I woke up this morning and rolled out of bed.
I yawned and I showered, I dressed and I fed.
I trundled upstairs to log on to the net...
Just wanted to check on my email and get
Up to speed on the news of the day and to see
That I knew what was happ'ning internationally.
At this juncture, I fear, was the first of my clues
That the day would be filled with bemoanin' and blues.
For my trusty old Firefox failed to connect.
So I reset the router, began to inspect
All the cables and cords, and the modem of course -
But all was in order; no flaw to endorse
My impression that something was terribly wrong,
My efforts to remedy didn't take long.
Not as long, in the least, as the time that I spent
On the phone with a customer service accent.
Anyway, in a while I gave up the chase
And went downstairs to T. for a needed embrace.
But then what to my wondering eyes should appear
But my cell phone is pieces, just sitting there
On a towel, and looking a right awful mess.
"It went through the washer" T. sadly confessed.
"Confound it!" I screeched, and other such things,
For inside me frustration'd unfolded its wings
And was now soaring high, and I think mocking me,
For usually I'm gifted, electronically.
So I grouched for a while, and mumbled a bit,
Using four letter words like "darn," "urgh," "jeez," and "pits."
Then I rallied around! A new challenge arose!
I would go to the thrift store and buy some old clothes.
See, the ones that I own are too short in the sleeve,
Cause they're made for one shorter and wider than me.
And the same with my pants - they're for people with thighs,
Not for someone with all of their substance INside.
So - long story short, this adventure failed too.
I found nothing appealing, and left unamused.
Later on, back at home, I thought maybe it'd be
Nice to spend some time browsing in the library.
So I looked up the time that it closed Saturdays,
But my luck in this case matched the rest of today's.
Yep, the libes had already shut down for the night,
Which to me seemed unfair! Yea, it didn't seem right!
Not everyone wants to spend time at the bars,
Breathing second-hand smoke and just passing the hours
Until morning when you wake with an ache in your head
And a taste in your mouth like something is dead.
Yeah, some of us want to spend Saturdays reading!
Anyway, I'll go on just to keep this proceeding...
I was feeling frustrated and hungry to boot,
So we went to get Thai at a place of repute.
We had dined there before and the food was delicious.
But the day was just cursed, and my karma pernicious.
The Pad Thai was yummy... the waitress was cute.
The problem was floating in water - the fruit
That is meant to accent and refresh with its tang.
Yep, a lemon was the final straw of the day.
I squeezed it right into my half-empty glass...
There wasn't a warning - it happened so fast...
Lo, out from the lemon a droplet took flight,
Traversed through the air and encountered my eye.
And the burning I felt was familiar to me -
It summed up quite nicely the moral, the theme:
When a day's disappointments go beyond the pale,
Prepare thyself, grasshopper, for an EPIC FAIL.
And my guitar string broke. And I couldn't find the book I was looking for at either of the two bookstores I went to. And my cell phone is definitely not going to work again. And some of the CDs I imported have static.
And it was a beautiful day. Theresa and I took a walk in the sun and the snow. I watched a mockingbird preen and puff itself up against the cold. I played the banjo. I had Pad Thai. I listened to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong sing Porgy and Bess. I took a bath. I read Neil Gaiman. I ate a lot of chocolate.
8.3.08
1.3.08
March Brunch
In life there are few certainties. In death, there are many, but few people are certain of what they are. The point is, sometimes people have brunch on Saturdays, and this was one of those Saturdays for Theresa and Andrew.
It started out as a plan, a plan with blueberries and bowls of granola, orange juice and melon, insatiable appetites and idle chatter. As it turns out, somebody drank all the orange juice, melons and blueberries have flown south for the winter, granola is just too much of a hassle for Saturday, and chatter can only be idle if it is not usurped by a conversation. And their appetites were quickly sated by the heavy fare.
The menu included: Scrambled eggs with feta, slabs of soysage, and a layered cardamom coffee cake with strawberries. The strawberries cried out valiantly in support of a heart-healthy meal, citing both their antioxidant properties and their kind-of heart shape if they are cut a certain way, and also they are red like hearts are, but then Andrew surrounded them with brown sugar and margarine, white flour and eggs. They quickly gave up the fight and surrendered to their fate - to be the trophy harem of a vicious and unforgiving cake. The eggs just watched this struggle unfold and remained, as always, unflappable. But not unflippable... anyway, that came later.
They ate on the back porch, and had green tea.
The temperature was in the mid sixties. The sky was absorbing a lot more red light than blue, and there was no breeze, so after brunch they spent a few hours in the hammock, reading something funny (Theresa), and something serious, but with a lot of pictures (Andrew).
Tonight, who knows? Bowling was an option, but perhaps instead they will sneak past the guards and fight crime instead (though it can get boring, doing the same thing every night). Or, or... Maybe they'll go Krogering, and sabotage the entire operation by switching the locations of the apples Fiji and the Red Delicious. Ho ho! They've got depths you can't even begin to plumb.
Both of them are mostly over being sick... Andrew had SARS, or possibly just a cough, and Theresa had Ebola, or maybe just a cold. The former were more accurate for things like missing work or school, the latter were more accurate for deciding to go outside after all and play with Hermione in the garden.
Theresa is still student teaching and enjoying it despite the long drive and how it conflicts somewhat with her long-term goals in life. Andrew, by day, is an office assistant, but by night transforms into a world-class somniloquist, his repertoire including mainly movie scripts with the occasional off-Broadway monologue; with impeccable elocution and no facial expression whatsoever. Theresa, in opposition to Andrew's wishes, frequently sells tickets to these presentations on Craigslist, but he forgives her because she lets him have some of the proceedings in order to pay for his haircuts, the costs of which account for nearly 30 grand in credit card debt. A guy's gotta look good, even if his social scene involves dreams mostly.
Spring bides her time, waiting for an opening in winter's double dutch jump ropes. Small colorful vegetations are beginning to appear, blue in the grass, yellow at the end of tulip stems, red in the bushes just to the left of that woodpecker, oh! Tomorrow, a trip to Radnor Lake is in the works, to hike near and around it.
They hope you are enjoying your winter weather, whatever that may mean, and that you have a brunch sometime soon. With love.
It started out as a plan, a plan with blueberries and bowls of granola, orange juice and melon, insatiable appetites and idle chatter. As it turns out, somebody drank all the orange juice, melons and blueberries have flown south for the winter, granola is just too much of a hassle for Saturday, and chatter can only be idle if it is not usurped by a conversation. And their appetites were quickly sated by the heavy fare.
The menu included: Scrambled eggs with feta, slabs of soysage, and a layered cardamom coffee cake with strawberries. The strawberries cried out valiantly in support of a heart-healthy meal, citing both their antioxidant properties and their kind-of heart shape if they are cut a certain way, and also they are red like hearts are, but then Andrew surrounded them with brown sugar and margarine, white flour and eggs. They quickly gave up the fight and surrendered to their fate - to be the trophy harem of a vicious and unforgiving cake. The eggs just watched this struggle unfold and remained, as always, unflappable. But not unflippable... anyway, that came later.
They ate on the back porch, and had green tea.
The temperature was in the mid sixties. The sky was absorbing a lot more red light than blue, and there was no breeze, so after brunch they spent a few hours in the hammock, reading something funny (Theresa), and something serious, but with a lot of pictures (Andrew).
Tonight, who knows? Bowling was an option, but perhaps instead they will sneak past the guards and fight crime instead (though it can get boring, doing the same thing every night). Or, or... Maybe they'll go Krogering, and sabotage the entire operation by switching the locations of the apples Fiji and the Red Delicious. Ho ho! They've got depths you can't even begin to plumb.
Both of them are mostly over being sick... Andrew had SARS, or possibly just a cough, and Theresa had Ebola, or maybe just a cold. The former were more accurate for things like missing work or school, the latter were more accurate for deciding to go outside after all and play with Hermione in the garden.
Theresa is still student teaching and enjoying it despite the long drive and how it conflicts somewhat with her long-term goals in life. Andrew, by day, is an office assistant, but by night transforms into a world-class somniloquist, his repertoire including mainly movie scripts with the occasional off-Broadway monologue; with impeccable elocution and no facial expression whatsoever. Theresa, in opposition to Andrew's wishes, frequently sells tickets to these presentations on Craigslist, but he forgives her because she lets him have some of the proceedings in order to pay for his haircuts, the costs of which account for nearly 30 grand in credit card debt. A guy's gotta look good, even if his social scene involves dreams mostly.
Spring bides her time, waiting for an opening in winter's double dutch jump ropes. Small colorful vegetations are beginning to appear, blue in the grass, yellow at the end of tulip stems, red in the bushes just to the left of that woodpecker, oh! Tomorrow, a trip to Radnor Lake is in the works, to hike near and around it.
They hope you are enjoying your winter weather, whatever that may mean, and that you have a brunch sometime soon. With love.
7.1.08
The Great After-Holidays Holiday Letter 2007 or 8
Things are pretty much back to normal now. Theresa is working hard as per usual, finishing up her thesis, which she defends tomorrow, and student teaching the day after. She'll be putting in a full work week, plus studies, and won't get paid for it! So that's fun.
Andrew spends a good amount of time thinking about coffee while he's at work. He also is working hard to keep up with the burst of activity coinciding with the start of spring semester. He starts his CS 101 class on Wednesday, wherein he'll learn some Java, which, ironically, is the subject on which this paragraph started.
Want to see what dorks do when they have a pet and access to the internet? Check it out. That's the pet hedgehog you've heard so much about! She spent a lot of time in cold cars and strangers' hands this winter, and she's very glad to have her full-sized cage back and a consistently warm house.
The house, now that you mention it, is warm and entirely in one piece, thanks to thier friendly handyman Mr. George, who put the gutter back on last week. They arrived back home to find it hanging by the telephone wire, as it were, by its toes. No lie. The pine-needle burden had finally broken its spirit and it just broke down.
Where did they get back from? Glad you asked. They spent a couple of weeks driving around and seeing family and friends. Pictures? Ok.
That's their friend and ex-roomie, who maybe they'll live with when they move to Seattle. The other one is a family Theresa lived with when she worked for a few months in Michigan. They saw several others, but have no pictures. It was great to see everyone.
Happy Holidays. Back to work!
Andrew spends a good amount of time thinking about coffee while he's at work. He also is working hard to keep up with the burst of activity coinciding with the start of spring semester. He starts his CS 101 class on Wednesday, wherein he'll learn some Java, which, ironically, is the subject on which this paragraph started.
Want to see what dorks do when they have a pet and access to the internet? Check it out. That's the pet hedgehog you've heard so much about! She spent a lot of time in cold cars and strangers' hands this winter, and she's very glad to have her full-sized cage back and a consistently warm house.
The house, now that you mention it, is warm and entirely in one piece, thanks to thier friendly handyman Mr. George, who put the gutter back on last week. They arrived back home to find it hanging by the telephone wire, as it were, by its toes. No lie. The pine-needle burden had finally broken its spirit and it just broke down.
Where did they get back from? Glad you asked. They spent a couple of weeks driving around and seeing family and friends. Pictures? Ok.
That's their friend and ex-roomie, who maybe they'll live with when they move to Seattle. The other one is a family Theresa lived with when she worked for a few months in Michigan. They saw several others, but have no pictures. It was great to see everyone.
Happy Holidays. Back to work!
25.11.07
On Disappiontment
A great sadness has descended upon them like the slow darkening of the ocean as night falls on creatures of depth.
They were appropriately thankful for their discounted tickets. They were appropriately prepared for their island vacation, with sleeveless shirts and sunscreen, novels and no socks. They went to the airport and boarded the plane! ...To Atlanta! Ok.
From there, they planned to fly to Hawaii, direct. To Honolulu, where they would spend three days with relatives, and then to Hilo, where they would hang with a best-friend until next Tuesday. A glorious vacation it would be!
But alas! Their tickets were standby, their passes were "buddy." Their chances were slim! Their luck was amok! They made it to L.A., and waited for days! They nighted in hotels! High prices were paid! They were held fast by grim disappointment, again and again as it crush-ed them down.
Excuses were made by the airlines, in numbers.
Their hopes, oh! their hopes! They were dashed all asunder.
With "fuel optimized" and "perishables stowed,"
The airplanes took off, and passengers be blowed!
Empty seats? Yeah, who cares! Cargo sells! To the air!
And we wept, yea, we wept.
Of tears there were many.
And of hard cash on hand, we had none but a penny.
It was time to give up. It was time to go home.
So we flew back to Cinci', and drove to Dayton.
There we spent the remainder of our hard-earned time
(The rate it accrues is naught but a crime!)
And we saw our relations, and an elephant too
(We went to a circus, not to a zoo).
It was nice, which was nice, but it wasn't Hawaii.
Even now, we remember what weren't, and we cry.
And now here we are again, here in Ville Nash.
We've slept in our bed and we've broken our fast.
What have we to show for the grand that we dropped?
This postcard of LAX airport - it's tops!
They were appropriately thankful for their discounted tickets. They were appropriately prepared for their island vacation, with sleeveless shirts and sunscreen, novels and no socks. They went to the airport and boarded the plane! ...To Atlanta! Ok.
From there, they planned to fly to Hawaii, direct. To Honolulu, where they would spend three days with relatives, and then to Hilo, where they would hang with a best-friend until next Tuesday. A glorious vacation it would be!
But alas! Their tickets were standby, their passes were "buddy." Their chances were slim! Their luck was amok! They made it to L.A., and waited for days! They nighted in hotels! High prices were paid! They were held fast by grim disappointment, again and again as it crush-ed them down.
Excuses were made by the airlines, in numbers.
Their hopes, oh! their hopes! They were dashed all asunder.
With "fuel optimized" and "perishables stowed,"
The airplanes took off, and passengers be blowed!
Empty seats? Yeah, who cares! Cargo sells! To the air!
And we wept, yea, we wept.
Of tears there were many.
And of hard cash on hand, we had none but a penny.
It was time to give up. It was time to go home.
So we flew back to Cinci', and drove to Dayton.
There we spent the remainder of our hard-earned time
(The rate it accrues is naught but a crime!)
And we saw our relations, and an elephant too
(We went to a circus, not to a zoo).
It was nice, which was nice, but it wasn't Hawaii.
Even now, we remember what weren't, and we cry.
And now here we are again, here in Ville Nash.
We've slept in our bed and we've broken our fast.
What have we to show for the grand that we dropped?
This postcard of LAX airport - it's tops!
29.9.07
Pond Fish Plants Fountain
As many very important historians have said: "The pond we made in our backyard is complete." There are four fish in it. Ken-Ichi, Sumo, Akira Kurosawa, and Sake.
Want to hear a sad story? We were looking for a fish to name Sake. We were looking for one that swam a little drunkenly. There it was, swimming sideways, upside-down, in circles, making Andrew laugh. It was clearly drunk, or "differently abled." Either way, it fit the name. Then the salesman told us that it was dying of a rare and horrible disease, and he stuck his paws in the tank and grabbed it. He dropped it into a bucket, and it stopped swimming drunkenly. It stopped... swimming... *sob*. I'm sorry! I just... *breaks down*
So! Then we picked up a few other fish. Two are Koi, two are Comets. Two are orange and white, two are yellow and black and white. We tried to take pictures of them, but they are all ninjas and were impossible to find once we put them into the pond. Then a squirrel ventured near the water, and it suddenly toppled into the water with a splash. It was dead, and Ken-Ichi killed it with a sword.
Here are some pictures we did take:
Ken-Ichi is on the right. Sake is on the left (The second Sake, not the first one, who is dead now.) Ken-Ichi is a killer, you can see it in his eyes.
Und here is our pond. Andrew made the fountain out of some junk he found around the house. Jesus made the plantalia. Neptune controls the waves.
Blip blip?
Want to hear a sad story? We were looking for a fish to name Sake. We were looking for one that swam a little drunkenly. There it was, swimming sideways, upside-down, in circles, making Andrew laugh. It was clearly drunk, or "differently abled." Either way, it fit the name. Then the salesman told us that it was dying of a rare and horrible disease, and he stuck his paws in the tank and grabbed it. He dropped it into a bucket, and it stopped swimming drunkenly. It stopped... swimming... *sob*. I'm sorry! I just... *breaks down*
So! Then we picked up a few other fish. Two are Koi, two are Comets. Two are orange and white, two are yellow and black and white. We tried to take pictures of them, but they are all ninjas and were impossible to find once we put them into the pond. Then a squirrel ventured near the water, and it suddenly toppled into the water with a splash. It was dead, and Ken-Ichi killed it with a sword.
Here are some pictures we did take:
Ken-Ichi is on the right. Sake is on the left (The second Sake, not the first one, who is dead now.) Ken-Ichi is a killer, you can see it in his eyes.
Und here is our pond. Andrew made the fountain out of some junk he found around the house. Jesus made the plantalia. Neptune controls the waves.
Blip blip?
The Rubix Cube Party
It was a couple of weeks ago, but there's been enough procrastination. The next party is tonight, so the blog must go on.
The Rubix Cube party concept is simple. Everyone dresses in all six colors of the Rubix cube. By the end of the party, everyone must try to be dressed in just one color, by trading articles of clothing with other partygoers. So they started out:
Was it mentioned that this was an 80's Rubix Cube Party? Well it was. And Maggie and Evan came too:
Andrew is sad that he missed being a fashion-conscious person the 80's. *sniffle* He does remember seeing French cuffs in the house growing up, however. And memorizing the lyrics of Ice, Ice, Baby. And an odd leg-warmer or two. STOP. Collaborate and listen.
Things went well. It was at least a four-way tie. Shorry about the mesh.
There were other people at the party, too. They're just not pictured. Well, here, here's a picture of them:
Piper Perabo is just an acquaintance.
Tonight? The Olympic party. Also? They're putting fish and plants in their pond, and then they'll post about that too. Thanks for playing!
The Rubix Cube party concept is simple. Everyone dresses in all six colors of the Rubix cube. By the end of the party, everyone must try to be dressed in just one color, by trading articles of clothing with other partygoers. So they started out:
Was it mentioned that this was an 80's Rubix Cube Party? Well it was. And Maggie and Evan came too:
Andrew is sad that he missed being a fashion-conscious person the 80's. *sniffle* He does remember seeing French cuffs in the house growing up, however. And memorizing the lyrics of Ice, Ice, Baby. And an odd leg-warmer or two. STOP. Collaborate and listen.
Things went well. It was at least a four-way tie. Shorry about the mesh.
There were other people at the party, too. They're just not pictured. Well, here, here's a picture of them:
Piper Perabo is just an acquaintance.
Tonight? The Olympic party. Also? They're putting fish and plants in their pond, and then they'll post about that too. Thanks for playing!
11.9.07
Gimme More
Oh by the way... Andrew dropped out of school last week. Two weeks ago? Recently. Nursing, it seems, was indeed right up his alley, but as chance would have it "his alley" was, due to some unfortunate error by the United States Postal Service, not, in fact, his alley after all. Turns out he lives somewhere rather closer to his current location. That sounds too simple, actually. His heart just wasn't in it.
So what, everyone asks him, are you planning on doing now?
Well, before he answers, he would like to remind the reader that this question arises not from the depths of your soul where tricky concepts like "truth" and "passion" lie, but comes instead from the relentless ad-driven multinational consumerist terrorist nine-to-five power suit world we live in. So get off your high horse and get in touch, dude, because Andrew has decided to be a professional hippie. He already owned a pair of Birkenstock sandals and has been seen on multiple occasions in a sarong.
So, as a professional racecar driver, what can friends and family be expecting from Andrew in the next few years? Medals a'plenty. Drinking milk. Flame-retardant fashions. And if the astronaut thing doesn't work out, he'll land among the stars. There are only four hackers in the world who can get into myspace and steal ur background, and he is one of them. He and his manager have already set up a seven-state tour of to-the-death duels, and his opponent gets to choose the weapon each time. If not him or Raffi, who will save the baby belugas?! In the deep blue sea?!
In conclusion, he will be spending his mornings writing stories, because that's something he enjoys and has always dreamed of doing. He'll be happy to autograph any copies of any books he manages to get published, but suggests that time spent counting chickens might be better spent sending good vibes his way, cause those eggs have only just been laid.
So what, everyone asks him, are you planning on doing now?
Well, before he answers, he would like to remind the reader that this question arises not from the depths of your soul where tricky concepts like "truth" and "passion" lie, but comes instead from the relentless ad-driven multinational consumerist terrorist nine-to-five power suit world we live in. So get off your high horse and get in touch, dude, because Andrew has decided to be a professional hippie. He already owned a pair of Birkenstock sandals and has been seen on multiple occasions in a sarong.
So, as a professional racecar driver, what can friends and family be expecting from Andrew in the next few years? Medals a'plenty. Drinking milk. Flame-retardant fashions. And if the astronaut thing doesn't work out, he'll land among the stars. There are only four hackers in the world who can get into myspace and steal ur background, and he is one of them. He and his manager have already set up a seven-state tour of to-the-death duels, and his opponent gets to choose the weapon each time. If not him or Raffi, who will save the baby belugas?! In the deep blue sea?!
In conclusion, he will be spending his mornings writing stories, because that's something he enjoys and has always dreamed of doing. He'll be happy to autograph any copies of any books he manages to get published, but suggests that time spent counting chickens might be better spent sending good vibes his way, cause those eggs have only just been laid.
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