Overly Verbal

Earlier, the sky was purply (purplish?), and it was raining. That somehow reminded me of two things: long ago and vainly attempting to view a meteor shower from my rooftop in Brooklyn with Goethe, and The Humpty Dance. (I have this idea that no one understands me and how my brain works, and I think that idea comes largely from the fact that I personally have no clue as to how my brain works, and it would be silly and frivolous to imagine that someone else possibly could. I mean really. The sky is purple and that fact leads to The Humpty Dance? If I was reminded of Prince’s Purple Rain, that might make sense, what with the purpliness and the rain. But no. Where does my brain get off?)

In other news, I made some really rather delicious pumpkin scones today. Tomorrow, barring my actually getting a job (which seems pretty unlikely considering the fact that I’m not really taking the whole finding a new job thing very seriously at all), I think I’ll try my hand at croissants. I don’t like croissants. They’re too flaky. But I would very much like to be able to make croissants, because that seems an impressive sort of thing to be able to do, doesn’t it?

In other other news, I really like Triscuits. And I’m always surprised that the low-fat Triscuits do not taste horribly different than the regular Triscuits do. (Or different from the regular Triscuits.) (Are either of those even remotely correct? Goethe, help me out here.)

(Finally, in yesterday’s list of things I like that start with M, I neglected to mention Mr. Alonzo Q. Monkeyspank, esq. Because his real-life name does not begin with M. But I didn’t want him to feel slighted, so I felt I should bring that up now, and so I have.)

So yesterday I took a proofreading test. And today I was told that I did not pass the proofreading test. Shock and surprise abound. Needless to say, I believe I performed quite well on the test, as among the things I do well are included both proofreading and taking tests. Reactions have ranged from “Are you f**king kidding me?” through “Surely they made some sort of mistake” all the way to “Something’s fishy.” Planets must be misaligned or something, because it just doesn’t make any sense. And there’s nothing more to be said about that, I suppose (except maybe, as the kids say these days, WTF?).

I have nothing else at the moment, and the cat is being surly instead of photogenic today, so what do you get? That’s right, a list.

Things I like that start with M

• mashed potatoes (Particularly instant. Do you want an entire entry about how my parents’ divorce caused all my tastes in food to stop evolving when I was five? I don’t think so, but let me know if you’re interested, ‘cause it’s a pretty good story.)
• Mouse
• Mighty (he’s the dog I’m sitting, but not keeping. Is it a crying shame that I haven’t taken any pictures of him to share with you? Yes, yes it is. I’ll get right on that.)
• marshmallows (and so does my cat like marshmallows. In fact, here’s something people don’t say often enough, “It’s like a cat, eating a marshmallow.”) (For that matter, people don’t often enough say, “It’s like a cat eating a marshmallow.”)
• malapropisms
(And this isn’t that a malapropism exactly, but it’s a funny story that I’m reminded of, so bear with me. A while back I’m watching a kung fu movie with Manuelo:
• Movie: [hideous, bizarre death of kung fu fighter]
• Manuelo: He really bit the farm.
• Me: [oblivious]
• Moments pass.
• Manuelo: Wait, that’s not right.
• Me: You’re right, it’s not. What’s it supposed to be?
• Manuelo: Bought the farm.
• Me: Then what does one bite?
• Manuelo: The dust.
• Me: Oh.)
• Manuelo
• music
• money
• manual typewriters
• McDonald’s
• Mondays (they, and rainy days, never get me down)

(And the only thing I can think of right now that starts with M that I don’t like? Mushrooms.) (The food, I mean. I might like psychedelic mushrooms. I’ve never tried them, because I spent way too much time in high school and shortly thereafter babysitting people who had taken hallucinogens. While amusing, that can also be quite tiring, as I’m sure you can imagine.)

Busy reading. Since I last wrote, I’ve read the following books:

• The Ha-Ha (Dave King)
• Truth & Bright Water (Thomas King)
• If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things (Jon McGregor)
• The Tender Bar: A Memoir (J.R. Moehringer)

(And although I checked each and every one of them out of the library, I don’t think my personal library would be diminished in the least by the addition of any one of them. But since I’m not a book reviewer, I’ll refrain from saying anything more about them, except that the McGregor novel, in particular, was very, very good, and I’m pleased that he’ll have a new book out in March.) (You know how March seems like a long time from now? It seems to me that just yesterday it was Memorial Day, and now Labor Day is looming. Wherever did the summer go?) (Also, there’s a whole entire entry in how delightful Thomas King is, but not right now.)

(And I’ve also re-read the first 100 pages of Swann’s Way. Because it is still summer, at least for a while yet, and is there a better way to spend part of your summer than in re-reading Proust?) (And tomorrow I will go to the library, where a copy of Roger Angell’s Let Me Finish is being held for me.) (And after the 11,000,000 other people who would like to check it out of the library have read it, a copy of Anderson Cooper’s new book will be waiting for me.) (Anderson Cooper is hot, but not as hot as Richard Engel, who is so hot it’s actually stupid. Mr. Engel, as it happens, has also written a book, and I think I’ll read that one too. Not because I care so much about war or anything, but because I like to read books by hot newscasters.) (I haven’t read Tom Brokaw’s memoirs yet either, come to think about it.) (Kidding! Tom Brokaw’s not hot!)

Oh yeah, and I’ve been busy watching movies: Spellbound (bet you thought I’d already seen it, huh?), American Psycho (guess what? The book was better.), and Sarah Silverman’s “Jesus is Magic”, which was not nearly as funny as I’d hoped it would be.

Other things I do when unemployed? Delicious pumpkin-raisin cookies, lovely knitting, and computer upgrades (a new USB card, to be precise, because the interminable period between plugging the camera into the old USB port and actually having the pictures on the computer was starting to get to me.) (And a new USB hub, because climbing around under the desk to unplug the webcam every time I needed to charge the iPod was somewhat annoying.).

Oh, yeah, and napping. The dog’s been here a week, and the cat has taken to sitting in the bathtub inconsolably meowing at the top of his lungs at 1:00, 3:00, 5:00, and 8:00 AM. (The cat has also started to drink out of the toilet. Soon he, I, or both of us will need tranquilizers.) My life is rich.

And I know that you were all concerned to learn about Barry Manilow’s recent hip injury (apparently exacerbated by his “high energy performances” - vavavoom!), because he’s rescheduled his remaining shows in Vegas, and you were going to buy me tickets for my birthday. But there’s something else I want for my birthday, so fear not. The New Yorker is putting their entire archive on a portable hard drive (which I could, by the way, handily plug into my new USB hub.) It’s only $299, and if you preorder, you can have it engraved with a pithy (because you only get 70 characters) birthday message, for free! Just go here: www.newyorkerstore.com.

In other news, in the morning I have to take a proofreading test. Details will surely follow.

So we all remember Benny, right? The squirrel that ate the herbs, forcing me to move the plants inside? Well, the daisies are back outside, with dried minced garlic sprinkled on the soil. (As is the catnip, which actually is now flowering. I am so impressed with myself.) Yesterday there were about 100 little red bugs trying to kill my daisies. I’ve managed to keep the squirrel from killing the plant, I’m not about to be foiled by little red bugs. So I look on the internet, decide soapy water will kill them, and spray soapy water all over my poor plant. (Then I carefully wipe all the bug carcasses off with Q-Tips, because I’m obsessive-compulsive and whatnot.) This morning? There are fewer bugs, maybe two dozen, but they’re huge by comparison to yesterday’s. I am apparently single-handedly breeding superbugs. And I’m okay with that, because I’m going to see this daisy plant bloom on my balcony if it kills me (and you, and maybe some future generations). (And I left the carcasses today, because I’m going to show these bugs who’s boss.)

In other plant-related news, some dogs apparently like fresh herbs. When Manuelo was here dropping the dog off, we found the dog eating a leaf of fresh basil. (Later, the dog apparently drank too much water, and threw up. (We won’t tell Manuelo that, though.) It didn’t smell like basil, but there were leaves in it.) Today, I find the dog chewing on fresh parsley. So I think what I’ll do is plant some mint, and see whether we can’t get the dog to have minty-fresh breath. (I’m not allowed to move the catnip inside though, because Manuelo told me in no uncertain terms that he would be mad if I got his dog addicted to catnip.)

(And technically, peanuts are a plant, so we’re still on topic. I can see why people would like the lime and chile flavored peanuts from Trader Joe’s, but I do not. There’s a bowl on the counter, and I keep walking past it and eating more, thinking I should like them, since other people do, and thinking maybe I will like them this time, but everytime I eat them, they’re still gross. Just gross. But if you haven’t tried them, you should, because you’ll probably like them, what with your taste being more refined than mine and all.)

Okay, so I’ve been absent for a while. Even with all the complaining, I’m sure you’ve all somehow muddled through without me.

Really, there’s not a lot going on. I do have a couple of new things, but nothing all that interesting.

First, I quit my job. (That sounds more dramatic than it was. I gave a month’s notice a month ago, and Friday was my last day.) Do I have a new job? Not so much. But I’ll find one, because my skills and abilities are in high demand. (Will I perhaps wind up going back to my old job in an hourly capacity in a week or so, to help them out of the hole they’ve dug by letting me quit? Perhaps. Depends on how much they’d pay me to do so. I quoted a figure several times in my last two weeks, and no one seems to have balked at it.) Anyway, not to worry, but the whole “last week” thing really sort of cut into my time to think of clever things to write about while allegedly doing my job, on account of there was a lot of actual work to do. (For example, you know how you let your e-mail pile up in a “miscellaneous” folder until you have time to print it and file it, or carefully read it before you delete it? You probably shouldn’t do that, because some day that “miscellaneous” folder might come back to haunt you.)

Second, I have a dog. Okay, he’s not really mine. He’s Manuelo’s. He’s cute and small and fun to be around, and I’ll take a picture of him eventually so you can see him (Manuelo already told me it’s okay if I make his dog famous). He’s staying for three weeks, and Mouse is not exactly thrilled with the idea, but eventually it will be one of those beautiful cat-is-disdainful-of-dog, cat-learns-to-tolerate-dog, cat-and-dog-become-inseparable kind of stories. Eventually. (My lease (no, not my lease, the 18-page “policies and procedures” manual attendant to my lease) explicitly states that “no pets of any kind are allowed to be kept by residents, except for cats, which may be kept only by residents who first execute a lease addendum”, etc., etc., etc. Needless to say, I did execute such an addendum, and also, I am not “keeping” the dog. I know a great many definitions for the word “keep”, and not one of them is what I am doing with this dog. I may be harboring, housing, dogsitting, feeding, watering, walking, and entertaining this dog, but no, I am not “keeping” him.)

Third, my home is now a Wi-Fi zone, because the houseguest will be here for almost two more weeks, and sharing a computer has seriously diminished my blogging, hasn’t it? (Yeah, right. Truth be told I’ve had plenty of time to sit down and write here, but instead I’ve been writing clever e-mail to clever boys that I’ve met on the internet. Is that more productive, more potentially fruitful? Only time will tell.) And wireless routers are $40. So, if you would like to come stay with me, sometime after September 1st, I can offer a couch, unlimited local and long distance telephone service, and now, wireless Internet. It’s better than a hotel, really (not least because I might also make you French toast. Try getting homemade French toast at a Holiday Inn. Go ahead, try.)

That’s all, for now. I’ve got two or three funny entries in my head that will have to wait until later. My inbox beckons. (When’s the last time someone you met online actually knew of, let alone mentioned unprovoked, one of your very most favorite Monty Python skits? When?) Life is, simply, rich. I’ll tell you more later.

Two things that should be good, but are, in fact, not:

• Ritz Crackers
• Drumsticks (by which I mean “The Original Sundae Cone”)

Three things that shouldn’t be good, but are, in fact, delightful:

• Rice Krispie Treats
• Snoballs
• Peeps

A really, really bad way to respond to the question, “Did you like the last book you read? Why or why not?” [This is not actually verbatim, because that would just be cruel.]:

• It’s been a really long time since I read a book. I’m more of a do-er than a reader.

Two things my bus driver should learn already, before I fall down or something (because I am fully entitled to wear three-inch heels on the bus if I want to, and if I can’t find a seat I should at least be able to successfully remain standing during the entire trip):

• Slow and steady wins the race.
• Haste makes waste.

One t-shirt on my bus:

• “UPTOWN
  OLD SCHOOL
  Don’t touch me in public
  cuz, I’m too sexy for you.”

Never mind that I can’t actually figure out what that sentence means. (Does cuz stand for cousin, in which case, ewww? Or does cuz stand for because? (In which case commas everywhere feel just a little bit dirty.)) The girl was 10, maybe 11, and even if the woman with her was not her parent, or even her legal guardian, chances are she was being reimbursed in some way for having this child in her care, and therefore had a moral obligation to stand up against that t-shirt. (Heck, I had a moral obligation to stand up against that t-shirt, and I did not.) (Then they came for the little girls wearing entirely inappropriate t-shirts, and I did not speak out because I was not a little girl wearing an entirely inappropriate t-shirt. Then . . . okay, fine, it’s all my fault. Please don’t get me started on trade unionists. Tell me when they start coming for the fascists.)

I hope to have something mildly amusing or interesting to report soon, but please don’t hold your breath.

I never promised you a rose garden. I did, however, promise Sara a caterpillar. And Sara, dear, if you would simply get your own blog, I wouldn’t be the only one filling cyberspace with things that make sense to only an extremely limited number of people. (What do they call that again? Oh right. Esoteric.)

I’ve recently learned that animals can be blood donors. If you have a young, healthy cat or dog, please check with your vet to see whether he or she can donate blood. You’ll probably get a discount on veterinary care, and Fluffy could help save a life. (As if anyone reading this would actually name their cat or dog Fluffy. Maybe a lizard, turtle, or fish.) (Speaking of which, many of you may be unaware that when I had turtles, they were named Heidi and Humbert.) (Heidi liked to, um, hide.)

Also, Goethe sent me an e-mail nearly two weeks ago:

Jen,

Despite our differences over just what might have happened or might be happening in the Middle East right now, would you (and perhaps some of your friends and mine) like to make a small, general or dedicated contribution to the International Red Cross AND/OR International Red Crescent [http://www.ifrc.org/]to help relieve what is obviously great suffering in a conflict that the United States, despite the urging of the UN and EU, has simply not done enough to alleviate in the last three weeks?

If you are agreeable, it would be excellent if you would post the suggestion on your blog, donations to be made however the contributor wishes (e.g., directly to the organizations). Despite our many political differences, you and I agreed upon a joint contribution after the tsunami in the Far East in late 2004. The principle is the same, is it not? I don’t care whether an innocent is a Jew or a Muslim. All are human beings and all are suffering for reasons beyond their own control. You’re a libertarian, for crying out loud, so forget the government. Let’s do what we can individually. It adds up.

We’ve already covered the fact that I’m poor. But I can knit, and so I am. Save the Children is running a program, Caps to the Capital, collecting hats for low-birth-weight infants. It doesn’t take much time at all to make a tiny little hat; I actually made an entire hat before breakfast this morning. And I tried to take a photograph of it, but couldn’t capture it adequately, so I gave up. Trust me, it’s adorable. And if you don’t know how to knit and want to learn, I could teach you. (But I would not, as they say, have to charge.)

(And how happy are we (nay, you) that I don’t spend more time here writing about knitted things, the delightful output of my kitchen, or how I rearranged my furniture the other day? I recently made chocolate cupcakes and didn’t even tell you about them.)

On Friday I did learn one other important thing. The woman who sometimes makes me a sandwich also apparently makes the weather:

Me: [trite pleasantries dictated by the what-to-say-when-you-pay-for-your-lunch social code]

Her: And it’s a beautiful day outside, if I do say so myself.

Me: [?????]

(Also, I do not currently have a song stuck in my head. Please make a note of it.)

On my bus this morning:

• A woman reading Strunk and White (but she had turned down the corner of one page, apparently to mark her place. That’s not at all stylish.)
• A man who seemingly works for the Department of State, eating string cheese and reading a biography of Joseph Smith (and two weeks ago he was reading a slender volume entitled “Early Mormon Pamphleteers”. I have half a mind to befriend this gentleman (gentle man?), but I’m really not particularly social first thing in the morning, and I have never, but never, seen him on my way home from work.)
• Me, listening to Supertramp (and if you don’t get the same simple satisfaction out of The Logical Song as I do, well, I’m sorry)
• A woman curling her eyelashes (”Um, Jennifer, there’s no S in there.” In fact, there is. She was doing it with a spoon. I had never seen anyone do that before, and sort of hope never to see anyone do it again. Apparently it works, though, because her eyelashes looked lovely when she was finished, although it took her a very long time to achieve the effect.)

(Also, the little boy with the Froot Loops? Today he happily ate all but the yellow ones. I love that kid.)

There was a man on my bus on the way home today that looked just exactly like El Debarge. (I’d link to a picture of him, but then I’d have to link to a similar picture of Matthew Wilder, the greatest pop artist of all time (I know you know that Break My Stride was performed by Matthew Wilder, so I won’t insult your intelligence by pointing that out now), and things would start to get really funny-looking around here, in an I-spend-entirely-too-much-time-cultivating-my-enormous-hair sort of way.) And so naturally I got Rhythm of the Night stuck in my head. And now we’re listening to it, because iTunes is my very best friend, and the houseguest is attempting to teach the cat how to do the Locomotion. Because my life is rich, as is the life of my cat. We’re gonna have a good time the whole night long.

(And you know what I did before I saw the man on the bus? I left work without remembering the Froot Loops. I should probably just be taken out back and shot now.)