one will remember it, so the book will be forgotten and therefore unpopular.

Eleemosynary is still the best word, though.

And what's up with the guy who read the entire OED? Doesn't he know that people get paid to do that, like, as part of their jobs? I am a little jealous that he got blurbed by Erin McKean, though.

partial

The agent I queried last night around 10pm asked for a partial this morning around 11am.

Quick turnaround. She said the story seemed "lively."

Margaret E., '83

If you are a Ladycollegian, the style of this particular commencement speech, usually a somber affair in which we are beseeched by a wildly successful woman to go out and be as wildly successful as her, will register as unorthodox. If you are not a Ladycollegian, you might enjoy it anyway. I personally find it refreshing. According to the LC website, Margaret had no notes and IMPROVISED the entire speech! That's a high-pressure speech and I'm so pleased that they didn't make her submit a speech for approval or anything. Margaret is up there because she won a Pulitzer, but she is quick to identify herself first as a Kindergarten teacher in Atlanta public schools. I was at the Hotel Northampton brunch buffet with my Big B Bitches as this speech was going on, but I really wanted to see her.

I will let go of any residual bitterness of having a bubble-haired Conservative Viagra shill as my commencement speaker a decade ago.

04.08.94

The boy from my high school who lost his marbles the day Kurt Cobain died is still alive and has a Facebook account.

I am strangely comforted by this. Even though we weren't great friends, I still think of him every time something about Kurt comes up.