Archive for February, 2007

Taste test

February 10, 2007 | Filed under: La Madre

“One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.” ~Luciano Pavarotti

This morning during breakfast at Town Hall:

“You know what I had yesterday for the first time ever?”

::blank stare::

“Oatmeal. It was really good. It’s opened up a whole new world for me. You should try it”

::dies::

*****
I always want to know the little things about people. First and last names especially, since I’m prone to calling you such. Also how those names came about, favorite things, passions, and taste in music. So now I through out there food preferences. I’m often asked why I am a vegetarian; given that the odds of a black female raised by very southern parents who think that ribs should be eaten by the slab and bacon should have it’s own food group, are about 1,700,987 to 1. It has nothing to do with animal cruelty given that I am fond of sticking my nose inside of a Coach bag because leather smells delicious. It’s because I was never a big meat eater in the first place, so I figured why not. Or maybe it had something to do with the number of Big Macs consumed as a child and now I am averse to a quarter pound of meat. In fact my stomach is churning with the thought.

But yes, food. I feel passion for chevre, Trader Joe’s mac and cheese and the avacado.

Almost like 40

February 5, 2007 | Filed under: La Madre

“None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.” ~Henry David Thoreau

How it occurred, I am not acutely aware but at some point my nearest and dearest went from being solely in my age bracket to upwards of 30. Of course all of the former are people that I love and admire. I’m not kissing any ass when I say that their wisdom and reliability as good friends have made me a better person. One who tests the boundaries of trust a little more and knows that drinking eight glasses of water a day will lead to eternal hotness; or at least the ability to look 19 when about to hit 33. No matter, they’re lovely people.

My age has never been a point of discussion unless an intense discourse on Silver Spoons or Jake Ryan comes up and even then I just smile and nod and remark how hot Rick (sorry, Ricky) Shroeder was in NYPD Blue. Which leads to Mark Paul Gosseler discussion and well I’ve seen every episode of Saved by the Bell and we carry on. It’s something that one rarely notices, especially I that is until recently when the subject of birthdays came up. Specifically how excitement dwindles after a certain age.

A good friend happens to have a birthday well into his fourth decade next week. Kid looks about 24 and acts about 13 on a good day (I say that with love) so I tend to forget that he will be over a decade older than I. In fact he’s probably reading this now and contemplating ways in which to kick me in the head from afar. Ad nauseum requests of his excitement and birthday plans are all for naught because apparently the clichés are true: as one gets older birthdays tend to just become another day. Or so he said when I counted down to the minute how long until his birthday and he depressed the hell out of my by pointing out that after 25 birthdays are no longer exciting or something to look forward to. So remind me to toss myself in front of a bus somewhere around October 26, 2009, because life goes downhill from there.

Of course I beg to differ solely based on what I’ve heard from others in the over 25 set, but I thought that this would be something to throw out to the internet. Especially since right now I am this close to writing a long bitter diatribe of a novel because there’s so little time until I begin to give up on life and the date of my birth. And lord knows that y’all don’t want me writing novels. Unless novels can have the word fuck thrown in every other word and then I suppose it’s all good.

Enlightenment

February 4, 2007 | Filed under: La Madre

“Just remember, if you hang in there long enough, good things can happen in this world. I mean, look at me.” – Tom Smykowski, Office Space

I feel like I’ve just returned from an extended absence or a vacation that was supposed to be fun and full of sun filled days but instead I got kicked in the mouth by my horse while riding along the coast. It’s been a week with mayhem, torture and murder. Ok no murder but full of torture and drama and ask me just how many times I cried. Not just cried. No, no. But sobbing shoulder shaking tears of dismay and that’s where being kicked in the mouth comes in.

And am I going to let on as to where I’ve been? Nope. Because even better, I CAN’T. In fact I’m just writing this as a ‘teaser’ and to say woe is me and so that you all feel bad for me and so that I can remember this weekend as the weekend that I contemplated hurling myself off of the Washington Monument or moving to Albany; more than once.

I promise that tomorrow I’ll be my former prolific self and that I will be in a wonderful mood because my southern gentleman is the victor.

I suppose I should ask: How was your weekend?

Carnival of the Mundane: Part the XXIX

February 2, 2007 | Filed under: La Madre

The following is my first time hosting of the Carnival of the Mundane and it might be my last. Be gentle.


“There are thousands of thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up the pen and writes.” ~William Makepeace Thackeray


After being named the Academy Award Winner for best original screenplay for the blockbuster movie “This Isn’t Education”

Well…wow…::laughs:: I have no idea where to begin. This is beyond surprising and I didn’t even have a speech prepared. They tell you to think about it but I never really believed that I could actually win and so now I’m at a loss.

::laughs::

Lord, I don’t even know if we can swear during these things? Is it ok to say oh my holy fuck? That probably got bleeped out by the censors.

And speaking of um…holy, everyone seems to start out by thanking God, something about without Him all things would not be possible. And in that same vein, I should thank Jesus for turning water into wine without which I would not be able to imbibe on all the sweet, sweet syrah that I drank while producing this work. And without which I would not have the brilliance of my good friend Mad Kane to decipher those tricky wine labels for me.

You know, this screenplay was a labor of love that required hardwork and dedication, that I wouldn’t have been able to give without ample help. Like from my house keeper – the Saint that he is – for purchasing a new vacuum cleaner after mine spontaneously combusted all over my brand new carpet job. I’m also thankful that he didn’t have to go through nearly a sucky - HA! Sucky - of an experience as Postmodern Sass.

I wrote much of this screenplay – the best original screenplay – while overseas. Where I could be alone and as misanthropic as possible. I’d awake every morning on the same side of my giant bed – much like the dear Blundering American who taught me to enjoy my time alone as much as possible before I had to head back to the states and deal with others possibly wanting to share my space. But I got to write everyday with the wonderful Batya sitting next to me soaking up the beautiful view and the experience. And I’d call Abigail. But sadly Abigail would spend most of our conversation cursing Verizon and it’s lackadaisical customer service. But that would be OK because I’d spend most of our conversation by telling her of the view and the new kick ass – wait, are we allowed to say ‘ass’ – and witty t-shirts that Sara None provided. Because we all know that brilliance comes from being able to rock a shirt with a tiara and an emphatic “go die”, proudly.

::Orchestra strums::

::Actually Orchestra has been strumming for the past 27 seconds::

Gosh, I have to wrap up, I think that the constant plucking of the harpsicord means something. I just want to say that I never could have imagined all of my success in writing novels and screenplays. Who knew that all of my dreams would come true after a few lame ass blog posts – ahh remember blogging?? – about making my own granola. I’d just like to say one last thank you to my manager Karl, who always made me believe in the tallest of tales and that if I continued to contort my face into that of loathing, that it would stay that way. And finally to the production team, headed by Marisa, who knows the power of the written word and is probably spent a lot of time hoping that one day my crap ass novels would be able to be sold to the highest bidder.

Well Marisa, I hope that an Oscar is good enough for you. Goodnight.

And so ends my contribution to the Carnival of the Mundane. I think I shall drink now or at least take a very long nap.