fluff

Not the Beatles

2009-10-04T19:32:00.000-07:00

The Beatles featured pretty heavily in my young life. Both my parents were into music. I was allowed to stay up past my bedtime when Yellow Submarine was shown on the Channel 56 8 o'clock movie.

honestly? psychedelic art gave me agita as a young girl.

I think I was in my twenties before I discovered that the voices in the movie were NOT John, Paul, George, and Ringo.

So is it any wonder then, that I spent the first decade of my life convinced that this singer was Paul McCartey:

And this song was sung by John Lennon:

I think this is the first time I have ever seen Jeff Lynne's eyes!

It's my blog and I'll anthropomorphize if I want to...

2009-09-19T07:34:00.001-07:00

A moth followed me into the house the other day. I tried catching it, but it was flying pretty high. I figured one of the cats would soon make quick work of it. Ringo seemed like he wanted to take a shot. Ever since he and his mom Pippin took down that mouse a few months ago, he's been raring for another hunt:

He's hungry like the wolf....

I forgot about the moth until the next morning, when I was startled by the dark blotch on the shower wall.

I'm not the type of person who gets freaked out by bugs - and even when I do freak out, I collect myself enough to try to capture them and set them free, rather than smooshing them (except mosquitoes. no mercy for mosquitoes). But showering and moth rescue are not really compatible activities. And honestly, the thing was so quiet and unobtrusive, I'd forget about it by the time my shower was finished. Besides, I don't have quite as much reason to despise moths as some people.

Yesterday was day three of the moth hiding out in the bathroom. It was fluttering around the shower caddy, perhaps trying to glean sustenance from the bottles of shampoo and conditioner. I took pity on it, and knew I had to set it free.

Moths have always struck me as rather forlorn creatures. Always fluttering around lights they mistake for the moon. Plus their clumsy flight patterns remind me of all the flying dreams I've ever had - the epic struggle to achieve liftoff, the herculean effort to stay airborne... Not to mention, unless you're a Luna moth, people don't really care. It's all about the pretty butterflies. *ahem* Not that I'm bitter.

So, time to set this one free.

i close my eyes and hold my hands and walk up to a broken heart...

2009-09-19T07:08:00.000-07:00

My favorite Miracle Legion song, and I never even knew there was a video.

I taped a copy of Me and Mr. Ray from my friend Delene at UMass (where is Delene and her roommate Leah now?). I listened to it a lot that heartbroken semester. I don't even remember what was on the other side of the tape. I would just rewind to the beginning.

I remember seeing Miracle Legion at the Hatch. My ex came up for the long weekend with his new girlfriend in tow, plus some other friends. I was trying to be all mature and cool about it, but I was pretty miserable. We were tripping madly. I was mesmerized by the music. And Mark's hair.

Mark lost his wife last year. I can't even imagine that heartbreak. Now he's raising their twin daughters alone. Some amazing musicians have put together a tribute CD for Mark. It's called Ciao My Shining Star. Henning, tell the nice people how to get their copy.

It's a feeling, a heartbeat...

2009-09-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

Dirty Dancing was voted the "Official Class Movie" of my graduating class in 1988. Which pretty much set the stamp on my refusal to see it. I mean, the "Official Class Song" was Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again," and besides being bitter that my suggestion of Talking Heads "Road to Nowhere" was not chosen, I couldn't stand Whitesnake. I figured the film tastes of my fellow classmates were probably the same. Besides, at that point, if you'd asked me, I would have told you my favorite movie was Terry Gilliam's Brazil (actually, if you ask me now, I'll tell you the same thing).

In the summer of '89, I was home from my first year at UMass Amherst, working by day as a chambermaid at a hotel in my hometown of Plymouth, and nursing a seriously broken heart. I went home sick from work one day, ostensibly from heat exhaustion; though I imagine low blood sugar from a lack of appetite coupled with a hangover from crying into my rum and coke the night before contributed to my lowly state. I was crumpled on my mom's couch, watching the end of some movie on HBO, and didn't even have the energy to turn the channel when Dirty Dancing started a few minutes later.

I don't know if it was my weakened state, but I was. sucked. in. I suddenly understood the appeal of Patrick Swayze. The soundtrack included old rock n roll songs I dug, not just the schmaltzy hit. I totally teared up when Baby did the lift. It felt good to step out of my smart girl role and just enjoy some dancing for a change...

RIP Patrick. I'll never be sorry.

RIP Catholic Boy....

2009-09-14T04:52:00.000-07:00

Ugh, a running playlist...

2009-09-13T08:38:00.000-07:00

I did not have a great run this morning. Which sucks, as I'm running a 5K in a couple of weeks. I'm going to blame the wine I drank last night, and a less-than-ideal night's sleep. Oh, and the heat. Sure. Why not? The real culprit is my slackiness now that the YMCA is closed due to the fire. *sigh*

It started out great...cued up on the Mp3 player was one of my favorite steady pace songs:

...followed by another one that makes me feel like running strong...

I was running on the Manhan Trail, which begins just down the street from my house.

It's the cool and shady end, and I started with a good strong pace. For me. Which is pretty slow by most standards. But I was thinking about the race and how this would be a good pace if I could keep it up. At the 1 mile mark I was feeling good and figured I'd make it a longer run. Maybe 40 minutes, 45.

I ran past Wilton Brook, which is pretty low and stinky due to the dredging of Nashawannuck Pond. Ew.

After being in the sun for a bit, my pace slowed. My legs started feeling a bit heavy. Vampire Weekend helped a little:

I gave it a valiant effort with another favorite pace song:

I tried landing my left foot on the handclaps. It was hard work. I couldn't keep moving at that pace. I had to slow to a walk. Stupid wine. Stupid sun. I hadn't even made it 30 minutes.

I trudged back to the water fountain at the fire/police station. As I approached, another favorite running tune came up, and I knew I had to at least try to run the last leg home. After a few slurps of water, anyway:

There's an unshaded rise - not even a hill - before the last cool, shady leg of the run. I wasn't sure I could even make it to that section. And then this song (which I thought I'd swapped out of the playlist for a rest) came up. Good thing, too.

I wouldn't call it a strong finish, but I finished, trying to dodge the ubiquitous slugs on the path. Because that's what I need - guilt for slug-killing on top of the sluggish self-esteem.

I can't wait for the Y to reopen.

The days are lit like everyone....

2009-09-12T11:26:00.000-07:00

September 1991. It's one of those early autumn mornings ripe with promise. Fierce blue sky, just a hint of coolness in the air. I'm on the Northampton/UMass shuttle, heading for my first class. I like taking the bus. I tell people it gives me a chance to catch up on my reading, but usually I just put on my headphones and sink into the music while I watch the scenery pass by.

On this morning I'm listening to Surfer Rosa. This copy belongs to my boyfriend. It had been eaten by an old tape deck, but he managed to salvage it. Took the shell of the cassette apart and rewound the tape. It sounded fine - the crumpling had happened at the very beginning of a side, with the clear header tape. I'd had the tape in since I left the house to walk to the bus stop, and side two was just finishing. I hear the crinkle of the crumpled header tape, the whir of the auto-reverse kicking in...

We're in Hadley, the intersection of Routes 9 and 47. The Farmer's Museum and the town hall next to it are scalding white against the blue sky. There's the hiss of the tape. I feel the drums kick in, and the bass....and suddenly the bus feels like a roller coaster, and we have climbed to the top of the hill, and I can see for miles. I want to scream with the rush of joy, of adrenaline...

I will never forget how happy I feel to be alive at this moment.

I didn't get to see the Pixies before they broke up. There was a show in Boston that I heard about, but I was a poor student trying to support myself on the meager wages of my record store job. I did get to work a They Might Be Giants show at Smith, and Frank Black was the opener. My friend was doing the catering. He let me help him so I could get in for free.

I met the Johns for the first time. I was surprised and a little sad by their standoffishness (but found out the reason for it years later, which will have to wait for another blog post). Meanwhile, Frank Black was the warmest, sweetest guy - which I didn't expect from someone so screamy. He told us how he'd recently become a bit of a wine connoisseur, and had just come back from France, where he'd consumed lots of amazing wine. He produced a bottle, and proceeded to pour glasses for the hospitality staff. It was superb. I loved him. When the show started I went upstairs and danced my ass off during his set.

September 2005. I'm living in Charlottesville, Virginia, the midday host of a radio station I love. But I miss Nothampton. I miss being able to walk to venues where the bands I love are playing. Most of my favorite shows are a two-hour drive to DC. And then comes word that the Pixies are playing the Charlottesville Pavilion. It's a ten minute drive from my house.

I run into some friends on the way in. We get down just close enough to the edge of the stage. The band takes the stage. I feel the drums kick in, and the bass....and I burst into tears.

I had not forgotten how happy I was to be alive at that moment. I screamed my voice raw, and even with earplugs my hearing was muffled the next day. I figured that was it - I'd finally gotten to see one of the bands that made me so. happy. And that was it. That would be my Pixies experience...

September 2009. And then....this.

My friends got tickets this morning.

Ooo ooo...

Long as I Can See the Light

2009-02-01T06:26:00.001-08:00

I got Josh this orchid for his birthday in 2007. We were still in Charlottesville, almost exactly a month before we moved up here. There was a woman who sold orchids at the Saturday morning Farmers Market. I let him pick out the one he liked the best.

Josh is good with plants. I am not. If it's not pestering me to feed it, I'll forget about it. Josh has forbid me from doing anything with the plants since I killed a jade plant. I do, however, love having plants around. I love how it makes our house look all jungle-y.

I love flowers, and I always admire people who have vibrant gardens. I just don't have the vision. Well, certainly not the foresight to turn tiny little brown seeds and bulbs into blankets of color.

I just stumble around, shoulders hunched, muttering to myself about all the work I need to get done...

...my breath coming through clenched teeth as I try not to slip on the icy sidewalks, vision dulled by winter's monochrome and snow glare....

...until a tiny spark ignites...

...lighting my path to Spring.

Some local economic stimulus action...

2009-01-24T11:59:00.001-08:00

...my people call it "Saturday."

"Hey! The sun's out! The temperature consists of more than one digit! Let's walk into town!"

We missed out on getting to the bank in time, because I am full of fail. But we did finally get to check out the used bookstore we pass every day. We could have easily walked out with much more than we did, but I reminded myself of a magical place called "the library." Still, I like to support local bookstores.

Then it was time for lunch. Our goal for several weeks has been to try this new Mexican place. The inside was cheery...

...and I could have stayed for hours, reading my book...

...and drinking tamarind soda...

(which, much like Ikea cola, didn't taste at all how I expected; but, unlike Ikea cola, it was a pleasant surprise.)

How was the food? Not bad. Josh liked his burrito. It's pretty authentic for New England. I wish the tacos had used shredded chicken, instead of chunks. And I'm wishing I'd been a little more adventurous and tried something different, instead of sticking to my usual tacos.

Not this adventurous, though. 'Cuz yeah...that's on the menu.

Still a little high on Inauguration fumes...

2009-01-24T06:44:00.000-08:00

I didn't go to DC, like Tom and Tina, or GL and Bill - who, incidentally, has a really excellent rationale for why it was important for him to go to DC for the Inauguration, which he lays out in this recent broadcast:

Nor did I take the day to celebrate with Katy, Traci, and Eleanor (which would have been my preference).

Instead, I had to work.

Luckily for me, work involves celebrating the Inauguration with a live broadcast at the Academy of Music, where hundreds of my fellow citizens and community members gathered to watch this historic event on a big screen:

Thankfully, our coverage ended before I got all unprofessional and unobjective.

It was a joy to share it with friends.

Oh Joyful Day....

2009-01-20T03:50:00.000-08:00

Sing along with Michael....

Washington, Washington!

2009-01-17T08:35:00.000-08:00

I stumbled across this years ago, while working at my former station. I have this vivid memory of everyone crammed into my office to watch it. It was especially amusing because my friend and former colleague Ronda Chollock (who is bad about updating her MySpace page) was actually working at the Washington Papers at the time.

Yesterday, I stumbled across it again, and had many of my River compadres huddled at a computer to watch.

WARNING! Not safe for uptight work environments, or children. Especially British children. And you'll be singing it for days. Consider yourself warned.

Cure for the Common Cold

2009-01-17T05:17:00.000-08:00

*sigh*

How cold is it?

The normally skittish Sherbert has become a lap cat again:

Chloe is pretending she is a tropical cat:

They say the key to surviving winter in the northern climes is to get out there and enjoy it, with fun winter activities like skiing, snowshoeing, sledding...

...or shovelling.

Doesn't he look excited?

But sometimes, the best cure is to leave winter behind for a while, and remind yourself of what's on the other side of that long cold stretch of season. Some folks do this by taking vacations in warmer climes. Those of us with less time and/or money...

(or an inability to fly)

...have another option:

It is truly one of my favorite places in town, especially this time of year.

Like Chloe, you can surround yourself with greenery and pretend it's Spring:

But it's not just the riot of color...it's the sounds of running water - and the resulting humidity in the air. I love the orchid room, with it's pond filled with koi - and Mr. Frog. Every time I go, I make sure to locate Mr. Frog.

Here he is!

The orchids take my breath away:

I also suffer from orchid envy. Here's ours:

Bloom, damn you! Bloom!

The scent in the air is amazing. One room had this incredible spicy smell that I wanted to bottle and bring back to my house.

I love the concept of trees INSIDE spaces. TREES! INSIDE! Wacky!

And jungles! Again, inside!!!!

Did I mention I'm a sucker for waterfalls?

And so we emerged rejuvenated and fortified with a healthy dose of spring to get us through the next few months.

*sigh* Maybe once-a-week doses are in order....

"Hello, my name is Jaz....

2009-01-16T18:11:00.000-08:00

...and I am a cheap date who gets looped on a glass and a half of pinot noir. And flan. Yes, I am drunk on flan. Happy Birthday to me."

Game Night, or My Tribe is Hilarious

2009-01-11T06:35:00.000-08:00

It was SUPPOSED to be UberGeeky Game Night, in which we played Dungeons and Dragons. But our Dungeonmaster canceled, which is just as well, as I hadn't yet made it out to buy those special dice. Plus, I was wicked cranky from work, and dubious about the restorative powers of battling orcs. However, GL was nearly inconsolable: she had claimed the week before that UberGeeky Game Night was the most exciting thing about the new year. I am recording that statement here so I can call it up on a computer screen on June 14th, 2009.

Anyway, it was clear that the tribe would not be denied games, so a regular old game night was declared.

With snacks.

There were amazing caramels from Cornucopia, yummy cheesy chips made by Katy, some kind of organic cheese doodles (?), and Chocolate Newman-O's:

Oh, and conversation hearts. Which according to Katy should not be bought until February. Because these ones apparently weren't ripe yet. At least, the purple ones weren't:

There were many surprises in the evening's refreshments, including a particular beverage purchased from an unusual place: Ikea. This sparked a volley of wisecracks:

"Ikea root beer? Is it going to fall apart in two years?"

"It comes with allen wrenches."

"The root beer is strong until it gets moved. It will have to stay with the apartment."

Traci and Katy claimed it had been displayed under a sign marked "Root Beer." We called on local root beer expert Bill Scher to test the beverage:

"That is not root beer."

"Maybe it's furniture polish."

"The root beer is ... surprising..."
"The surprise comes later."
"No, the surprise is pretty much immediate."

We settled on Lingonberry cola.

"Lingonberry cola is made from people!"
"Norwegian people!"

The second most amusing/perplexing thing about Ikea cola, besides the taste, is the label:

Gnomes? Really? I guess this is the closest we get to D&D tonight.

At any rate, we settled on a nice relaxing game of Apples to Apples.

I had the choir boys card. Why are choir boys wicked, you ask? Well, they shamelessly seduced all those poor Catholic priests, is all.

Yes, I said it. And so ensued a night of ridiculous, inappropriate, and utterly hilarious wisecracking. For instance, I bet you did not know the ways that Keanu Reeves could be considered "comfortable:"

"Why is Keanu Reeves comfortable? Well, he's very soft, and he makes you feel smart, and he generates body heat..."
"...Yes, so if you are cold you can split him open with your light saber and crawl inside."
"Plus, you could knit a warm cozy hat with Keanu's soft hair."

Or that Dr. Seuss might be considered by some to be distinguished. Other poo-poo this notion, based purely on geography:

"Dr. Seuss is distinguished?!"
"He's a doctor!"
"Pffft! Yeah, from Springfield! I'M a doctor in Springfield!"

Things took a turn for the racy:

"I think I'll grow a pencil mustache tomorrow and just keep it for the day."
"You could totally make a porno in a day."
"I have an idea for a new game!"
"Okay, apparently now we're playing Seven Minutes in Heaven."
"Except our version would be Seven Minutes in the Cold Vestibule."

Coming (sorry) soon to a porno shelf near you.

I came close to passing out from laughter-induced oxygen deprivation. Which was the perfect antidote for a cranky day.

Good Dinner vs. Bad Dinner

2009-01-01T17:20:00.000-08:00

Sunday night we went over to Tom and Tina's to make some dinner and introduce the T's to the joys of "Shaun of the Dead." (I know - they hadn't seen it! Nor have they seen "Evil Dead." Yet.)

Oh, and to visit the pups:

Abby

Grendel

We made veggie enchiladas. Well, by "we" I mean Tom and Josh. I let them do the veggie chopping. I can't be trusted with knives. My contribution was purchasing a few ingredients and making sure the dogs were adequately snuggled.

Tom was mortified at the aesthetics of the meal, claiming it was well below his standard. Whatever. They were tasty as all get out:

And then Tina just decided she needed chocolate and whipped up some brownies just like that. Delicious, gooey, molten center brownies:

It truly was a lovely dining experience, and a sweet evening overall.

And then...tonight happened.

Josh had been stuck in the house all day as I had to work, so I promised him an evening out. We figured dinner out would be a safe bet, since we both have to work tomorrow. I let him choose the restaurant. I promise I won't hold this against him.

(I am not going to name this restaurant here, since I believe all restaurants are entitled to off nights. But if you ask me in person, I will tell you. You may also be able to guess.)

Pulling in to the parking lot, we were a bit worried, since it was filled with cars. We feared a long wait. We had no idea....

We were actually seated very quickly. It took a while for someone to come take our order, but it took a long time for us to decide, so I wasn't too worried. As we placed our order, another family was being seated nearby.

When they brought the little crunchy things with the duck sauce, I had my first warning sign: the duck sauce was bland. It was like dipping my crunchies in water. Bleah.

We placed our order: Hot and sour soup and vegetarian beef in garlic sauce for me, veggie spring roll and shrimp in garlic sauce for Josh.

And then....nothing happened for a long, long time. Well, that's not QUITE true: a very harried waitress occasionally came by to tell me she'd be right back with my soup, and then fail to return.

When my soup - which I had been craving, by the way, because I have had a cold this week, and I adore a good sinus-opening hot and sour soup - finally arrived, it was neither hot OR sour. I thought maybe the blandness had something to do with my sickness, but honestly, I'm almost over it. I have been able to taste other things just fine. I had Josh test it, to see if the problem was me or the soup. The problem was definitely not me.

At this point I should mention that when my soup showed up, Josh's spring roll did not. In fact, the waitress thought that she had failed to bring him something he had not ordered: "You seafood hot and sour soup?" "Uh, no. Veggie spring roll." "No soup?" "No."

The other thing they didn't bring Josh? A fork. His little silverware bundle, which he had opened in order to test my soup, contained three spoons. "Are they tripping back there?"

They brought our entrees, and I asked for a fork for Josh. I wasn't holding out much hope, though, as they neglected to bring us plates on which to eat the entrees. We had to eat off of the serving platters. At least they brought Josh his vegetarian spring roll with his meal, which he started eating with his spoon. Have you ever tried eating broccoli with a spoon?

Meanwhile, the family that they had seated after us got up to leave. They never even placed an order. The mom had basically had her water glass filled about a quarter full before her brood was completely abandoned.

Again, my dish lacked a little 'oomph,' but it wasn't terrible. Josh was obviously very annoyed at having to eat with a spoon. I overheard a couple seated nearby being told by the waiter that something he had brought them was "no charge," in that apologetic tone of voice.

And then, the final straw: as I was chewing, I felt a hair. Normally this isn't cause for immediate concern, as I have a lot of hair and it tends to find its way into my mouth when I eat. However, this was not my hair.

I couldn't take it anymore. I spit the offending mouthful back into my napkin. "I'm done," I told Josh.

"Can I use your fork?" he replied.

Right after that, the couple seated nearby who had been treated to something no charge asked to see their waiter. Apparently the woman's favorite part of whatever dish she had ordered had been left out. I tried to stifle my giggles.

The waitress came by to ask if we needed anything. "The check," I responded. She pointed to the large amount of uneaten food on my platter. "You want to take home?"

"No."

"No?!"

"No. Well, he'll take his, I guess."

I told Josh to be ready to go once we got the check. I wasn't going to wait for our waitress - I'd take it up to pay myself. When the check arrived, I ate a fortune cookie and a couple of slices of orange. Best part of the meal. My fortune? "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the paycheck lighter." It should have gone to the waitstaff.

While waiting for the cashier to return, I tried to warn a woman who had just come in with her daughter: "Run. Run while you can." Too late; she had called in an order. "Good luck," I told her.

When I came back, Josh told me the couple near us had to call their waiter back AGAIN for another problem with the meal.

We couldn't get out of there fast enough. Josh suggested we get some ice cream to try and salvage the evening. Thank you Herrell's, and your chocolate buttercream ice cream, for salvaging my night out.

A Very Bootsy Clogmas!

2008-12-28T19:04:00.000-08:00

Xmas eve eve...we celebrated Spbakt! with the tribe.

Tina and Tom made buttons and magnets:

Katy and Traci defied the "no gift" proclamation and got all crafty on our asses:

Traci made soap:

And Katy made these awesome reusable produce bags:

seriously awesome.

Xmas eve was spent working and then running around in cold rain, jumping over puddles and dodging other last minute shoppers to get Sage a copy of Veganomicon. Snatched the last copy at Broadside Books - ha ha! suckers!

I *was* going to make the Chocolate Bourbon Cake which I failed to make for Spbakt! but decided that Josh and Sage would probably prefer the Pumpkin Pie Brownie Tina had made for the Tribe Thanksgiving.

I was correct in this assessment. And luckily had all ingredients on hand. Even more luckily, enough ingredients on hand to completely redo the first bit after totally misreading and screwing up the recipe.

We opened gifts after dinner, because I love opening gifts on Xmas Eve.

Josh got me some Love and Rockets, per my request:

And he and Sage went in on this pair of clogs I'd been lusting after:

Sage! made! us! bowls!

There was other good stuff, too, but that's what I'm most excited about. Oh, and then Sage sent home some old Doc Martens for me. The next day, I transformed a gift certificate into a pair of Frye boots I'd coveted for years.

All in all, a very Bootsy Clogmas.

Narrowly avoiding disaster

2008-03-25T18:14:00.000-07:00

Early morning. A couple enters their two car garage, where someone has left the door open.

Me: Why is the door open?
Josh: I must have left it open when I put out the trash last night.
Me: How could you?! Someone could have stolen our car!
Josh: How could someone steal the car? Did you leave your keys in it?
Me: No, but we left it unlocked. Someone could have hotwired it. You know, our elderly Polish neighbors and their mad hotwiring skills.
Josh: Someone could have come in and stolen your dad's old TV Guide collection.
Me: Someone could have stolen the pee chair.*
Josh: Oh, thank God the pee chair is safe.

The End

* The pee chair is our object lesson in thoroughly examining items for sale on Craigslist BEFORE handing over cash and driving off with said item.

Stupid for music

2008-03-22T13:19:00.000-07:00

Three of my favorite songs in the universe are performed by Marshall Crenshaw: "Whenever You're on My Mind," "Cynical Girl," and "Someday, Someway." ("Mary Anne" is also incredibly awesome and catchy and actually stuck in my head at the moment, but for some reason I don't have the same emotional attachment that I have to the other songs) I got to see Marshall perform them all at the Iron Horse last night. Just him, with a guitar. Earlier in the day, I got to chat with him when he stopped by my radio station for a little chat. There's a picture somewhere, which I'll post when I get it.

It was lovely, taking a sonic bath in the music I love. But I take it a little too far. Because instead of coming home and going to sleep like a sane person, I have to stay up and listen to Roxy Music and the Cocteau Twins. I'm just stupid that way.

It's too late for me! Save yourselves!

2008-03-17T16:26:00.000-07:00

I thought to myself, 'Why am I starting a blog? Isn't there enough mind-numbing nattering in the universe?' Tonight, my purpose became clear.

Josh and I have been mostly vegetarian for a few years now. Since moving back to Massachusetts, we have had some meat here and there, especially seafood. But lately I've been thinking of recommitting myself to a meatless existence (especially after that perfect storm of turkey reuben and stomach flu last month). To that end, I picked up the most recent issue of a certain vegetarian magazine, where I found a recipe for a vegetarian St. Patrick's Day dinner.

Now, I realize some of you are probably already shuddering with the inherent wrongness of such a meal. But I feel like some vegetarians - okay, me - have this eternal optimism/endless capacity for delusion that makes us - I mean me - think, "ooooh, this could be tasty."

And thus has my purpose on the blogosphere has made itself known to me:

Don't fall for it. It's like a vegetarian apocalypse. I fear that if others follow in my footsteps, we could evolve to a species without tastebuds - someday in the distant future, Charlton Heston will see a giant tongue emerging from the desert sands, and scream "You damn dirty vegetarians! You blew it all to hell! Damn you! Damn you all to hell!"

Lesson number two: mashed potatoes can make almost anything better. Which is the only reason I'm still alive to tell this cautionary tale.

Bird O'Clock

2008-03-16T06:59:00.000-07:00

Our bedroom in Charlottesville was on the second floor, and level with our bedroom window was the tree which apparently served as the hip coffeeshop for all the neighborhood birds. Between 4 and 5 in the morning, they'd start their gossiping, and it sounded like they were in the room with us. I'd begrudgingly close the window to get another hour or so of sleep, cursing those birds for robbing me of a) sleep and b) a refreshing breeze.

We called that time "bird o'clock."

Now our bedroom is on the first floor, but there are still trees nearby, and shrubbery that goes right up to our front window - basically, right on the other side of the wall from our bed. This morning bird o'clock occurred sometime around 7:15. Thanks for sleeping in on the weekend, guys.

The Cadillac of Karmic Retributions

2008-03-15T12:20:00.000-07:00

Late morning on a Saturday in lovely downtown Easthampton. Also known throughout the land as "errand time." Josh and I dutifully race to get to the bank, the post office, AND the vet (since our cats are all such delicate hothouse flowers they all require special veterinarian-crafted kibbles) before they collectively close at noon.

Preceding us into the bank drive-thru is one of those fideous new pickup trucks. The kind that looks like the offsping of a juiced up El Camino and a refrigerator. It's sparkling white, obviously never sullied by even a thought of off-roading. As we followed it in, I noticed the telltale logo on the back.

"A Cadillac pickup truck? Really?"

At this point, Cadillac would have lost my attention, if it weren't for the fact that it was blocking all three drive-thru lanes, trying to decide which one would move the quickest. It nearly backs over us making its final decision. We take our place behind the bumpersticker-bedecked progressive democrat Honda in another lane.

A few moments later, Cadillac second-guesses itself and nearly takes out a few other cars switching lanes.

Imagine my delight when the line Cadillac had abandoned suddenly shoots forward, while Cadillac's line remains stubbornly stationary. I didn't even mind that progressive democrat Honda is obviously marching to the beat of a different drive-thru lane, and not noticing that the cars ahead of her are no longer there. Josh wonders if she is playing hackeysack in her car. I muse on the possibility that her banking transactions, like her bumperstickers, include a request to impeach Bush and Cheney. This could take a while.

So long, in fact, that Cadillac has made it to the front of its line. As Josh struggles with the fact that his window is too far away from the pneumatic banking tube, I watch Cadillac exit the drive-thru. I silently pray that progressive democrat Honda will sideswipe Cadillac, but that's just too much karmic justice for one errand.