Thursday, April 30, 2009


You could waste your time blogging. You could be on hold with your insurance company. You could wait for the bus. You could try again to find Tom Lehrer mp3s on Amazon (they’re still not there). You could try to find Catalan courses in Maryland or Iowa. You could try to learn how to play the PlayStation winter Olympics games, or Final Fantasy. You could look for those shoes you lost. You could have a bath, and that would kind of be a waste of time. You could try to decide what it is you want in life, and what you want to do. You could write poetry.

You could even watch House.

And all of that would better and more productive than spending time thinking of what you aren’t and never will be. I can’t wait till I’m old enough to use Tom Lehrer’s line – “when Mozart was my age he was dead”

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Dear Diary,

Today is not sleep day. It is insomniac insanity day and diary, the hallucinations had better not involve dead people. Today is board meeting day. This is a good thing, and I am excited about it, however:

a) I am getting increasingly sleep deprived, which surely cannot do my brain power any good. On the upside, I may come up with some rather novel fundraising suggestions.

b) This, like most things, interferes with my spending all my time lying on the couch and catching up on House. On the other hand, it is much more constructive than watching House, and involves non-fictional people.

Today is also doctor day, because I am a glutton for punishment. And calling insurance day. Just my basket of fun happytime.

Btw, diary, I’ve noticed that when I google “house” it gives me the Fox House, M.D. site, then the U.S. House of Representatives, then a mix of more House and a bunch of state houses of representatives. I ask you, diary, much as I appreciate the fictional doctor/real legislature interest, what ever happened to the kind made of bricks? Is it the economy? Does google reflect our collective psychic trauma? Can anyone blame me for seeking refuge in the fictional world? Well, perhaps not refuge so much as clever retorts. One can never have too many of those.

Diary, my resolve wilts. I could be baking scones with my time as well as attending board meetings, I know, but these days it takes a pretty pressing engagement to drag me from the living room. I would spend my insomniac time watching House, only then I would never sleep (but I’d finish season three and four in no time at all). So here’s a deal – how about I go to the meeting, and we enslave a fictional character, ideally Wilson, but Captain Wentworth will do, and make them do the housekeeping and paperwork. And the doctor’s appoinments. Good? Thought so.

And so a lovely long weekend comes to an abrupt ending. Unless that fictional character shows up.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Almost midnight, still no news

Other than that I really need to sleep, obviously. I will express my mood with a topically unrelated song. Why do I like angry girlpop on days when the sun is out and I feel good?

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Your absentee landlord apologises. Her thoughts have not been suitable for public display recently. I mean, seriously, how interested can you possibly be in Robert Sean Leonard’s lovely eyes? See, I told you*.

And now I can't sleep, and I can't decide if it's the caffeine or the restless mind. Oh well, nothing a trip to the World War II memorial in DC won't help.

*Unless, of course, you are of the class of people affected by that thing of beauty, the Sadly Entirely Fictional Construct That Is James Wilson. In which case you have probably given the matter plenty of thought anyway.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Expert eater

I think I have written about endings before, and no, oddly enough, no spoilers here, though some hints. The most important things in a book are its first sentence and its ending. I am reminded of this as I finish, in quick succession, P.D. James’s Death of an Expert Witness and Dodie Smith’s I Capture the Castle. Having recently read James’s An Unsuitable Job for a Woman, I find myself wanting the complex coherence of that ending. Perhaps I am missing the point in Death of an Expert Witness, but I found it unsatisfying; the same applies to Smith. Am I missing something? With I Capture the Castle, I end up feeling cheated – after all the allusions to Jane Austen (and really they are everywhere) I feel like it needed either a deliriously happy ending or a bittersweet one about love lost. Instead…instead the end is just out there.

Ironically, the book that has really got me thinking is one that I resisted reading for years and do not think is all that impressive as a literary achievement – Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, her book about eating local food for a year. It’s too much, you see, just a tad too much. Too much of her. Too much ethical goodness, by which I may mean goody-two-shoesness. And yet…one cannot help but take heed. It is the logical, coherent response to industrial food production; and so I recommend it, especially for anyone who does not know much about the food industry and takes an interest in the social and environmental impact of mass-production methods. It made me hungry, but did not make me want to buy a farm. Indirectly, it caused me to make eggs benedict with asparagus this weekend and spinach potato frittata yesterday, so at the very least, the Spouse is pleased.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Easter Sunday

I was in DC today, and found out what it is that Americans do for Easter. Apparently, in order to celebrate the Resurrection/rebirth of nature/release from bondage, Americans go and think about the time when a self-obsessed actor from Baltimore killed the president. There were long lines outside Ford's theatre and the Peterson House.

Maybe they hope he's coming back?

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Pointless hare

There, I am done. It is Saturday, and I give up my attempts at making friends here. I can do so officially if you like - I am pretty good at fabricating fancy gold stickers on marbled paper. Yet again, In the Bleak Midwinter is right. Why must the show go on?

I know what this needs. It needs eighties melancholy and melodrama.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Imagine I am George Michael on a roll

Lately a lot of my days have been the obscured kind – minor hitches and unpleasantness. Nothing worth mentioning. Today, after four days of persistent headaches and longer-standing obstructions, the weather and my head cleared, and things suddenly got easier.

What a difference a day makes? I am now on a garden committee (my first board job!) and am extraordinarily excited about that; some treats are planned for the Easter weekend (well, sort of planned anyway) and my work is going spiffingly (yes, really. Amazing). I am listening to All the young dudes and working my way up to Sinatra. It is just that kind of day. Well, hopefully. I admit to being a little suspicious of big glasses of happy adrenaline. Maybe it’s the endless episodes of House that seem to figure so largely in my life recently. That, and debacles are usually funnier that good times.

Thursday, April 09, 2009

Not fishing

I'm off to work now folks, and I'm sorry, I thought I had a post ready. (I made you a post but the interwebs eated it). Also have been fixated with House instead of blogging. Will return presently.