Saturday Night

On the corner, a gaggle of young men and women waits for the light. In 50 degree weather, four women are dressed identically, in shorts so short and tight and Lycra-ey they may as well be underwear, button down shirts that fail to cover the underwear, four-inch platform sandals. The weirdest part: I don't think they're in costume.

American Scone*

This scone is pale to the point of being only par-baked, pasty in texture and flavor, bloated, sickly sweet. It's a chocolate chip scone, but all through it are fibrous bits of...what, exactly?


*Years ago, an Australian friend and I were in the train station in Philadelphia, and we stopped for coffee at a stall. Somehow, the subject of the scones at the stall came up--possibly the barista asked if we wanted one with our coffee? Anyway, my friend sniffed disdainfully, and I believe her lip may actually have curled as she spat out, "American scones."

In defense of Americans, most of our scones are nowhere close to as bad as the one described above, and some of us even know how to make actual, real, proper cream scones from scratch. With no chocolate chips, even. Because some of us suspect that putting chocolate chips in a scone is kind of along the lines of putting blueberries in a bagel. You can do it, sure, but then you're no longer dealing with a serious scone/bagel.

Muppet Love

The electric throw is crimson red silky fake fur; the warmth is deep, healing--imagine being held lovingly by a Muppet.

Niiiice

I just bought a vacuum cleaner, and I'll say this for the carpeting in my new home--it certainly does hide the dog hair well.

And on the down side, it certainly does hide the dog hair well. Yikes.

Why Craiglist Furniture for Sale Listings are an Excellent Source of Entertainment

1) Posts that make me gasp with horror and then burst out laughing the moment they load. Seriously, I'd link to current posts, but it's mean to make fun of people's furniture on the Internet. Also, the links would only expire in a week anyway. (If they didn't, someone would have started a Regretsy-like blog for Craigslistings a long, long time ago.)

2) Posts that describe furniture as "shabby chic." Now, that description isn't really set to win my heart in any case. Having worked as a props designer and beat to crap tastefully distressed my share of stage furniture, I figure if I want something shabby chic, I'm more than capable of scratching at it with a rasp or putting dings in it with a screw driver. Furthermore, on Craigslist, "shabby chic" is often used to describe items that'd be better represented as "shredded by the cat" and/or "cabbage roses from the 1980s."

3) Here's a favorite: Posts that authoritatively describe furniture as "mid-century modern" when in reality it's "mid-'70s wood veneer." (Occasionally, mid-'70s schlock is mistakenly described as shabby chic--if it's been sufficiently shredded by the cat, that is.)

4) Posts that tell me--in great detail--exactly what the piece of furniture will be perfect for, or exactly where in my home it will look just fabulous.

5) Related to number four: Posts that tell me just how beautiful I will find a piece of furniture, or how very, very special and/or set to become an heirloom it is. Or! Posts that tell me how very, very precious the piece is to the family that's selling it, but they have to sell it (by today) because their grandmother got sick and they're moving overseas to take care of her and, and, and... In other words, way TMI.

6) And related to number five: Posts that tell me what a great bargain someone's inflated asking price is and explain that if I look around on the Internet for the same item, I'll see that people are selling it for $200 more.

Okay. Anyone else want to play? I'm sure I'm missing classic Craigslist moves from this and other categories. (Though I could certainly go on at length about the housing category right about now. Sheesh. But I find that far less amusing and more irritating and misleading, at least in this town.)

Control...or Not

So...there's probably no inherent, real significance to dropping a splotch of tofu dip on my laptop's control key. And yet. The tiny gerbil who powers the tiny metaphor generator in my head is really a very hardworking rodent.

Tuna Picnic

Annie, relaxing over a nice cuppa.

Cats are not the only critters who like a little tuna juice snicky-snack now and then.

"What? What's wrong with fishy breath kisses?"

Oops

On the left, we have the jug from which the apple cider came. It was full to the brim when I started my journey to reduce it to apple cider syrup. On the right, the finished "syrup." It went a little longer than it should have.

Sharp-eyed observers will note that the jar on the right is upside down. It's been that way for a good 24 hours now--I just wanted to see if the substance inside would move. The answer is...no. Not at all. It has not budged.

Now, in my defense, this stuff actually tastes pretty good (like spiced apple caramel or taffy). If you can scrape it out of the jar. I suppose I could set it in a pan of hot water to melt it a little, and then reconstitute it a bit by adding water or apple juice to it.

But that sounds like so much work. I think I'd rather ship it to Lis's brother and sister-in-law in Schenectady, so it can live at the back of their fridge and commune with the apple spackle Lis made while she was there. You don't think they'd mind, do you?

The Internet: Where You Just Might Bump Into Yourself Around Any Random Corner

So a while back, I edited this cookbook for the Davis Food Co-op, where both Lis and I worship work in various capacities. We did a leetle print run at Lulu.com, and the thing took forever to sell out, and I don't think anyone at the store is in a big ol' hurry to reorder more books. (Though I still really quite like the cookbook! As do all my mother's friends. So, you know, it must be good.)

Then, just now, I happened to Google myself to figure out something unrelated, and this here Amazon link came up. I mean, who knew Lulu books automatically wound up on Amazon? (Though...maybe they don't? Maybe our former marketing director had something to do with this?)

The best part is: My book is currently ranked the 6,528,445th best selling book on Amazon. You have to admit, that's not bad for a girl who didn't even know she had an Amazon sales ranking. (And the half-assedness just keeps on keeping on.)

Nervous Little Dogs

This incredibly mellow looking dog is currently a wreck from the sound of the wind. The wind here is intense in October, and sometimes also in April, as if it's sweeping out the season that was to make room for a new one.

Doggles (Lis's nickname!) isn't normally this anxious about wind, though she does go out of her mind at the sound of, say, a smoke detector with a bad battery--that sound pretty much makes her try to climb inside Brian or me, which, as you can imagine, is less than conducive to getting things done.

This morning, as Doggles and I were discussing why she was such a nervous little dog, I asked her whether she'd been busy with the espresso machine before Brian and I got up. She denied everything.

Digger

A few weeks ago, on my husband’s birthday, Lis asked Lovely Toddler whether he wanted to do something fun for Brian for his birthday.

“Yeah!” responded Lovely Toddler, “Maybe, get him a digger.”

“Okay.” said Lis. And then she asked where they might begin to look for a digger.

“I think…” Lovely Toddler thought about it. “We could go to a yard sale for a digger present.”

Lovely Toddler has clearly internalized both our particular community’s commitment to the reduce, reuse, recycle ethic, and also that old chestnut about giving people presents that you would want to receive. (Lis tells us that a clarifying discussion ensued about how yard sales are generally not held on Tuesdays, and a thrift shop might be a better bet.)

And then, this past weekend, Brian and I were at a yard sale, and look what turned up: