Quote of the Day (Currently Reading)

“In her final years she would still recall the trip that, with the perverse lucidity of nostalgia, became more and more recent in her memory.”

― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera


Kyle Conversations

JP unwinds to Kyle XY reruns on Netflix these days.  I have seen a few episodes.  This has sparked fun conversations.

I. Kyle and Jessi both look up at the sky. Something happens.

Me: What was that? What are they looking at?

JP: They're cosmically connected.

Me: You mean like us?

JP: Yes, like us. But less awesome.

II. The dad is playing video games with his son, Josh.

Me: (referencing a conversation earlier in the night when JP said he wanted to be a dad) Are you going to do that when you're a dad?

JP: I don't know.  I always figured you would be the Dad-Dad. I'm going to be...the Mom-Dad.

Me: The Mom-Dad?!?? What does that even mean?

(This is not the first time this has come up.  JP envisions that I will be Phil Dunphy.)

Me: And why do you think that the Dad-dad would play video games? Because if we were talking about my family, I'm pretty sure my mom would have done that.


Garment District

Garment ideas we've been talking about lately:
  • Business Poncho, because "it's so hard to find a professional, lightweight jacket".  I'm thinking pinstripe.
  • Sweatblazer, combining the comfort of a sweatshirt with a design more appropriate for the workplace.

Dear Me/Bitchlog

Dear Me/Bitchlog,

1. You will continue to cut yourself shaving for the rest of your life.

2. You will fail at other things.

Happy Thanksgiving,





This Is Not About Birds

Am I biased? I am biased.  To think of him is to think of the line from Stand by Me (or The Body, but I never read that): “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve.” In a wine box in a bedroom back along the Whippanong lies his cover drawing of the first issue of June Ink, a comic we dreamed up where our middle school teacher had telekinetic powers. (The June Chronicles is a subject worthy of some future discussion.) So when I flip through the pages of This Is Not About Birds and land on “Farmers Market” first, I laugh.  I don’t see a character with his “fingers indigo and sticky,” I see him.  I was predisposed to love this book.

I kept returning to the first lines.  They are the kind to mouth, to read out loud.  I liked “Marilyn and Carl” and “Quit Your Tents.” I loved “Hold’em” and “She Had No Tongue.”

I learned some cool words.  Wambling!

In the half-apologetic epistles, he writes twice he has nothing to give.  Untrue.  Read these poems.



We stopped for a drink at Nowhere, the low-key, low-ceilinged neighborhood gay bar. A whiteboard said, "Thirsty? Try a Sandy!"

"What's in a Sandy?" we asked the bartender.

"Oh, it's just a watered-down Manhattan."