My aunt runs a port-a-potty business. When I went home for Mother’s Day last weekend, I saw my aunt and uncle’s new (okay, it’s two years old, but I don’t get to visit them that often) house, and came away with a big bag of half-rolls of toilet paper. Turns out my aunt collects what’s left of the clean rolls when she collects the units, and saves them to use in her own home. But…
It seems macabre to take a photo of a dead woman’s closet, but there is an irrepressible streak of sentimentality running through me, and sometimes I do macabre things to satisfy it. Today my father spent his first day of vacation finishing up cleaning out my dead great-grandmother‘s house. She has been gone since February of ’05, so this process has taken more time than you might imagine is ideal. My dad called my mom…
My day started at the unreasonable hour of 5:30 a.m. Parched and morning breathy, I climbed into the back seat of my dad’s truck and directed him toward the Midtown Surgery Center, where we shuffled into the lobby for a fun round of paperwork and network morning shows. An hour later, I was called back and told to drop trou and everything else, pee in a cup, put on a gown, put a paper cap…
My sister and her kids are gone, having left behind a carton of chocolate chip ice cream that I’ve now introduced myself to three times (“Hello there, ice cream. You and I have not rendezvoused for quite some time now, and I find that absence has truly made my heart grow much fonder.”) and a very large plastic tub of strawberries that I will dig into shortly, once my stomach figures out what to do…
Casey: Patrick, say the first thing that comes to your mind. Patrick: Poop. Lightbulb. Bird. Turd.
Except me, naturally. We had a good day, as far as I can tell. My sister and nephews cruised into town around noon, and we sat and caught up for an hour or so before swinging by Phil’s to pick up his brother and cousin, and driving down to the Gibson factory for the 2 o’clock tour. It was really interesting to see people making shiny, $3,000 guitars from blocks of wood. We couldn’t hear…
There is a time in every slob’s life when she is struck with an acute pang of realization that, in less than 24 hours, there will be actual people — family members, no less — coming into her apartment and making themselves at home for many, many hours. Such a realization floods the brain with recognition of previously untapped talents, such as eagle-eye vision (“Holy crap, that is a huge dust bunny dancing under my…
• I finally watched Children of Men. Wow, what a depressing film. And yet, it was gorgeous. Alfonso Cuarón has a remarkable talent for making abject despair and urban decay seem achingly, surreally beautiful. I had initially expressed concern that the film would be a reactionary piece about underpopulation (based on today’s popular anti-immigrant fervor), but I’m happy to report that it’s actually much more complicated than that. Amanda Marcotte wrote an interesting post about…
Me: Hellooo! Patrick: Hello? Me: Hey!!! Patrick: Hi. Me: What are you doing? Partying? Patrick: Yeah. We’re watching home movies. Me: Cool. Are you having fun? Patrick: … Who is this? Me: It’s Lindsey! Patrick: OH, HEY! Me: You having a big birthday? Patrick: Yeah, we’re watching a video from February. Me: You’re gonna come visit me in a couple of weeks, right? Patrick: Yep. Me: All right, well, sorry I couldn’t make it to…
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