xoxoxo e

fa la la la la, la la la la

2009-12-04T09:00:00.002-05:00

Tis the season for holiday music, or I should say, the local station that plays holiday music nonstop. Before you sigh or cringe, remember I'm the mother of an almost six year old and this station is actually occasionally a bright spot in what has been a dark few months.

I'm no fan of the "sappier" holiday songs—take Josh Groban and Celine Dion (they are interchangeable to me), please. What has been the most fun thing about the station this year is how my daughter is listening to the music. Last year whenever Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer or the Sleighbell Song would play she would get excited and bop along to the music. This year she is singing along, in key, and she knows almost all the words. She gets excited if I tell her that Elvis is singing (bless her!).

I couldn't have been prouder the other day when she launched independently into my preferred version of Jingle Bells from my childhood:

Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg
Batmobile lost a wheel and Joker got away!

(alternate verse: and Commissioner broke his leg!)

Fa la la la la, la la la la

my son the nut

2009-12-03T09:00:00.001-05:00

The song Rat Fink popped into my head the other day and I realized that I knew Allan Sherman's parody versions of classic songs better than the originals (in this case, Rag Mop.)

He's probably best known for his classic Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh. My dad used to play his comedy album, My Son the Nut and my brother and I used to sing along and giggle. It was extremely silly and loads of fun. There was also something very Rat Pack and night clubby about it.

I was watching The Cat in the Hat with my daughter the other day and realized that Sherman was the voice of the Cat. There is something so "comedy" about his inflection, even when he is singing. He enunciates. He rocks. Al Yankovic knows who did it first.

Here he is sharing his silliness with Dino and Vic Damone.

why must I be surounded by frickin' idiots?

2009-12-02T09:00:00.003-05:00

Dr. Evil may have wanted to (mistakenly, in 90s currency) steal ONE MILLION DOLLARS, but I think he even would have agreed with me that what Scott Miracle Gro has done to the brand and concept of Smith and Hawken is just, well, evil.

I have already posted a link to a more detailed account on facebook, but it bears re-sharing, as this story is not about hard times for retailers in a bad economy, but one of greed and primarily, stupidity. A big company bought something it didn't understand. They didn't know what they had, and they didn't take any time to try and make it work—to the detriment of a thirty-year company and 700 lost jobs.

I used to shop at the SoHo Smith and Hawken when I lived in New York. It was definitely a downtown oasis. When I moved to D.C. I was happy to visit the Georgetown store. Both stores were regular haunts during the holidays—many of the ornaments on my Xmas tree were purchased there. Living in the city, I was more likely to buy a potted orchid than garden supplies, but it was always a fragrant, tasteful, pleasant place to visit, whether making a purchase or just browsing. Browsing is highly under-rated.

Like the lunkheads who killed Gourmet magazine, this decision just screams, "Huh?" No one thought about building up the online business before closing all the stores? Why would they have them all close mid-November and miss the holiday season? Why was there not more fanfare? I found out after-the-fact. Why must we be surrounded by such frickin' idiots? Like I said, I don't have a garden, but you can be sure there won't be any Scott product purchases in my future.

this was so not the day I thought it was going to be

2009-12-01T09:00:00.003-05:00

Monday. I took the day off to extend the holiday weekend, thinking I could have one more morning to sleep in, not having anything on the agenda apart from taking Grandma to the airport in the late afternoon, but that all went to hell when the kid woke up early, having to pee every half hour. We've been there before, so I threw on some clothes and told my mom not to stress, we should be back soon and rushed off to make the walk-in-with-any-reason hours at our pediatrician's office.

I was thinking about how I could salvage my morning when I missed the turn off the parkway and had to double-back through Virginia to reenter the city and used every last coin in my wallet in a parking meter blessedly across the street from our destination—doctor's office building. As I was signing in at the front desk, the nurse informed me that I was looking at a two-hour wait, unless I could come back later that afternoon. But that wouldn't work with dropping Grandma at the airport, so we settled in to wait, hoping that she was exaggerating or trying to scare us off. I soon realized that her estimate was more than correct, and even worse, I had left the iPhone at home in our mad rush to get out the door, so I was going to experience the waiting room old-school style. Good news: I scheduled our 6-year appointment, which sometimes can be a hassle to get a decent time if you wait too long and too near to the birthday. Bad news: bathroom trips every 15-20 minutes as we waited over two hours. God, please don't let us pick up anything worse than what we walked in with.

When we finally got out of there I raced home to make sure my mom was not freaking out about making her flight—blessedly and amazingly, she wasn't. No one had really eaten anything, so we headed out for the airport, planning to grab a bite there, with a stop on the way at CVS to pick up our prescription and various other recommended therapies. Bad news: my insurance thinks the prescribed antibiotic is only approved for age 10 and up, so I bugged the already busy doctor who confirmed her choice, saying she gives it to infants—so I would have to pay out of pocket and be reimbursed later. Good news: I think the pharmacy pushed it through anyway after I called my doctor, because I didn't see any extra $169 charge.

After a too-long time at the pharmacy we headed for the airport where we had a meal, too late to be called either breakfast or lunch, too early to be called dinner, did a little shopping, saw mom off on the airplane. Bad news: sad feelings. Good news: Grandma will be back for Xmas and we got a great parking spot behind our building when we got home.

Took a much needed shower to wash off some of the frustration and waiting-room gunge and then had the kid take a quick sitz bath followed by a shower before dinner. Bad news: I completely lost it when she called for me a few minutes later to say that she had peed all over the bathroom floor, two inches in front of the toilet. Good news: my temper tantrum didn't make her cry (thank god) and is already forgotten (at least on her part). She really seemed to understand my immediate apology and how mommy had a really tough day. I couldn't help pointing out that it was not her fault being sick, but she could control getting to the bathroom on time, or at least try to, and not to wait...yeesh, what am I saying? Very good news: she is happily watching Enchanted and I am sipping tea and ready to put this roller coaster ride day to bed.

bossa nova

2009-11-30T17:39:00.001-05:00

I watched the HBO rock 'n' roll hall of fame special last night and it was a true blast from the past, as it should be. About half-way through I realized that I had seen almost all of the big namers live in concert at one time or another. Which must mean I'm almost as old as these geezers or I used to have a bit of fun. Let's stick with the second choice for now, shall we?

It was an HBO special in the way that the cable channel used to have specials when hardly anyone had cable and the channel was trying to sign people up with the lure of a once-in-a-lifetime event. Every time you thought that the big act on stage must be the finale, another bigger rock legend would hit the stage. I was wondering for a moment when they started talking about Roy Orbison if I should prepare myself for a Lynchian ghost moment, but it turned out to be another Springsteen duo/duet.

I'd like to watch it again and tape parts of it, not all—chacun à sont goût as they say en francais. No offense to Aretha, but her segment gave me time to take a bathroom break, and Annie Lennox, who I love on disc, has never thrilled me live, I'm afraid. In fact, it was when Annie was doing her less-than-amazing thing that it occured to me that I have seen a lot of these folks live.

I saw Annie open for Sting, who I've seen live many times, who played with Stevie Wonder, who I saw at the Obama concert, where I also saw U2, James Taylor, John Legend, Bruce Springsteen and Jackson Browne. Browne I also saw many years ago as a teenager at the No Nukes concert while on a class trip to D.C. Simon and Garfunkle I saw in Central Park and Lou Reed at The Bottom Line. Ray Davies I saw in the same venue, Madison Square Garden, and in much better voice and spirits fronting The Kinks. I saw Mick Jagger in an elevator once...

So not only was it fun to listen to, but I was enjoying my own six degrees of concert bacon, so to speak. I'm not sure if how the concert was edited for HBO was how it was actually performed, as it seemed a little clunky when they brought out Sting once, then again later, and then did the same thing with the Boss. Not everyone always hit the right note every time, but hell, it's rock 'n' roll. Highlights included Sting + Stevie reaching Higher Ground, Bono, Bruce and Patti Smith doing Because the Night, Bruce and Sam of Sam and Dave doing Soul Man and Bruce and Billy Joel having fun being bridge and tunnel doofuses. Hell, it was Bruce's night. I've never been a huge fan, mostly because he comes from my old stomping grounds the Jersey Shore (I was born in Neptune, N.J.) and it was assumed that you were automatically a Springsteen fan at birth. I can't remember a 7-11 wall from my childhood without "Springsteen Rules!" graffiti on it. I've never been much of a joiner, so I tried to avoid that particular fan club. But it's impossible to grow up in Jersey and not know the catalogue, or the names Clarence Clemons, Nils Lofgren, Little Steven, etc. I will admit to loving 10th Avenue Freeze-out. Who doesn't?

So all in all, a good musical time, the Boss included, although I more highly recommend my "director's cut."

a hard habit to break: NaBloPoMo

2009-11-29T09:00:00.003-05:00

November is NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting month. The month is rapidly winding to a close, so I thought I should write about writing. I first heard about NaBloPoMo last year, on my friend KellyO's blog. I took the challenge seriously, and started posting daily. I later extended the challenge to the blog I began to manage at work, Smithsonian Libraries.

Blogging and writing has become a big part of my life. Some days all I can summon up is the energy to post a snapshot. Other times I stay up late, full of ideas, writing posts to get me through the next few days or rest of the week. Sometimes I read something on a friend's or stranger's blog that inspires me. Sometimes I carry around a pet peeve or the germ of an idea for weeks before it gets translated into a post. A lot of the time I compose a post while taking a shower at night and then try to get it all down before I go to sleep.

Blogging keeps me busy, makes me think, makes me more open, more creative, hopefully makes a reader laugh or respond in some way from time to time. It keeps me in touch with far away friends and with what's going on in the world, or at least the internet. It's a brain dump, a sounding board, sometimes just a cry in the wilderness. It could be a springboard to longer pieces, or just a daily note to myself. I highly recommend it.

day at the museum

2009-11-28T09:00:00.003-05:00

Black Friday wasn't even on our post-Turkey Day horizon. We decided to visit the Smithsonian instead. First stop, a show at African Art by artist Yinka Shonibare MBE. I loved the headless sculptures, almost anti-tableaux vivants. The staged photographs, inexplicably not in his Dutch wax fabrics, seemed very late-80s, early-90s to me, and not in a good way. Ditto the films. I'm an artist, and I love movies, but I have to say, that artists should not do film. They invariably come out slow, boring and repetitive, all features that are antithetical to the forward motion of celluloid. No matter how many Turner prizes you receive, if someone suggests you should expand your already interesting oeuvre with a foray into film, please, just say "No."

On to the American Indian museum and another look at Brian Jungen. This is still one of the best shows I have seen in a long time. It's ingenious, of-the-moment, ambitious, and good to look at. With these two shows and the recent acquisition and installation of the Roxy Paine sculpture in the National Gallery Sculpture Garden, DC proves that there is definitely interesting art to be found in the nation's capital.

by heart

2009-11-27T09:00:00.000-05:00

There are some movies that I find myself talking along with, the lines forever emblazoned upon my brain. Are they the greatest movies ever? Well in some cases they uncontestedly are (Singin' in the Rain, Young Frankenstein), and in some cases there are those who might argue the point (Wayne's World, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, Clueless), but they are all precious to me.

Here's a mixed selection of great lines I'll never forget from some of the films listed above and a few other completely brilliant movies I purposely didn't mention, just to see if I can stump you.

Can you guess which film birthed which line?

And I cayn't stand'im.

So okay, I don't want to be a traitor to my generation and all, but I don't get how guys dress today. I mean, come on, it looks like they just fell out of bed and put on some baggy pants and take their greasy hair - ew - and cover it up with a backwards cap and like, we're expected to swoon? I don't think so.

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.

This is information retrieval not information dispersal.

Whatever I am, he made me! I was adorable once, young and full of hope. And now look at me! I'm this short, fat, insecure, middle-aged THING! I made you short?

"All we are is dust in the wind," dude.

You were having cheer-sex with him!

Can you get me off the hook, Tom? For old times' sake?

Parfait's gotta be the tastiest thing on the whole damn planet.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

Does the word "duh" mean anything to you?
Go, and never darken my towels again.
Duke, let's go do some crimes. Yeah. Let's go get sushi and not pay.

I stick my neck out for *nobody*!

You're maudlin and full of self-pity. You're magnificent!
Why don't you just kill him? I have an even better idea. I'm going to place him in an easily escapable situation involving an overly elaborate and exotic death.

Chin up. Right, both of them.

If it's a concussion, you have to keep her conscious, okay? Ask her questions. What's seven times seven? Stuff she knows.

Then you and Victor were... YES. YES. Say it. He vas my... BOYFRIEND.
Come get your ice-cream! Come get your tootsie-frootsie ice cream!
Meet the greatest actor in the world! I'd rather kiss a tarantula. You don't mean that. I don't ?—Hey Joe, get me a tarantula.

Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?

A wed wose. How womantic.

Good luck with your layoffs, all right? I hope your firings go really well.

Cindy, you know by tattling on your friends, you're really just tattling on yourself. By tattling on your friends, you're just telling them that you're a tattletale. Now, is that the tale you want to tell?

Oh Moses, Moses, you stubborn, splendid, adorable fool!

Where ever you go, there you are.

Hello? There was a stop sign. I totally paused.

I once thought I had mono for an entire year. It turned out I was just really bored.

Bogus. Heinous. Most non-triumphant.

Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape.

Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her. So, you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive? No. You pretty much want to nail 'em too.

Gosh, you've... really got some nice toys here.

Alright, we have a piper who's down. It's alright, he's just pissed. We have a piper down, I repeat, a piper is down!

I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.

How's the Italian food in this restaurant? Good. Try the veal, it's the best in the city.

My! People come and go so quickly here!

It's such a fine line between stupid, and clever.
If I hold you any closer I'll be in back of you!
There is a name for you, ladies, but it isn't used in high society... outside of a kennel.

NO! Not the buttons! Not my gumdrop buttons!

Courtney, this is not a democracy, it's a cheerocracy. I'm sorry, but I'm overruling you.

Why must I be surrounded by frickin' idiots?

Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Oh. Where you going?... Oh, you men are all alike. Seven or eight quick ones and then you're out with the boys to boast and brag. YOU BETTER KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. Oh . . . I think I love him.

But, you're *not* a girl! You're a *guy*, and, why would a guy wanna marry a guy? Security!

HEED! PANTS! NOW!

I'm very, very aware... that you are seeing other agents. And I think it's good that you are. Finally, I mean it's healthy. But, this is the thing. If you decide to sign with me, you're gonna get more than an agent. You're gonna get three people. [Holds up four fingers] You're gonna get an agent, a mother, a father, a shoulder to cry on, someone who knows this business inside and out. And if anyone ever tries to cross you, I'll grab them by the balls and squeeze 'til they're dead.

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking. . . Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit smoking. . . Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue. . . Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines.

You know how you said before, how your parents use you to get back at each other? Wouldn't I be outstanding in that capacity?

That was a pre-emptive "sh!" Now, I have a whole bag of "sh!" with your name on it.

Listen, strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.

How can I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like this?

All those moments will be lost in time... like tears in rain... Time to die.

Dozens of people spontaneously combust each year. It's just not really widely reported.

I don't know you. I don't know your work. But I think you are a genius. And I am never wrong about that.

Am I nuts? Something's wrong with his feet. I never thought I'd find myself saying this, but you're right. He's got two left feet.

Don't call me stupid. Oh, right! To call you stupid would be an insult to stupid people! I've known sheep that could outwit you. I've worn dresses with higher IQs. But you think you're an intellectual, don't you, ape? Apes don't read philosophy. Yes they do, Otto. They just don't understand it

Peanut butter, it just fills the cracks of the heart

Hans, Bubi, I'm your white knight!

the devil wore Macy's

2009-11-26T09:00:00.003-05:00

I recently shared an article on facebook about an owner of a New York restaurant who treated his employees like dogs. A typical restaurant boss, according to my friend Steven. Reading the short article where the guy actually tried to excuse his behavior reminded me of similar New York employment experiences, outside the restaurant field. I have also recently read The Devil Wears Prada, a roman à clef set in the fashion industry, which also brought back less-than-stellar New York employment experiences, which led me to wonder: is it the milieu or the geography that inspires such bad attitude? So Steven, here goes . . .

Every boss is an asshole, at one time or another. It goes with the territory. I've worked for my dad (who drove me nuts), I've even been a boss. There are unpleasant moments. You have to fire people sometimes. Sometimes you're not interested primarily in your employees—your needs come first. But there is something about the fast pace and higher stakes that is life in New York that causes some folks to take such asshole behavior to a whole other level. As if New York and their own ambitions justify—well, just about anything.

When I first got out of art school I purposely avoided jobs that had any artistic bent—I wanted to keep my art pure. A job was just for earning money, making friends, paying the rent. So I mostly worked retail, and in the 80s that meant fun and funky fashion like Canal Jean Co. or Reminiscence. In a job like that you mostly see the crazy boss behavior from afar—temper tantrums, buyers getting chewed out, elaborate lie detector set-ups to reveal a known thief who's part of the boss's family—pretty much Godfather-lite.

A few years later I was experimenting, making movies, so I thought maybe I should try working at a film company. I answered an ad and was immediately hired at Troma Films, home of the infamous Toxie, the Toxic Avenger, if you follow really bad independent film. Critics have always been affectionate to Troma, which I've never quite understood, but I guess it's due to Troma's wholesale embracing (at least on film) of their work's mediocrity. But behind the scenes they were deadly serious—about making money and expanding their empire. The bosses were always freaking out, but it was usually hard to figure out exactly why. It was the first job where a boss made me cry. I have no idea now why he yelled at me or even what he said. All I can remember was that I knew I would quit, because no one had yelled at me like that since I left my father's house, and if I would no longer put up with that from him I sure as hell wouldn't take it from someone who made films I wouldn't ever want to see. I do remember two highlights of that job. I actually was the representative of the company at a film screening of their latest release, Girl School Screamers. The fun part was watching real critics come in and watch the movie, shake their heads in disbelief, and laugh. The not fun part was having to sit through the movie. The other fun memory was a lunchtime screening of a reel of It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World by a co-worker who collected 35mm reels of really great movies. I never could understand why he stayed, film geekdom aside, as he was at the frequent end of a tantrum. Maybe that sort of behavior doesn't bother some people as much. Maybe they think they have to take it.

The other nightmare boss that comes to mind was a part-time job I took many years later at a downtown legal temp agency. Not a good time. This brand of a-holishness was more indirect, but no less lethal. It became clear after a day or two that the entire staff was completely cowed by it's boss, a woman who was sole proprietor, built the business from scratch (or possibly a payout from a divorce?) I didn't stay long enough to hear too much gossip and she was rarely in the office. She owned an apartment a few doors down, and kept constant tabs on her employees, frequently harrassing and haranguing them on the phone to get more temps placed in more jobs. The girl who was training me one morning covertly wrote down on a company stationery pad that we were being listened to—the boss bugged the office. I was at first perplexed, and then amused by the situation. What purpose did that serve? I imagined her, in her fancy apartment, tied to her intercom system, waiting to hear somebody slack off. Sad. But the girl and apparently other employees were genuinely intimidated, so I guess her tactic was successful. The girl had figured it out one day when she got off the phone and the boss called immediately and ask her an "uncanny" question about the client who had just called. I also remember one of the agents, a jolly sort, who convinced me to rent Glengarry Glen Ross, insisting that I'd love it. I guess he felt he was living it. The end of this job came for me a few days before a Thanksgiving vacation I had planned (and the boss had approved). I was suddenly told the afternoon before I was supposed to leave that I would have to cancel my plans, she'd changed her mind, I would have to work. A display of extreme power. I said no, you already approved it, I have plane tickets, I'm going. She said if you go you're fired. I said fine. Happy Thanksgiving!

This was the job most like The Devil Wears Prada and why I never could have written it. I never would have taken that amount of crap from Miranda Priestly. I have always respected my employers, but will never be abused by one. There is nothing in New York or anywhere else, for that matter, that warrants that sort of behavior. The book had many, many flaws, but it's supreme one seems to me to be how far it falls short of the movie version. This of course has a great deal to do with Meryl Streep, who actually takes the character beyond the petulant, childish behavior I've outlined above and outlines a method to her madness. The movie isn't great, but it has one great scene which almost justifies Miranda's over-the-top behavior. Sadly, the folks mentioned above were neither Meryl Streeps nor even Miranda Priestlys. The devil is in the details.

this is not an ad

2009-11-25T09:00:00.000-05:00

I always take a late lunch and might spend it strolling 'round the Mall, grabbing tea at Starbucks, shopping or running an errand, doing a little reading (or blogging), maybe even viewing an exhibit.

I'm a creature of habit, but the habit can encompass more than one Starbucks location, reading spot, museum - you get the picture. It's aleays fun to add another option to the tea-time arsenal.

I'm surprised but happy to report that the McDonalds at Air & Space can provide just such an option in less-than-stellar weather. I'm not a coffee drinker, but their hot chocolate is hot and sweet (what more can one ask) and although this may or may not be the Smithsonian's most visited museum (Natural History claims the same distinction) there are still enough seats to go round.

Salute.

dangerous when wet

2009-11-24T09:00:00.001-05:00

I can't believe the number of people (numbskulls?) walking around with no umbrella, wearing only hoodies or less. Does no one listen to the weather report? Or at least take a look at the sky? All you have to do is look up at the Hirshhorn or Air and Space and see that the buildings are soaked, too.

I can see getting caught in a surprise shower - it can happen to anyone. But it has been raining steadily, and these are folks visiting the National Mall, where its museums are happy to sell rain gear. Just one more thing I just don't get about crazy humans.

dressing and undressing Barbies all day

2009-11-23T09:00:00.006-05:00

Grandma comes Tuesday for a Thanksgiving visit, so most of Sunday was spent trying to whip my daughter's room into shape, where she'll be staying. I tried to combine operation clean-up with a bit of junk-shedding and trash-throwing. We were moderately successful. A few toys and clothes are set aside for donation. But it seemed like the majority of my time was spent helping squeeze Barbie hands through very small arm openings in assorted gowns.

pix from last July's Barbie convention in D.C.

Putting things away, in a specific place, so that you might find them again, is definitely a new concept for my daughter. She was treating some of her dolls in what I felt was a distinctly shabby fashion, so we tried to clean them up and organize all the bits and pieces. Some have been relegated to "display only" until she can prove that she actually remembers to land things back into the drawer that's provided.

Sometimes I feel like a hard-ass, trying to push concepts of responsibility and organization on a kid a few months shy of turning six, but then I think back to my own childhood. My mother always cleaned my room. We were definitely spoiled in that regard. I wasn't a very messy kid, but you'd never have known one way or the other, as she pretty much straightened up after me. I don't have the time or the patience to do it all for my daughter. Plus, if she can learn this concept, I think she'll end up being much more self-sufficient when she ends up living on her own or with others someday. Yikes. Did I even type that?

No, I'm not that nutty - Barbie clothes for sale at last July's Barbie convention in D.C.

When I moved out of my parents' house to the dorm at Parsons the first semester was actually a shock. I quickly realized (as did the savviest and not-so-nicest of my roomates) how sheltered I had been from my very new experiences with basic stuff like sharing kitchen chores, etc. Luckily, I adapt quickly and have a strong inner core, so I was able to navigate my way through the perils of New York City as well as the even scarier aspects of sharing living space with five other young women.

So hopefully, keeping Barbie and her clothes together and separate from stray Legos, a packet of McDonald's apple dippers that were never eaten (ewww), and a thousand crayons and scraps of paper will be a lesson for the future. And not just Mommy saying those dreaded words, "Let's clean your room."

525,600 minutes

2009-11-22T09:00:00.000-05:00

Measure in love.

happy birthday, pop

2009-11-21T12:41:00.003-05:00

Check out the tie. It doesn't get much spiffier than that.

sweet potato pie

2009-11-20T20:32:00.001-05:00

The kindergarten class had a pre-holiday pie party this evening, with offerings ranging from sweet to savory. I'm happy to report that our offering (courtesy of Safeway) was a huge hit. Since I've moved below the Mason-Dixon line I have come to love sweet potato pie, more than pumpkin pie. Yes, I'm a Yankee. But you knew that.

twerp

2009-11-19T19:45:00.003-05:00

In my unending search for alternate curse words (to employ mainly while behind the wheel) it recently occurred to me that twerp might be a good choice, as opposed to jerk, idiot, or worse. Twit is also a contender.

Any other suggestions?

I know I first hear it from my dad, who may also have been looking for less colorful language. Not sure I buy the Tolkien association offered by Wiktionary. That seems altogether too twerpy to believe.

fingerless gloves

2009-11-18T16:05:00.003-05:00

Winter's coming. There's already a touch of brrr in the air. I've never really been a fan of fingerless gloves, as they always said "Bob Cratchit" or bad revival of Oliver! to me. But now with being out and about in the cold, but still wanting to tap and slide and do myriad things with my iPhone, I finally get why fingerless gloves might be a good idea...

because we need a little Xmas, right this very minute

2009-11-17T09:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday the kid asked if we could put up the Xmas tree. I couldn't come up with any reason to refuse. Lately it has felt as if the world could use a bit more light.

By the way, sorry for the earworm. I actually loathe the referenced song, but like a genre I never listen to, country music, which sounds unbelievably profound when you are broken-hearted, the sentiment of this particular holiday ditty seems especially apt at present. As a friend opined earlier today, the world can always use a little more joy. So, joy to the world my friends.

jumpin' Jehosaphat

2009-11-16T09:00:00.001-05:00

I'm still having fun going through the family genealogy. One of the most interesting aspects has been reading all the (exotic to us now) names. Thanks to the Internet Archive, Google Books and some enterprising 19th century genealogists who published books on a few branches of our tree, I have been able to, with confirmation, trace us back to circa 1589.

Not bad, huh? I'm more interested in the actual stories and personalities than the "how far back can she go" aspect to this hunt. From A history of the Starr family of New England, from the ancestor, Dr. Comfort Starr of Ashford, County of Kent, England, who emigrated to Boston, Mass., in 1635 ; ... (1879):

JEHOSAPHAT STARR, brother of Dr. Comfort, left a will, dated Feb. 2. 1659. recorded in Canterbury, Eng., in which he says: " I give my wife Mary all my lands, barns, etc., situate in the Parish of Willesburough in Kent, now in the occupation of Edward Watson, also 32 acres of land in Ashford in the occupation of John King, also 32 acres of land in the Parish of Ruckinge near Romney Marshes, and after her death to go to my dear brother Comfort Starr of Boston, and after his death to be equally divided between Samuel, Comfort, Elizabeth, Benjamin. Jehosaphat, John [probably Josiah], and William, children of Thomas Starr, and Elizabeth, Judith, and Liddia, children of John Starr." Also legacies " to John, Elizabeth Ferniside, Mary Maynard, and Comfort of Carlisle, Eng., sons and daugluers of Comfort Starr, and his grandchild Symon Eire &c." "To my brother Joyfull Starr all my land at Appledore." Also bequests "to my sister Constant, the wife of John Morley of New England, to my sister Suretrust, the wife of Faithfull Rouse of Charlestown in New England, to my three servants, &c."

Comfort Starr is a common name in this branch, dating from 16th century England through 19th century New England. I also find interesting the mixture of biblical names such as Jehosaphat, mixed with names that express virtues, such as Comfort, Constant, Faithfull and Suretrust. It is also not always immediately obvious whether the person is male of female. I also love the line in Jehosaphat Starr's legacy, "all my land at Appledore." Somehow modern legal documents are not quite so poetic.

Of all the biblical names that you could give a male child - Samuel, Joseph, Mark - why Jehosaphat? And what about that phrase, "jumping Jehosaphat"? World Wide Words has an explanation. King of Judah Jehosaphat has also turned up in art:

I'm on a personal and intellectual journey, one thing leading to another...I'll keep you posted on who or what next strikes my fancy...

it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

2009-11-15T15:44:00.001-05:00

it may have stopped raining...

2009-11-14T21:48:00.001-05:00

...but it doesn't really feel like it.

one after 909 - October

2009-11-13T09:00:00.000-05:00

Last month's photo assignments from our photo club One After 909 were:

the color orange (but nothing natural, like pumpkins)
fall colors

There were some great photos taken by everyone in the group. Two of my favorites that I contributed were:

It's nice to be thinking like a (visual) artist in my off-time, too. I guess you never really stop "looking," but structured looking helps.

great-great grannie owned a pub!

2009-11-12T09:00:00.001-05:00

Awesome...

She was a publican, sixth from the bottom, also apparently a Shropshire lass...Go Manchester!

happy anniversary...

2009-11-11T09:00:00.001-05:00

...happy anniversary, happy anniversary, HAPPY anniversary!

Besides being Veteran's Day, November 11 was also my parents' anniversary. Something about Armistice Day sharing a date with a wedding anniversary always struck me as humorous; ironic. Here is a photo of them celebrating a night out in New York City:

hello gorgeous

2009-11-10T14:50:00.001-05:00

This is the most gorgeous fall in DC that I can recall since I've lived here. Sort of takes away the sting. Almost. Today's afternoon retreat - the Hirshhorn Museum Sculpture Garden.

Now I finally get "ornamental" grasses

Leaf lady

A bit o' Balzac

Barry Flanagan, always a fave.