The Seattle Times, in light of the recent major storms and blackouts and whatnot, printed multi-lingual PSAs on the front page, warning of the dangers of carbon monoxide poisoning from charcoal heat and generators (from which six people have died and a hundred hospitalized). This will likely disappoint the “Speak English or Move!” crowd, but it might save some lives. And that, folks, is what newspapering is about.
The font of DNA from whence this blogger sprang. These two have been together for 27 years today. I don’t know how they do it. But they do. And I can’t be more happy for them. They are amazing. Happy anniversary, you two, even though I know you’ll never read this.
I just finished watching the series finale of Six Feet Under. Jesus. How does HBO do it? So many good shows. So much good writing. I mean, I’d read the recap at TWOP long ago, when it first aired. And I’d seen a YouTube clip of the closing sequence. So I knew what was coming. But, man, that show can make me blubber like a fucking infant. It’s ridiculous. The whole idea of moving away…
• Wendy‘s got herself a birthday today. And she apparently recently lost her snake Salazar to some unknown-to-me affliction. That sucks, Wendy. I’m sure he was happy and healthy and slithery as all get-out when he was with you. • The photo project I’m working on is turning out quite nicely. At the risk of either my parents or my grandmother reading this and finding out part of what I’m getting them (a small risk,…
The famed Hutchmo was in Memphis for some business today, and this time, he didn’t have a last-minute oops-the-doctors-totally-effed-up-my-innards moment, which is fortunate for lots of reasons more important that having lunch with me. We met at the Midtown Huey’s and talked about a whole host of stuff: Where we’re from, how we got where we are, our jobs, blogging and bloggers, newspapers, feminism, liberalism, family, holidays, etc. John’s an incredibly energetic guy, and the…
Obvious: Christmas Day is a week from today. Like everyone else: I’m not quite ready. And this time I can blame it not on my own procrastination (I started my shopping two weeks ago!), but on the fact that I and a transportational gimp for the time being. So I’m here in the apartment, hanging out, up to my elbows in photo prints and clear adhesive photo corners and photo album pages (don’t ask; yet…
Last night Phil and I went to Ashley and JD’s for some dinner. I took Ashley a cute little cookie jar with some biscotti in it, to thank her for carting my ass to and from work all week. I’m not sure how long she’ll have to keep carting me around, but she may end up getting fifteen cookie jars before it’s over. On the menu for the night was shrimp — the peel ’em…
Add this to the list of things proclaimed as feminist just because women do them: Jell-O wrestling. The empowerful woman continues her march toward world non-domination.
You read stories like this and you have to wonder about the trajectory of A Life, and whether our mortal bodies are just tugged along from womb to tricycle to blackboard to stage to bed to aisle to their end — whatever it may be or whenever it may come — like some kind of toddler bungeed to his busy mother’s wrist, looking around, reaching for shiny objects, sucking a lollipop, never stopping ’til mommy…
Tamara cruised into town Friday night and picked me up from work. We stayed up ’til 4, drinking red and white wine and kvetching about family and relationships and all the variables of twentysomething life we still haven’t quite managed to add up completely. It was awesome catching up, and how we managed to wake up without massive hangovers is, I guess, a happy little miracle. Saturday we had lunch with Phil at the Young…
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