Saturday, December 06, 2008

Intro Miranda, Enter Harold

I can never find anything! How could the paring knife be lost! Aaaaah!

Ok. Calm down. There has to be some some other way to chop celery.



ooooh, that works nicely. Damn I need to get a bulb for that light. It's so dark in here. Why do I even need celery anyway? Why do I even cook? I'm not hungry. Why do I eat so many fig newtons? Maybe I should call Carl and see if he has my paring knife. Hhhhhhh, Miranda, stop making excuses to call him. He moved out seven months ago. You think he wouldn't think you were any more of a nut if you asked him if he had your knife.

Huh, maybe shopping cart lady has a paring knife, she always has celery...maybe she makes ants on a log or feeds it to a rabbit. Damnit, Andy, why would she have a rabbit and you don't even know if carrots eat celery...aaahh I can't even talk to myself.

That's it I'm going to sit down. Mmmmm, rocking chair. Maybe I should rearange the furniture. Ever since Carl left I can't fill up this room. And every time I move things around this damn chair ends up facing the door like I'm waiting for him to come back. Well he does have a key. That's it I'm going to the kitchen store. Is someone at the door? Carl! Aaah! Aaah! What the..."Umm, Can I help you?"


Sunday, December 02, 2007

Stressless Birthday

It occurred to me on my way home from work yesterday that this is the most stress free birthday I have had in a long time. Like five years.
December 2nd of 2002 I was writing my first undergraduate term papers. It sucked. I went home for Thanksgiving and didn't do any of the work that I had planned on doing, come back to school and have like two weeks to accomplish this crap. One of those days was my birthday which I spent not actually doing any work, just worrying about it.
The next three years followed suit and soon my birthday became a vehicle for procrastination.
Then there was last year: I was two months married, unemployed and filling out graduate school applications.
This year on my birthday I feel pleasantly content and looking forward to Nativity and feeling like I've got things together. Man it feels good. Happy Birthday me.


Monday, October 15, 2007

Intro Harold, Enter Miranda

The way I walk is considered by some to be amateur. I try to swing my legs in the left/right way, but it always comes out as self-conscious. I move my legs the way your voice sounds to you on a recording.

Anyway, yesterday I was walking through the railroad underpass by the Palisades Family Restaurant when a little curly blond headed thing about three years old and a step ahead of her mother looked up at me and said "Why you walk funny?" I said "What's that?" (a habitual response that I hate) and she said "How you walk like that?" I looked to her mother for real or feigned embarrassment to make me feel better, but she just grabbed the little girl's arm and walked on.

Sometimes I have trouble breathing because I become too conscious of the process. I inhale. I think "exhale" and I exhale. I think " inhale" and I inhale. I stop talking to myself and I stop breathing.

When I got back to my apartment the lock stuck. While fumbling with it an old woman came down the hall pushing a grocery cart. I live on the fifth floor. She is not homeless; she just pushes the cart all the way home, then pushes it back the next time she goes shopping. I'd seen her in the elevator several times. The cart carried two brown paper bags but no celery stuck out.

While grinding my teeth and visualizing the key breaking off in the lock I decided to kick down the door. Then it opened and I tripped in. It was too bright. The stuff was not mine. A short pale light brown haired woman between 35 and 45 looked down at me as I stood up. She held the doorknob in her left hand; she held her right hip with her right hand, and she said to me, "Can I help you?"


Sunday, September 16, 2007


I don't know what this is anymore. Work has been enjoyable and long lately, making the weeks pass like days. Mary is with child. No, I don't think we are going to find out if it is a boy or a girl. I like surprises. Mary thinks if her grandmother didn't know then why should she? Besides, why not give the little person some privacy?

We like the name Ruth. Mary is due on St. Patrick's Day. If it is a boy, and happens to be born exactly on the due date (I know that is rare.) maybe we will name him Patrick. I like the name Lazarus. Mary likes John Lazarus. I like Oliver, but there is no St. Oliver. We both like Ezra.

We have known about this baby for around two months now. I cannot imagine my life without this child.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Ranch (dressing), Text (messages), and (Net)flix it

Language, like spelling, is slipping.

I made a new years resolution to never refer to ranch dressing as just plain "ranch," or a text message as a "text." My reasons were at least two-fold.

1. "Ranch" as in "Uuh, could I get a thing of ranch," sounds/is disgusting, and saying "text" just makes anyone sound like a tool e.g.
"Dude U git my txt?"
"wanna go to mall"
"can't gotta cruz round wearin ugly snglsses"


2. well, I can't remember two after coming up with those sweet examples.

But anyway, my resolution has been coming along pretty well, very few slip-ups and then the other day I was sitting on the porch and told Mary that,

"We should netflix it."
"ok, but you know we don't have a subscr--"
"Ya know what I think from now on I'm gonna say "flix it" rather than "netflix it."
"Eww, that's like 'floggi-- (lifelogging)"
"No it's not, its nothing like "flogging."
"How is it any different from "ranch" or "text" th--?"
"oh, shit"

And there you have it. Worse (Better?) than selling out I one upped 'em.

(speaking of spelling, will spell check and word recognition software make spelling accuracy and the evolution of spelling better or worse, and I am not talking about in peoples heads, I am talking about on/in the published (web)page.?)

Tune in next time for: Why I have no problem handing our "culture" over to amateurs on the internet... and, oh shit, what about geography?

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