Saturday, July 31, 2010
envelope free
I just made my first deposit at an envelope-free ATM. I love technology and gadgets, so this new service definitely made me smile. I put in my bank card and selected deposit as a transaction, and the machine asked me to insert the check. I did. The ATM scanned the check and then asked if I wanted a copy of the scan on my receipt. Hell yeah. Little inventions, that improve things we already use every day, these are my favorite kinds of inventions. Palm scanners next?
Friday, July 30, 2010
très jolie
I just watched Wanted on-demand the other night. It was Matrix-y to the max. Beyond absurd. At times downright stoopid. Way too profane. Unnecessarily gory. And a whole lotta fun.
Before I go any further I should say that I have always loved Angelina Jolie. I just don't get the haters. Too skinny? Maybe. More than any other Hollywood actress at the moment? Nope. She's beautiful, interesting and a good actress. But most importantly, when it comes to her film choices the girl kicks ass. I mean, seriously. While I was watching the umpteenth completely impossible yet riveting-to-watch special effect stunt in this mayhem-fest, it struck me—what other female star could pull off any of the scenes that Jolie just did? Nicole Kidman? I think not. Maybe Uma, but I'm not sure she could go as dark as Angie.
Jolie seems torn between two kinds of movie roles—the serious, "important pictures" (A Mighty Heart, Changeling) and a certain type of action movie—the kind where she gets to shoot big guns and kick serious butt. The first kind of movie got her an Oscar, but frankly, doesn't necessarily bring in the crowds. The second kind of movie is truly where she excels. You can tell she is having s great time and she's such fun to watch. Her latest release, Salt, Lara Croft, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, the silly one about cars with Nick Cage—these are all movies to watch more than once.
One of my favorite guilty pleasure movies showcases the rare combination of both sides of Jolie's film persona. The Bone Collector with Denzel Washington and Queen Latifah is a lot of fun. It's a far-from-perfect film. I have major quibbles with the gratuitous gore and some stupid re-plotting (compared to Jeffrey Deaver's novel
) concerning Latifah's character. But what it does right is very right, and that mostly involves Jolie's interaction with her fellow actors. The chemistry she has with Denzel is off the charts. It's unfathomable to me why these two haven't worked together since. The way the characters together try to puzzle out the mystery is fun to watch. You don't really care what the solution turns out to be as much as enjoying being in this group's company.
But back to Wanted. Again, Jolie is working with some fun, good actors—Morgan Freeman, Terence Stamp, James McAvoy. But what makes it over-the-top fun (besides her tattooed step out of the bath) is her willingness to go all out. The scene that did it for me was a chase scene in the last third of the movie. Angie's car is racing alongside a train where hero McAvoy is trying to kill an assassin before the assassin kills him. At one point in the chase she decides the best way to get on the train is to swerve her car into the train, driving it into a passenger car not far from the hero. She then steps out, only slightly disheveled, with a few scratches, looking fabulous and ready to cause trouble. As I said before, who else could pull that off? Très Jolie.
Before I go any further I should say that I have always loved Angelina Jolie. I just don't get the haters. Too skinny? Maybe. More than any other Hollywood actress at the moment? Nope. She's beautiful, interesting and a good actress. But most importantly, when it comes to her film choices the girl kicks ass. I mean, seriously. While I was watching the umpteenth completely impossible yet riveting-to-watch special effect stunt in this mayhem-fest, it struck me—what other female star could pull off any of the scenes that Jolie just did? Nicole Kidman? I think not. Maybe Uma, but I'm not sure she could go as dark as Angie.
Jolie seems torn between two kinds of movie roles—the serious, "important pictures" (A Mighty Heart, Changeling) and a certain type of action movie—the kind where she gets to shoot big guns and kick serious butt. The first kind of movie got her an Oscar, but frankly, doesn't necessarily bring in the crowds. The second kind of movie is truly where she excels. You can tell she is having s great time and she's such fun to watch. Her latest release, Salt, Lara Croft, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, the silly one about cars with Nick Cage—these are all movies to watch more than once.
One of my favorite guilty pleasure movies showcases the rare combination of both sides of Jolie's film persona. The Bone Collector with Denzel Washington and Queen Latifah is a lot of fun. It's a far-from-perfect film. I have major quibbles with the gratuitous gore and some stupid re-plotting (compared to Jeffrey Deaver's novel
) concerning Latifah's character. But what it does right is very right, and that mostly involves Jolie's interaction with her fellow actors. The chemistry she has with Denzel is off the charts. It's unfathomable to me why these two haven't worked together since. The way the characters together try to puzzle out the mystery is fun to watch. You don't really care what the solution turns out to be as much as enjoying being in this group's company.But back to Wanted. Again, Jolie is working with some fun, good actors—Morgan Freeman, Terence Stamp, James McAvoy. But what makes it over-the-top fun (besides her tattooed step out of the bath) is her willingness to go all out. The scene that did it for me was a chase scene in the last third of the movie. Angie's car is racing alongside a train where hero McAvoy is trying to kill an assassin before the assassin kills him. At one point in the chase she decides the best way to get on the train is to swerve her car into the train, driving it into a passenger car not far from the hero. She then steps out, only slightly disheveled, with a few scratches, looking fabulous and ready to cause trouble. As I said before, who else could pull that off? Très Jolie.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
just missing a unicorn . . .
Two bee-yoo-tee-full views—both in the same day—rainbows and full moons . . .
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
little grey cells
Exactly! It is absurd—improbable—it cannot be. So I myself have said. And yet, my friend, there it is! one cannot escape from the facts.—Hercule Poirot, Murder on the Orient Express
Like Audrey at Born for Geekdom I have been enjoying the latest Poirot movies on Masterpiece Mystery. These last three are so good in fact, that I am already experiencing some Hercule withdrawal. Luckily they are available on-demand through early August, as well as on the PBS website. A quick peek on imdb reveals three more Poirots already filmed, so I'm trying not to be upset that these Suchet/Poirots are done airing. The next three renditions in the pipeline should be Hallowe'en Party, Three Act Tragedy and The Clocks. The Clocks, one of the first Christies I ever read, is also one of her most confusing and gimmicky puzzles, but still rich in detail—I'm eager to see it transposed into Suchet's 30s-era Poirot's world. Watching these movies has also been a nice companion piece to the book I'm reading, Agatha Christie’s Secret Notebooks: Fifty Years of Mysteries in the Making, which provides a glimpse into the prolific author's methods.
I have a long history with Agatha Christie and her master detective, Hercule Poirot. One summer when I was a kid of about ten or eleven and had read all the children's books in the house—before there was a young adult fiction category or a Barnes and Noble or Borders or even Amazon at my disposal—I rifled through my mom's bookcase and discovered Agatha Christie. I think the first book I tried to read was a Miss Marple mystery, The Moving Finger. I was attracted to my mom's Christie collection equally by the garish cover art as well as the creepy titles. I liked The Moving Finger enough to try another, this one featuring the little Belgian (don't call him French!) sleuth Poirot. Probably The Hollow, which still remains one of my favorite Christies, with its expert blend of art, mystery, murder and romance.
Over the years I have, I think, read them all, some numerous times. A Poirot is always on my summer re-reading list. Agatha Christie is like comfort food. No matter how many times you have read a mystery there is continued enjoyment to be found in the re-reading—in the characters and how they interact, in her careful use of location, dialogue and human nature to provide the setting for the crimes. If you can remember the solution of the mystery from the last time you read it, you can follow Christie's trail of clues. And, once you know how to look at things, you realize that she always leaves a clue. There are no cheats in her novels. Sometimes, like Poirot, once you know, so many things that were interpreted one way before now seem obvious. Sapristi!
I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them.—Hercule Poirot, The Mysterious Affair at Styles
Another fun thing about Christie is her reworking of patterns in her plots. Her entire oeuvre could be looked at as a tapestry, where she works a motif again and again, but each time slightly differently, with different results. Sometimes she reworks a plot very obviously—Sparkling Cyanide is a novel-length version of a Poirot short story, Yellow Iris. The husband-wife dynamic in another one of my favorites, Murder in Mesopotamia shares similarities to The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Evil Under the Sun is similar to another short story, Triangle at Rhodes.
Christie herself led an interesting life. Her experiences during both world wars as a nurse and in a pharmacy laid the foundation for her use of poison as a murder weapon in so many of her books. Her second marriage to archaeologist Max Mallowan leant itself to the exotic settings of many of her novels and gave Hercule Poirot the ability to travel and solve crimes on a global scale.
I don't think I shall ever forget my first sight of Hercule Poirot. Of course, I got used to him later on, but to begin with it was a shock, and I think everyone else must have felt the same! I don't know what I'd imagined—something like Sherlock Holmes—[...] Of course, I knew he was a foreigner, but I hadn't expected him to be quite as foreign as he was, if you know what I mean. When you saw him you just wanted to laugh! He was like something on the stage or at the pictures. [...] He looked like a hairdresser in a comic play!—Murder in Mesopotamia
I have always assumed that Poirot must be a Virgo—his desire to help people while always being convinced he knows what's best, his passion for order and symmetry, his meticulous appearance. Christie, as a matter of fact, was a Virgo. Christie may have felt slightly trapped by Poirot, but he became real and beloved by her readers—he even got his own obituary in the New York Times.
Poirot has been depicted on stage and screen numerous times, but no one has so completely captured Christie's great detective as actor David Suchet. Suchet is Poirot, and, happily, has expressed his desire to film all of the Christie Poirot stories and novels. What a treat for us and an accomplishment for this actor. Apart from his talent, one of the aspects that make the Suchet Poirots work so well is the decision to set them all in one era, the time of the output of her greatest novels, the 1930s. Christie's career spanned many decades, and her readers get an interesting glimpse of England and how it has changed (in her eyes) over the years. But sometimes this leads, in her later books, to an all-too-apparent effort of an older person to appear "contemporary." By transposing all of the filmed Poirots back to the time of the author and her detective's greatest accomplishments, it gives the whole series a classic look and style. This especially benefits the recently broadcast Third Girl. While reading the book it is amusing to see swinging seventies London (sometimes awkwardly depicted) through Christie's eyes, but that never would have transferred successfully to film.
As July winds to a close I have yet to decide on a summer Poirot. Should I choose all-time favorite Murder in Mesopotamia? Death on the Nile? Or maybe Dead Man's Folly, which is supposed to be set at Christie's home, Greenway House. Maybe all three . . .
Related:
The Mysterious Affair at Styles (free at Daily Lit)
Like Audrey at Born for Geekdom I have been enjoying the latest Poirot movies on Masterpiece Mystery. These last three are so good in fact, that I am already experiencing some Hercule withdrawal. Luckily they are available on-demand through early August, as well as on the PBS website. A quick peek on imdb reveals three more Poirots already filmed, so I'm trying not to be upset that these Suchet/Poirots are done airing. The next three renditions in the pipeline should be Hallowe'en Party, Three Act Tragedy and The Clocks. The Clocks, one of the first Christies I ever read, is also one of her most confusing and gimmicky puzzles, but still rich in detail—I'm eager to see it transposed into Suchet's 30s-era Poirot's world. Watching these movies has also been a nice companion piece to the book I'm reading, Agatha Christie’s Secret Notebooks: Fifty Years of Mysteries in the Making, which provides a glimpse into the prolific author's methods.
I have a long history with Agatha Christie and her master detective, Hercule Poirot. One summer when I was a kid of about ten or eleven and had read all the children's books in the house—before there was a young adult fiction category or a Barnes and Noble or Borders or even Amazon at my disposal—I rifled through my mom's bookcase and discovered Agatha Christie. I think the first book I tried to read was a Miss Marple mystery, The Moving Finger. I was attracted to my mom's Christie collection equally by the garish cover art as well as the creepy titles. I liked The Moving Finger enough to try another, this one featuring the little Belgian (don't call him French!) sleuth Poirot. Probably The Hollow, which still remains one of my favorite Christies, with its expert blend of art, mystery, murder and romance.
Over the years I have, I think, read them all, some numerous times. A Poirot is always on my summer re-reading list. Agatha Christie is like comfort food. No matter how many times you have read a mystery there is continued enjoyment to be found in the re-reading—in the characters and how they interact, in her careful use of location, dialogue and human nature to provide the setting for the crimes. If you can remember the solution of the mystery from the last time you read it, you can follow Christie's trail of clues. And, once you know how to look at things, you realize that she always leaves a clue. There are no cheats in her novels. Sometimes, like Poirot, once you know, so many things that were interpreted one way before now seem obvious. Sapristi!
I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them.—Hercule Poirot, The Mysterious Affair at Styles
Another fun thing about Christie is her reworking of patterns in her plots. Her entire oeuvre could be looked at as a tapestry, where she works a motif again and again, but each time slightly differently, with different results. Sometimes she reworks a plot very obviously—Sparkling Cyanide is a novel-length version of a Poirot short story, Yellow Iris. The husband-wife dynamic in another one of my favorites, Murder in Mesopotamia shares similarities to The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Evil Under the Sun is similar to another short story, Triangle at Rhodes.
Christie herself led an interesting life. Her experiences during both world wars as a nurse and in a pharmacy laid the foundation for her use of poison as a murder weapon in so many of her books. Her second marriage to archaeologist Max Mallowan leant itself to the exotic settings of many of her novels and gave Hercule Poirot the ability to travel and solve crimes on a global scale.
I don't think I shall ever forget my first sight of Hercule Poirot. Of course, I got used to him later on, but to begin with it was a shock, and I think everyone else must have felt the same! I don't know what I'd imagined—something like Sherlock Holmes—[...] Of course, I knew he was a foreigner, but I hadn't expected him to be quite as foreign as he was, if you know what I mean. When you saw him you just wanted to laugh! He was like something on the stage or at the pictures. [...] He looked like a hairdresser in a comic play!—Murder in Mesopotamia
I have always assumed that Poirot must be a Virgo—his desire to help people while always being convinced he knows what's best, his passion for order and symmetry, his meticulous appearance. Christie, as a matter of fact, was a Virgo. Christie may have felt slightly trapped by Poirot, but he became real and beloved by her readers—he even got his own obituary in the New York Times.
Poirot has been depicted on stage and screen numerous times, but no one has so completely captured Christie's great detective as actor David Suchet. Suchet is Poirot, and, happily, has expressed his desire to film all of the Christie Poirot stories and novels. What a treat for us and an accomplishment for this actor. Apart from his talent, one of the aspects that make the Suchet Poirots work so well is the decision to set them all in one era, the time of the output of her greatest novels, the 1930s. Christie's career spanned many decades, and her readers get an interesting glimpse of England and how it has changed (in her eyes) over the years. But sometimes this leads, in her later books, to an all-too-apparent effort of an older person to appear "contemporary." By transposing all of the filmed Poirots back to the time of the author and her detective's greatest accomplishments, it gives the whole series a classic look and style. This especially benefits the recently broadcast Third Girl. While reading the book it is amusing to see swinging seventies London (sometimes awkwardly depicted) through Christie's eyes, but that never would have transferred successfully to film.
As July winds to a close I have yet to decide on a summer Poirot. Should I choose all-time favorite Murder in Mesopotamia? Death on the Nile? Or maybe Dead Man's Folly, which is supposed to be set at Christie's home, Greenway House. Maybe all three . . .
Related:
The Mysterious Affair at Styles (free at Daily Lit)
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
a, b, c, d, ebook
I downloaded my first ebook, Agatha Christie's Secret Notebooks
. I have wanted to read it since I heard about it, and had saved a spot for it on my Amazon list. And then . . . I packed up about twenty boxes of books. And then . . . a few weeks later I started to unpack them, as well as go through my mom's already quite extensive book collection, trying to make room for mine, praying I could find at least a duplicate or two to cull. I'm not even mentioning my daughter's two bookcases full of classic children's books that she has yet to really dive into, as she learns to read.
So the prospect of buying another book seemed slim. And this is hard for me. Like the rest of my family, I am a bibliophile. When my parents divorced, I made sure that my childhood books (and others I enjoyed from their collections) didn't get lost or tossed in the shuffle of the split. Many years later, when my dad died, I was sure to preserve some of his best and beloved books—basically, anything my brother didn't want, I lugged back to New York, where I was then living, with me. You don't throw away a book.
I have tried over the years to prune and thin my collection. I had a favorite used book store I used to frequent outside of D.C., where you could bring in books for trade. Of course I usually ended up walking out with quite a few books as well. Books have always been my way to learn—a new language, a current enthusiasm (the Tudors, herbs, mythology). Books allow me to immerse myself in a particular author or series (Jane Austen, Sharon Kay Penman, Brother Cadfael). This favorite book store was a great help in that regard, and I still have stacks of pet interests acquired from there, ready, whenever I am.
Friends from time to time have suggested different ebook readers, but I have always resisted. I did download a free app, Stanza, to my iPhone, but even with its ability to access plenty of the classics, thanks to Project Gutenberg, I just couldn't picture myself late at night reading a book on my iPhone. Email, facebook updates, sure. But not a few chapters of anything. But that has all changed with the iPad. Somewhere in size between a paperback and a magazine, the iPad is the perfect venue for a neophyte e-reader. The free iBooks app came with Winnie the Pooh (savvy Apple). I downloaded a Beatrix Potter read-along book for my daughter. She loves it. But I was still resistant. Until it occurred to me one evening that I didn't have to wait for the Christie book to go paperback, I could download it right away. Instant e-gratification. And it was. First a sample, 38 pages worth, for me to dip my toe in the e-water. And when I decided I had to read more, well—a few clicks and I did.
For those of you who have been doing this for ages, this probably seems silly, my trepidation, even quaint. But books have always been more than just something I read. They are possessions, inheritance, memorabilia. But I am open to new things. And since I just started watching The Pillars of the Earth on cable the other night, another book I have always wanted to read but hadn't gotten around to purchasing yet, it occurred to me . . . that I will be stacking up e-books on my virtual bookshelves, too.
. I have wanted to read it since I heard about it, and had saved a spot for it on my Amazon list. And then . . . I packed up about twenty boxes of books. And then . . . a few weeks later I started to unpack them, as well as go through my mom's already quite extensive book collection, trying to make room for mine, praying I could find at least a duplicate or two to cull. I'm not even mentioning my daughter's two bookcases full of classic children's books that she has yet to really dive into, as she learns to read.So the prospect of buying another book seemed slim. And this is hard for me. Like the rest of my family, I am a bibliophile. When my parents divorced, I made sure that my childhood books (and others I enjoyed from their collections) didn't get lost or tossed in the shuffle of the split. Many years later, when my dad died, I was sure to preserve some of his best and beloved books—basically, anything my brother didn't want, I lugged back to New York, where I was then living, with me. You don't throw away a book.
I have tried over the years to prune and thin my collection. I had a favorite used book store I used to frequent outside of D.C., where you could bring in books for trade. Of course I usually ended up walking out with quite a few books as well. Books have always been my way to learn—a new language, a current enthusiasm (the Tudors, herbs, mythology). Books allow me to immerse myself in a particular author or series (Jane Austen, Sharon Kay Penman, Brother Cadfael). This favorite book store was a great help in that regard, and I still have stacks of pet interests acquired from there, ready, whenever I am.
Friends from time to time have suggested different ebook readers, but I have always resisted. I did download a free app, Stanza, to my iPhone, but even with its ability to access plenty of the classics, thanks to Project Gutenberg, I just couldn't picture myself late at night reading a book on my iPhone. Email, facebook updates, sure. But not a few chapters of anything. But that has all changed with the iPad. Somewhere in size between a paperback and a magazine, the iPad is the perfect venue for a neophyte e-reader. The free iBooks app came with Winnie the Pooh (savvy Apple). I downloaded a Beatrix Potter read-along book for my daughter. She loves it. But I was still resistant. Until it occurred to me one evening that I didn't have to wait for the Christie book to go paperback, I could download it right away. Instant e-gratification. And it was. First a sample, 38 pages worth, for me to dip my toe in the e-water. And when I decided I had to read more, well—a few clicks and I did.
For those of you who have been doing this for ages, this probably seems silly, my trepidation, even quaint. But books have always been more than just something I read. They are possessions, inheritance, memorabilia. But I am open to new things. And since I just started watching The Pillars of the Earth on cable the other night, another book I have always wanted to read but hadn't gotten around to purchasing yet, it occurred to me . . . that I will be stacking up e-books on my virtual bookshelves, too.
Monday, July 26, 2010
just another manic monday
Got to be to work by nine
And if I had an air-o-plane
I still couldn't make it on time
Even though I am now working from home, this song still applies. And the phrase quoted above has always had a special resonance for me, summing up the whole nine-to-five working world concept and how it just doesn't fit into how humans really want to live and work.
You can hear Prince's phrasing (he wrote the song), but this is still quintessential Bangles and eighties music. Ah, the eighties, when Prince was crazy in a good way . . . I miss that Prince.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
xmas in july
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
war babies
My friend Jane's recent post on her blog Brigitte inspired me to think about what we save and what we toss.
I am still unpacking all of our stuff and finding myself in a similar quandary to Jane's cashmere sweater question. What to discard and what to save? Some things that I take out of our boxes seem fine—treasures I am glad I brought along with us—now I just need to find a place for them. Some, in the harsh light of day, seem too shabby or no longer have a use, at least not here. Why did I pack these? Oh right, at some point in my packing I reached the saturation point of making sorting and culling decisions and started to throw anything that wasn't nailed down into an empty box just to be done with it. So, for these question-mark items I have built a pile for the Salvation Army. They will now make the decision of whether to keep or toss, without any of my emotional baggage.
As I look around for the proper place to put our stuff I'm also finding lots of things my mom has saved over the years—I come from a family where no one ever wanted to throw anything out. Everything is useful and interesting. This is a wonderful trait to inherit when it comes to old family photos and letters. Not as wonderful a personality quirk when it's cabinets full of old shopping bags. Or folders full of odd news clippings—all about art or travel or books—incredibly interesting—but beware if you start to sort through them, as you will get sucked in to reading fascinating decades-old torn-out articles from National Geographic or Smithsonian magazines, possibly for hours. But the question that keeps hovering is really, do we need to keep it all? And if so, where?
Some would just label us as a family of pack-rats. They might be right. But I think this urge to keep things is also definitely influenced by my family's living through the "Great Wars." My grandmother was a young child in WW1, and raised her young child, my mom, during WW2. My mom told my brother and me stories when we were young of her helping in the war effort by collecting bits of tin foil and other items.
I would never want my daughter to have to live through a major war like my mother did as a child, but when I look at the drawers full of her plastic toys I wonder what it would be like to have only a handful of precious items rather than the modern abundance that surrounds us. But you can't live in or live like the past. My twenty-first century child needs to be a product of her own generation. I am going to try and continue to use this unpacking as an opportunity to review what we have and maybe reduce and recycle some un-needed items to folks who could use them. Call it nouveau-rationing.
I am still unpacking all of our stuff and finding myself in a similar quandary to Jane's cashmere sweater question. What to discard and what to save? Some things that I take out of our boxes seem fine—treasures I am glad I brought along with us—now I just need to find a place for them. Some, in the harsh light of day, seem too shabby or no longer have a use, at least not here. Why did I pack these? Oh right, at some point in my packing I reached the saturation point of making sorting and culling decisions and started to throw anything that wasn't nailed down into an empty box just to be done with it. So, for these question-mark items I have built a pile for the Salvation Army. They will now make the decision of whether to keep or toss, without any of my emotional baggage.
As I look around for the proper place to put our stuff I'm also finding lots of things my mom has saved over the years—I come from a family where no one ever wanted to throw anything out. Everything is useful and interesting. This is a wonderful trait to inherit when it comes to old family photos and letters. Not as wonderful a personality quirk when it's cabinets full of old shopping bags. Or folders full of odd news clippings—all about art or travel or books—incredibly interesting—but beware if you start to sort through them, as you will get sucked in to reading fascinating decades-old torn-out articles from National Geographic or Smithsonian magazines, possibly for hours. But the question that keeps hovering is really, do we need to keep it all? And if so, where?
Some would just label us as a family of pack-rats. They might be right. But I think this urge to keep things is also definitely influenced by my family's living through the "Great Wars." My grandmother was a young child in WW1, and raised her young child, my mom, during WW2. My mom told my brother and me stories when we were young of her helping in the war effort by collecting bits of tin foil and other items.
I would never want my daughter to have to live through a major war like my mother did as a child, but when I look at the drawers full of her plastic toys I wonder what it would be like to have only a handful of precious items rather than the modern abundance that surrounds us. But you can't live in or live like the past. My twenty-first century child needs to be a product of her own generation. I am going to try and continue to use this unpacking as an opportunity to review what we have and maybe reduce and recycle some un-needed items to folks who could use them. Call it nouveau-rationing.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
well-coiffed
As I continue to unpack and put away our things I am unearthing (new to me ) old things. Some really fantastic family photos, for instance.
My grandmother always looked elegant and sophisticated. Whether at the beach or posing for a formal portrait or holding a crying baby. Does anyone look this well put-together anymore? Considering that it was the early thirties and she and my grandfather and my mother, their young baby, lived in France and England at the beginnings of the Second World War, it seems doubly amazing to me how fantastic she looks.
Did people just take more time to get themselves together? Of course the woman didn't have to rush out to a nine-to-five job alongside her husband in those days, but she wasn't exactly sitting home eating bon-bons, either.
There is something different about how we all decide to present ourselves to the world these days. It's beyond the fact that we live more casual lives. We don't think we need to present a good appearance, barring job interviews. And some of the get-ups I've seen job seekers wear, that last outpost of coiffed, is also fading away.
Here's to Grand-mère. I don't think I've ever looked that well put together. I may never. But I enjoy the fact that I'm related to someone who sure knew how to dress.
My grandmother always looked elegant and sophisticated. Whether at the beach or posing for a formal portrait or holding a crying baby. Does anyone look this well put-together anymore? Considering that it was the early thirties and she and my grandfather and my mother, their young baby, lived in France and England at the beginnings of the Second World War, it seems doubly amazing to me how fantastic she looks.
Did people just take more time to get themselves together? Of course the woman didn't have to rush out to a nine-to-five job alongside her husband in those days, but she wasn't exactly sitting home eating bon-bons, either.
There is something different about how we all decide to present ourselves to the world these days. It's beyond the fact that we live more casual lives. We don't think we need to present a good appearance, barring job interviews. And some of the get-ups I've seen job seekers wear, that last outpost of coiffed, is also fading away.
Here's to Grand-mère. I don't think I've ever looked that well put together. I may never. But I enjoy the fact that I'm related to someone who sure knew how to dress.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
pink flamingoes
I have always loved these birds.
I really love the patterns and curves of the birds reflected in the water.
I really love the patterns and curves of the birds reflected in the water.
Monday, July 19, 2010
dmv with a difference
My first visit last week to a Florida DMV office was hellish, both in temperature and in customer service. The DMV is universally recognized as one of life's worst experiences—right up there with route canal—but this office could give the most sadistic dentist a run for his money. This completely disorganized place had folks lined up, trickling out of the building. Yes, outside, in Florida, in ninety degree plus heat. And that was at nine in the morning. Just imagine what it must be like as the line snakes longer, in the baked-in heat of a long afternoon. Not to mention that they are running first-time driver's tests in the same parking lot. Really smart.
After coming from the land of forms to fill out, Washington, D.C., the paperwork required for a Florida license seemed a little heavy-handed, if you ask me. A potential Florida driver must show up with his/her social security card and/or current driver's license and/or U.S. passport, plus two proofs of residence, etc., etc. I guess the high amount of over-70 population coupled with the proximity to the edge of the country makes them a little more demanding or nervous. But as a civil servant I was more than a little surprised when they ignored or sneered at my federal government I.D. and D.C. driver's license—D.C. uses a person's Social Security number as the driver's license number. But that's not good enough for Florida. But I tried to keep my cool as best as I could after standing outside in that heat, in that line, and gritted my teeth, shrugged and decided to return the following week with enough forms of ID to choke the disinterested clerk.
It was impossible to tell from their maddening website what services were offered by other Florida DMV offices not far away from this location, but I tossed the dice this morning and decided to try a different office—and what a difference. I walked across a shaded outdoor courtyard into an air-conditioned government building and was kindly directed by the security guards to the correct office. The smiling lady at the front desk immediately assessed my needs and gave me a number and asked me to take a seat and wait to be called. I pulled out my iPhone to settle in for some time-killing web-surfing or solitaire, when a moment later I was called to window 4. The young woman who helped me was friendly and apologized for the wait as she processed my driver's license, registration, and temporary tags. After I posed for my photo she asked if I wanted to see it, and when I asked her if it looked OK she turned her computer screen to show me and said I had a very nice smile. I practically walked out of there whistling a happy tune with cartoon bluebirds tweeting around my ears.
Whistles . . .
No
I had to wait in line for almost an hour before I could even say what I was there for, or get a number to wait to be seen by someone. Almost an hour before being told I didn't have the correct paperwork. Some folks got to wait as long or longer to be told they were in the wrong office altogether. Apparently this office doesn't do car registrations, even though it's supposedly a DMV.After coming from the land of forms to fill out, Washington, D.C., the paperwork required for a Florida license seemed a little heavy-handed, if you ask me. A potential Florida driver must show up with his/her social security card and/or current driver's license and/or U.S. passport, plus two proofs of residence, etc., etc. I guess the high amount of over-70 population coupled with the proximity to the edge of the country makes them a little more demanding or nervous. But as a civil servant I was more than a little surprised when they ignored or sneered at my federal government I.D. and D.C. driver's license—D.C. uses a person's Social Security number as the driver's license number. But that's not good enough for Florida. But I tried to keep my cool as best as I could after standing outside in that heat, in that line, and gritted my teeth, shrugged and decided to return the following week with enough forms of ID to choke the disinterested clerk.
It was impossible to tell from their maddening website what services were offered by other Florida DMV offices not far away from this location, but I tossed the dice this morning and decided to try a different office—and what a difference. I walked across a shaded outdoor courtyard into an air-conditioned government building and was kindly directed by the security guards to the correct office. The smiling lady at the front desk immediately assessed my needs and gave me a number and asked me to take a seat and wait to be called. I pulled out my iPhone to settle in for some time-killing web-surfing or solitaire, when a moment later I was called to window 4. The young woman who helped me was friendly and apologized for the wait as she processed my driver's license, registration, and temporary tags. After I posed for my photo she asked if I wanted to see it, and when I asked her if it looked OK she turned her computer screen to show me and said I had a very nice smile. I practically walked out of there whistling a happy tune with cartoon bluebirds tweeting around my ears.
Yes
I much prefer this Twilight Zone DMV and I hope I never, ever have to go back to the other stupid, mean and naughty one. Ever. Whistles . . .
Sunday, July 18, 2010
sprinkles
One of the advantages, or disadvantages, depending on how you look at it, of living in Florida is the plethora of ice cream parlors, where you can duck in to enjoy an escape-from-the-heat treat.
I am a sugar cone girl, and I like my treats pure, so no sprinkles or tiny gummies (like my daughter likes) or anything else to top off my dessert. I'm also not fond of the mixed-up flavors, like rocky road or cookies and cream. I'm drawn towards a really good vanilla, green tea, or a good fruit flavor, if they have one. Yesterday I considered pistachio (it was too green and sweet) or coconut, in which you could taste the flakes, and that was just right. There was a good-looking strawberry and the flavor of the day, blackberry, also looked tempting, so I'm sure we'll be back.
The best ice cream cone I have ever had, bar none, was two huge scoops of a fresh blueberry ice cream, from a tiny little place called T Cone, in Ship Bottom, on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. A quick internet check proves the place is still in existence and of course already has a facebook page! The ice cream was a medium purple color, and laden with berries and absolutely delicious. Before I discovered their blueberry ice cream I always ordered strawberry, which was also chock-full of fresh strawberry chunks.
My dad liked to take "rides" after dinner when we were growing up in South Jersey. We'd all pile into the car, sometimes gratefully, sometimes begrudgingly, depending on what television show we were being pulled away from, and he would take off in some direction he had planned on his own. Sometimes we would end up at the beach, gathering shells at twilight after all the tourists had gone back to their bungalows. Sometimes we'd just drive around for about an hour and go home. But sometimes there would be a treat—Dunkin' Donuts or ice cream at the end of the ride. And T Cone was one of our favorite summer ride destinations.
I'm probably still in search of that elusive blueberry ice cream cone. I don't think I've seen blueberry ice cream since those days. Maybe someday . . .
I am a sugar cone girl, and I like my treats pure, so no sprinkles or tiny gummies (like my daughter likes) or anything else to top off my dessert. I'm also not fond of the mixed-up flavors, like rocky road or cookies and cream. I'm drawn towards a really good vanilla, green tea, or a good fruit flavor, if they have one. Yesterday I considered pistachio (it was too green and sweet) or coconut, in which you could taste the flakes, and that was just right. There was a good-looking strawberry and the flavor of the day, blackberry, also looked tempting, so I'm sure we'll be back.
The best ice cream cone I have ever had, bar none, was two huge scoops of a fresh blueberry ice cream, from a tiny little place called T Cone, in Ship Bottom, on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. A quick internet check proves the place is still in existence and of course already has a facebook page! The ice cream was a medium purple color, and laden with berries and absolutely delicious. Before I discovered their blueberry ice cream I always ordered strawberry, which was also chock-full of fresh strawberry chunks.
My dad liked to take "rides" after dinner when we were growing up in South Jersey. We'd all pile into the car, sometimes gratefully, sometimes begrudgingly, depending on what television show we were being pulled away from, and he would take off in some direction he had planned on his own. Sometimes we would end up at the beach, gathering shells at twilight after all the tourists had gone back to their bungalows. Sometimes we'd just drive around for about an hour and go home. But sometimes there would be a treat—Dunkin' Donuts or ice cream at the end of the ride. And T Cone was one of our favorite summer ride destinations.
I'm probably still in search of that elusive blueberry ice cream cone. I don't think I've seen blueberry ice cream since those days. Maybe someday . . .
Saturday, July 17, 2010
carousel
Up and down on the merry-go-round.
Sometimes you can't argue yourself out of something or convince someone who isn't capable of being convinced. Let the moods swing.
So you just ride the ride until it's over and know that it will be up again soon.
Sometimes you can't argue yourself out of something or convince someone who isn't capable of being convinced. Let the moods swing.
So you just ride the ride until it's over and know that it will be up again soon.
Friday, July 16, 2010
i write like
The latest fun viral site has got to be I write like. I think it's mostly a game, sort of like one of those facebook quizzes. Or maybe I really am a combo of David Foster Wallace, Stephen King and Chuck Palahniuk . . . Three separate blog posts of mine garnered those three separate results.
The concept is simple—just cut and paste some text you wrote and voilà, your literary doppelgänger appears. Apparently Margaret Atwood also writes like Stephen King. Hmmm. I cut and pasted an excerpt from It and got the result that Stephen King also writes like Stephen King. What a relief for him, although, reportedly it doesn't always come out that way.
After a writer has experienced their momentary pleasure or pain, depending on the logarithm, then what? Maybe picking up King's On Writing is in order . .
The concept is simple—just cut and paste some text you wrote and voilà, your literary doppelgänger appears. Apparently Margaret Atwood also writes like Stephen King. Hmmm. I cut and pasted an excerpt from It and got the result that Stephen King also writes like Stephen King. What a relief for him, although, reportedly it doesn't always come out that way.
After a writer has experienced their momentary pleasure or pain, depending on the logarithm, then what? Maybe picking up King's On Writing is in order . .
Thursday, July 15, 2010
ten ways life is different right now
1. I can choose the block of time that is best for me to do my job, which is especially helpful with all the moving boxes yet to be unpacked, or various and sundry related errands to run.
2. Drive-thru Starbucks. Don't knock it till you've tried it.
3. I am becoming a regular at Lowes and Home Depot.
4. Lying in bed and watching heat lightning over the water.
5. I can actually see stars. We need to get a bigger telescope.
6. People aren't nicer, but they're nice in a different way. I'm not sure if it's a Florida thing, or a southern thing. Probably not the latter, because D.C. was southern to this Yankee, but everyone seems pretty damn nice. More on this after we've been here a while.
7. There's a pool downstairs.
8. I'm head of the household in a whole new way. Taking care of both mom and child is doable, but different and extremely challenging. The biggest test for me will be if I can keep my cool when things get crackly . . .
9. I have changed from an all-cash person to a credit person, seemingly overnight. Having to be in charge of everyone's moolah, it just seems easier and more prudent to create a paper/plastic trail.
10. It ain't a dry heat. But at least they know how to air condition down here.
2. Drive-thru Starbucks. Don't knock it till you've tried it.
3. I am becoming a regular at Lowes and Home Depot.
4. Lying in bed and watching heat lightning over the water.
5. I can actually see stars. We need to get a bigger telescope.
6. People aren't nicer, but they're nice in a different way. I'm not sure if it's a Florida thing, or a southern thing. Probably not the latter, because D.C. was southern to this Yankee, but everyone seems pretty damn nice. More on this after we've been here a while.
7. There's a pool downstairs.
8. I'm head of the household in a whole new way. Taking care of both mom and child is doable, but different and extremely challenging. The biggest test for me will be if I can keep my cool when things get crackly . . .
9. I have changed from an all-cash person to a credit person, seemingly overnight. Having to be in charge of everyone's moolah, it just seems easier and more prudent to create a paper/plastic trail.
10. It ain't a dry heat. But at least they know how to air condition down here.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
my life . . . in boxes
The movers arrived a day early, so the night before I scrambled a bit, trying to make room for all of my incoming stuff. It turned out to be a father and son team, who were just wonderful, and the move went incredibly smoothly, considering the lack of proper places to really put anything. We had to take grandma to a previously scheduled doc appointment right in the middle of everything. And I had to call into a work meeting on top of it. But it all worked out, somehow.
After everything was in its temporary place, I packed grandma and the kid up for a run to the bank and a meal out. Mostly, honestly, to postpone having to deal with all of those boxes, but we did accomplish something—the kid got her first savings account and two lollipops. Yes, some banks still have jars of lollipops.
After a nice meal and leisurely drive back home I finally faced the prospect of putting our beds together without the handy faux Swedish instructions. For a while it was touch and go and I admit I improvised, but I think I finally attached everything correctly and the beds got made as grandma and kid watched a DVD.
Some rumblings later at the bulk of two of my bookcases (the better to hold books, my dear.) but that's a skirmish for another day. Je suis pooped, and like Scarlett, I'll think about it tomorrow.
After everything was in its temporary place, I packed grandma and the kid up for a run to the bank and a meal out. Mostly, honestly, to postpone having to deal with all of those boxes, but we did accomplish something—the kid got her first savings account and two lollipops. Yes, some banks still have jars of lollipops.
After a nice meal and leisurely drive back home I finally faced the prospect of putting our beds together without the handy faux Swedish instructions. For a while it was touch and go and I admit I improvised, but I think I finally attached everything correctly and the beds got made as grandma and kid watched a DVD.
Some rumblings later at the bulk of two of my bookcases (the better to hold books, my dear.) but that's a skirmish for another day. Je suis pooped, and like Scarlett, I'll think about it tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
the joys of the home office
I clocked a few hours this AM and sent out my first mass work email which was greeted by a flurry of "you're back!"s—even though I have been working and emailing for the past ten days. The old "out of sight" cliche rings true, apparently. Quel sigh.
Moving on, I reassured all and sundry and then clocked off and then clocked on to my other job, which is trying to make sense of my mom's finances and organize this place before the invasion of all my stuff, which continues on its leisurely progress from our nation's capital. Before you could say "moving van" a home delivery of some recently purchased patio furniture arrived, along with a phone call from my rogue stuff's truck driver, promising a crack-of-dawn delivery in a few days. Le yikes.
After the patio furniture was tried first on the back porch, then the front porch, then the back again (where it better stay), I realized that I was ready for a break, so I suggested we all go out for a little shopping and something to eat.
When we got back I clocked in for another half hour to check the fruits of my earlier mass email. Lots of responses, lots for me to do tomorrow. I clocked off and then did a little more sorting and organizing of the accounts. A little relaxation in front of the tv folowed,as my daughter reminded me I need to get up early in the morning if I want to get to the DMV. So tomorrow will have a slightly different pattern, but I suspect, similar results. Inching forward, one day at a time.
— Post From My iPad
Moving on, I reassured all and sundry and then clocked off and then clocked on to my other job, which is trying to make sense of my mom's finances and organize this place before the invasion of all my stuff, which continues on its leisurely progress from our nation's capital. Before you could say "moving van" a home delivery of some recently purchased patio furniture arrived, along with a phone call from my rogue stuff's truck driver, promising a crack-of-dawn delivery in a few days. Le yikes.
After the patio furniture was tried first on the back porch, then the front porch, then the back again (where it better stay), I realized that I was ready for a break, so I suggested we all go out for a little shopping and something to eat.
When we got back I clocked in for another half hour to check the fruits of my earlier mass email. Lots of responses, lots for me to do tomorrow. I clocked off and then did a little more sorting and organizing of the accounts. A little relaxation in front of the tv folowed,as my daughter reminded me I need to get up early in the morning if I want to get to the DMV. So tomorrow will have a slightly different pattern, but I suspect, similar results. Inching forward, one day at a time.
— Post From My iPad
Sunday, July 11, 2010
vuvuzela
Is that the vuvuzela buzzing still in my ear, or is it the extra strong frozen strawberry margarootie that was served at today's cook-out/in? Where's the Tylenol?
I managed to pretty much miss the World Cup this past month as I was otherwise occupied. But this afternoon the final was on one of the largest HD television sets I've ever seen and I have to admit I was mesmerized. Or maybe it was Sergio Ramos's luxurious long locks, all in startling high definition, I'm not sure.
And then, alternately, I was bored out of my gourd. But I still watched. So congrats España and tough luck Netherlands. Someone's got to lose. Does this mean that soccer—sorry—futbol, will finally catch on in this country?
I managed to pretty much miss the World Cup this past month as I was otherwise occupied. But this afternoon the final was on one of the largest HD television sets I've ever seen and I have to admit I was mesmerized. Or maybe it was Sergio Ramos's luxurious long locks, all in startling high definition, I'm not sure.
And then, alternately, I was bored out of my gourd. But I still watched. So congrats España and tough luck Netherlands. Someone's got to lose. Does this mean that soccer—sorry—futbol, will finally catch on in this country?
Saturday, July 10, 2010
somebody stop me
Moving furniture around. Shopping for storage/organization items. Spray-painting patio furniture. Peeking into closets (what the hell is all that stuff?) Trying to make room. Moving furniture around some more. Trying to establish a new routine. Getting everyone out of the house once a day. Trying to remember to stretch and relax. Checking things off the to-do list. Adding new things to the to-do list. Mentally trying to imagine exactly where all the stuff that is supposed to arrive next week is going to fit . . .
Friday, July 09, 2010
royalty
I just got my first royalty check from advertising on my blog. A pittance to some, even me, but I am super-thrilled. It just seems a small sign that I should devote more time and energy in this direction. I am already a "professional blogger" via work, but the fact that I can earn a few bucks from my own ramblings—well, it's soopair kewl. Wheee!!!
Thursday, July 08, 2010
maybe if you squint . . .
. . . you can see that the young naturalist and Gryffindor recruit has a black butterfly on her toe . . .
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
in the land of the lorax
Still feeling a little surreal. My stuff is supposed to arrive next week. Still trying to make room. Baby steps . . .
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Monday, July 05, 2010
our first Florida fourth
It was raining big time, but they still manged to put on a good boom-boom display . . .
Sunday, July 04, 2010
sally fourth
It's been raining every evening since we hit Florida (and most afternoons, too.) I can't say that I really mind, since any weather is preferable to the 100 degree heat we were experiencing last week, when we were stranded in Virginia. Those days seem like a forgotten Twilight Zone episode now. I'm sure they will become real again when I resume car payments . . .
Today is the Fourth of July, and a glance outside the window reveals heavy clouds which promise rain. Again, I don't really mind. I can't think of a Fourth on D. C. where we didn't get some rain on the Fourth, from either a few "duck and cover" sprinkles to a full rain-out downpour.
So I'm not sure at the moment whether there will be any boom-booms on tonight's program. Another soggy Fourth, looks like. But at least this year I have the sound of the ocean in my ear.
Today is the Fourth of July, and a glance outside the window reveals heavy clouds which promise rain. Again, I don't really mind. I can't think of a Fourth on D. C. where we didn't get some rain on the Fourth, from either a few "duck and cover" sprinkles to a full rain-out downpour.
So I'm not sure at the moment whether there will be any boom-booms on tonight's program. Another soggy Fourth, looks like. But at least this year I have the sound of the ocean in my ear.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
stuff, stuff, everything and stuff
The boxes haven't even arrived yet. Or, I should say, the THREE crates full of my stuff and I'm already freaking out. Where to put it all? I know it will all work out, but when we arrived yesterday, there wasn't a drawer or closet that wasn't already jam-packed full of my mom's stuff. There was no obvious place for our stuff to go. I was able this morning to organize things a bit and make some room in said drawers and closets. But I have to tread lightly, which isn't exactly what I'm known best for.
I don't want to throw it all out, her stuff or ours. I don't even know if I want to throw any of it out (yet), but I do want all of the stuff to be placed in a more logical, less space-consuming manner. I'm a Virgo, so I thrive on this sh*t, even when it drives me nuts.
I'm going to be busy. For quite a while.
But let the Master tell you how I'm feeling . . .
I don't want to throw it all out, her stuff or ours. I don't even know if I want to throw any of it out (yet), but I do want all of the stuff to be placed in a more logical, less space-consuming manner. I'm a Virgo, so I thrive on this sh*t, even when it drives me nuts.
I'm going to be busy. For quite a while.
But let the Master tell you how I'm feeling . . .
Friday, July 02, 2010
with the old cruise control set at seventy nine . . .
We made it! To our new home. And just in time for Sting and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Der Stingle. Stingo. The Stingala. This is an intermission post. The orchestral arrangements work very well with Stingy's oeuvre. And the orchestra can even rock out on Next to You. De do do do . . .
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