“Start out perfect and don’t change a thing. Always accentuate your best features by pointing at them. And conceal your flaws by sucker punching anyone who has the audacity to mention them.” – Miss Piggy
Dear Sir:
In time (a lot of it), this could be you.
In a class of 50+ women, you found a place on the floor and manned dinky little hand weights with the rest of us. When asked by the instructor who was new, you raised your hand fearlessly, and when asked your reasons for coming, you responded, “I’m just trying to get healthier, and I wanted to try something new.” Bravo.
Surrounded by girls who looked at you askance, you marked choreography. You learned to cha cha. You laughed and had no trouble making a fool of yourself. When a load of loutish freshman boys walked by the doors to the gym, pointed you out, and laughed, you returned a roguish grin (in no way lessened by the sweat running down your face) and gestured to the ridiculously fit and attractive blonde next to you and shrugged.
In addition to an admirable attitude, your shimmies, dear sir, are magnificent.
Moreover, we saw you checking out that same cute blonde to the right of you, making funny comments to her during water breaks, and offering to turn in her weights for her when class was over. I watched you fumble cutely to ask her out, sweaty mess that you both (to say nothing of the rest of us) were. I’m pretty sure I saw her give you her number; I sure hope I did. I think you earned it.
J. starts a discussion he wishes he hadn’t in response to the earlier post.
“Why do you like the name William?”
“It’s a good English name, I just like it. Or I could get all medieval on you and name the boys after other less palatable Normans, like Tancred!”
“That sounds like a container for ale.”
“Bohemond?”
“Is this the real life?”
“Huh?
“Bohemian Rhapsody.”
“Ah. Dagobert?”
“Sounds like a Pokeman.”
“Baldric.”
“Toss up between Alec Baldwin or the Baltic Sea.”
“You know I’ve got tons of Roman and Greek ones too, right?”
“Joe. We’ll name the first one Joe.”
“I can do this all day!”
“The name of a man is a numbing blow from which he never recovers.”
~ Marshall McLuhan
Look, we’re sorry, but your pseudo aunts and uncles took all the good stuff. Alright, Tidaporn Nebraska Agnes*, we get it, but you’re really going to have to get over it.
I have no intention of spawning soon, but several of my mates have already kicked off that great adventure. And I’m starting to get a bit anxious…because I realized that some people are protective of what they name their little darlings. Most nerve wracking, apparently some of my friends and I have similar nominal tastes – leading me to discover that I am one of those said protective types.
So either we’ve got to start having kids to get the names we like…or we’re just going to have to tick off an awful lot of people and be accused of copying them.
Parenthood seems fraught with unforeseen perils. We might just end up pulling the Roman thing and name them all the same thing with different numerals: Puer Primus, Puer Secondus, etc.
*All names that have recently crossed my desk. Parents can be cruel
“The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaiety, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it.”
~F. Scott Fitzgerald
I’m bone tired. The other night, well, you know sometimes how youtube happens? Youtube happened until 1am and I’ve been out of whack ever since. Last night, after treating myself to This American Life’s live show in movie theatres, I was off to meet Margot to work out together…when I got a text from her. She’d been in a car accident. Luckily she was fine, but I had a pretty horrible moment there.
This weekend I’ve got Trixie’s bacherlorette party with the girls from my godfamily, but first of all I’m going to the funerals for my brother-in-law’s parents and niece. Love your people extra hard this weekend, ducklings. Here are your links:
Sad though it may sound, I have not had to hunt for good reading for years – I have a battalion of unbelievably intelligent friends feeding me recommendations, links, articles, and books. Here’s a fascinating read, hat tip to Peregrine.
Not quite as fun (to a history nerd like me) as Kate Beaton, but I quite like Gemma Correll‘s puns. Like this one.
I have instituted a shopping ban that will remain in place at least until after my birthday, and probably until J.’s graduation, but that doesn’t stop me from looking. At this, for example.
Recently I had an interesting conversation with a friend who asked me, “Do you think we need feminism anymore? I mean, aren’t we past it?” Quite admirably (for me), I didn’t do a double take, I didn’t roll my eyes, I kept my eyebrows wrangled, and did not demand, “Are you serious?” I live in a fairly conservative place and work at a religious university, so I am routinely subjected to nonsensical sentences that start thus: “I’m not a feminist, but…” and usual end with some statement of equality or common sense. It was a matter of some joy, when J. said something similar in conversation once, I could retort, “I hate to break it to you, love, but you totally are.” After a pause, he laughed and said, “Yeah. You’re right.” And now, he occasionally tells me that once you have seen sexism, you start seeing it everywhere. Which is a long way of me saying that people (and in my experience, mostly ultra conservative men) can say we’re post-feminism, or that women don’t need it anymore, but I believe they’re irrevocably and world-without-end wrong. Here’s a recent example as to why.
It’s true. If you ever go to Pisa, you will see legions of tourists trying this very thing. And the next time I’m in town, I’m going to take a leaf from this gentleman‘s book.
This site is hysterical, if occasionally crude (warning, pearl clutchers). This one and this one made me snort I was laughing so hard, because living alone with Margot gone and J. back in London, I have experienced both these sensations. Mostly on account of the fact that I’d seen The Woman in Black and scary movies stick with me and make unsettling appearances in my head at 2am.
Maurice Sendak passed away this week, and I was surprised at how affected I felt. I admired so much of his work, not just Where the Wild Things Are, but the Little Bear books and the tale of Pierre, who could only say, “I don’t care.” But one of my favorite of his projects was his creative work on the Northwest Ballet Company’s brilliant motion picture adaptation of The Nutcracker. The only reason I have a VHS player is because the powers have never seen fit to turn that beautiful piece of art into a DVD. Here are some excerpts of interviews he had with NPR’s Terry Gross.
Want this. Want it so hard. Want it with all the yearning of my geeky soul.
J.’s transformation from steak and potatoes eating, jeans and ball cap wearing, all American male to Brit is almost complete. Not only does he refer to delivered/carryout food (properly) as takeaway, he drinks tea daily. Ha ha! He also passes on a recommendation for this tea if you need to fall asleep, apparently it knocks him out like Tylenol PM. Quoth J., “Tea over here is just better.”
“L’enfer est plein de bonnes volontés et désirs….” – St. Bernard of Clairvaux
A student borrowed a flatmates’ bike. Unfortunately she didn’t know the combination to the lock, and couldn’t ask for it as the flatmate was currently on study abroad deep in the rain forests of South America. She’d sent the flatmate an email asking for the code and was waiting for a reply. In the meantime, the student still had to get to class, so she rode the bike to campus and decided to take her chances by leaving the bike in a bikerack unlocked. (Editor’s Note: please don’t do this, it’s terribly foolish.)
Sadly this tale has an unfortunate end, but not in the way it usually does. Usually a member of the unwashed criminal underworld steals the bike, sells it to a pawn shop where it is sold to a dealer who stuffs the tires with drugs and uses it to take his cargo across the border. Or so I surmise.
This time, on the other hand, some nice person decided to try and help her out and locked up her bike for her. She showed up in our office in tears asking us to cut the cable so she could get home.
“Pretend it’s the weekend…we could pretend it all the time.” – Jack Johnson
And I shall stay here. While I can.
I just got back in town, ducklings, after visiting Gio at his university. We were celebrating his successes, meeting the girlfriend, and generally goofing off. Which is how Fridays should be spent, offices are dreadful places on a Spring afternoon. This Sunday I’ve also got a new nephew’s christening. Family is fabulous, if a bit hectic. Come Sunday evening I shall be tired.
But as always, I’ve found some fun things for you, well beloved minions, to kick off your weekends.
I am an unabashed Whovian and Sherlock lover. The fact that J. gets to see them months before they debut in the US drove our marriage to the brink (not true, but there was a great deal of disgruntlement on my side and malicious glee on his. He’s very good at not giving up any, “Spoilers!”). Here’s a NPR interview with the evil genius behind both revitalization of older brands, Steven Moffat. Also, Sherlock resumes this Sunday on PBS, all minions are required to report for viewing duties. There will be a quiz.
Chocolate. Do you really need any more information?
Newt Gingrich is (finally…dear heavens, finally) gone. Luckily for us, he’s just as ridiculous and easy to mock now as he was campaigning. Mind you read the sidebar carefully.
My godfamily always throws fabulous parties (GS in particular is famous for her “bars” – hot chocolate bars, drinks bars, and her latest triumph, lemonade bars) and Trixie and Drill’s couples shower was no different. The presents were lovely, Trixie has excellent taste, and unfortunately now I have a strange urge to redecorate everything. Luckily poverty prevents me. Here’s a fabulous online shop specializing in housewares and unusual plants. I’m particularly loving this reclaimed wine barrel cheese tray, and want to defy nature by putting these all over the house. Weddings are dangerous, kittens!
I’m not a huge sports fan. Naturally I root for my alma mater’s teams, and I have my English and stateside football teams (which I’m not mentioning, since I don’t want to drive any of you away/to drink, football being next to religion for some of you), but other than that, meh. The only use I have for professional American Football is Superbowl parties, and much to J.’s annoyance, basketball doesn’t do anything for me. But even I could get firmly behind this story.
No plans of spawning for a few years yet, but many of my friends have cranked out bundles of joy recently, and a couple have found really nifty things for bringing up baby. Here’s a fun tool, and here’s a lovely shop for the mums out there.
The weekly sheep. I know they’re cultural or whatever… but rodeos (and frankly most of the American West) baffle me.
Speaking of mums, Mother’s Day is coming up. Does anyone have any creative ideas?
“If you have a job without any aggravations, you don’t have a job. ”
~ Malcolm S. Forbes
Things that make me sigh:
When an officer stands at the copy machine for several minutes staring at it before turning to me.
“C., it says open drawer one and add more paper. Why isn’t it printing?”
“Because you need to add more paper.”
“Ok.”
He stands and looks at me for a long moment before I realize what he’s really asking. At which point I have to leave the dozen files on my desk, the background check, and the wage changes, to walk ten feet to a cabinet labeled, “Paper,” and put a few handfuls of paper into drawer number one.
Things that make me raise an eyebrow.
Said officer watching me do the whole spiel before saying, “Well, that was easy.”
“You can’t help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn’t spell it right; but spelling isn’t everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn’t count.” – A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
Upstairs neighbors have a pipe burst.
Spent lunch hour (and then some) cleaning up the damage of said pipe burst.
Now have to stay after work tonight to make up for the time spent cleaning up said damage.
Car needs a hose repair.
Did an hour of zumba and an hour of spinning last night – therefore can’t walk properly.
Scrambling to get all work assignments done (despite burst pipe) because I’m going out of town to visit my brother this weekend (which of course isn’t a trial at all, but in the light of other recent events is now significantly more complicated).
Still have to wrap a present for a couples shower tonight for Drill and Trixie, and pick up an ordered veggie platter.
And to top off today’s police news: bee swarm descends on campus – chaos ensues.
“Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week.”
~ Joseph Addison
So, the lesson this week is that if you’re having a bad day, speak up! After I confessed to feeling low, Jane stopped by to see me with a funny card and bunch of flowers, Peregrine wrote me the best BFF email in history, Scarlett regaled me with tales of hilarity from her internship to boost my mood, and a lovely neighbor invited me over for dinner and some girl time. The moral of this week: complain*. Stiff upper lips out, quivering lips in!
*Actually, the moral of this week is surround yourself with Good People and even your worst days can be alleviated rather spectacularly.
Here are your weekend links, kittens. I’m spending mine doing yoga, brunching with Jane, and reading friend-recommended books. How about you guys?
I want to go to there: Flavorwire runs down its list of the 25 most beautiful public libraries (bibliophiles: check out the university and private library lists as well).
So remember that project from a while back that changed the various depictions of Venus to something more current in terms of body type appreciation? Here’s another lesson in it: Pinup-up girls before and after. Even Vargas girls don’t look like Vargas girls.
I’ve spent hours on this site planning the future presents I could make, if only I weren’t so poor. Alas!
I am firmly of the opinion that Theodore Roosevelt was the most bad A of American presidents. This is cause for some debate, Andrew Jackson has quite a number of devotees and to be fair he was pretty intense, but he was also an insufferable jerk, so I don’t like him as much. Not that Ted wasn’t without his faults, but I’m far more impressed with the turn of the century style big game hunting, the Rough Riders, social reform, the national parks, and this tiny little event. Hardcore history, kittens!
I’ve been to several of these, but I want to make it to all of them. In the meantime, J. is on assignment to visit so we can all live vicariously through him in the meantime.
Some fun City Hall weddings are style profiled on Refinery 29. Lovely! I had the whole shebang type of wedding and loved every minute of it, but I do like some of the smaller, non-traditional varieties. Basically, I like parties of every size and shape.
The weekly sheep. A stupid tradition continues, and this particular sheep expresses his opinion about it.
“A woman who doesn’t wear perfume has no future.”
~ Coco Chanel
Sitting at my desk, I asked one of the officers to review a background check I was running for him. As I reached for the file I was suddenly arrested by a sound of heavy sniffing behind me. Puzzled, I turned around and found him with an embarrassed look on his face.
“Sorry,” he said, “I just caught of a whiff of your perfume. It smells really nice.”
I felt my eyebrows lifting. “Ah. Thank you. But-”
“That was more than a little awkward, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Let’s never speak of this again,” he said firmly.
“Sorry, I fully intend to tell the ladies, which pretty much guarantees you’ll be hearing about this for a couple of weeks at least.”
“Damn it.”
Yes, awkward, but really funny if you know the man, and not nearly on the creep scale of this guy.
*For the record, she-minions, Chanel. The classics (apparently) never go out of style.
Small Dog Syndrome 
