Friday, July 29, 2005
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
notice of procedural change
i originally set the comments so that you had to sign in to leave one, because i had heard so many tales of spam woe. but then another blogger who wishes to remain anonymous told me that she's never made people sign in and she's never been bothered by spam, so i changed the setting: you can now comment without signing in. so if you were holding off on commenting because you didn't want to deal with signing in, fire away. if you never wanted to comment anyway, well, as you were.
Monday, July 25, 2005
are you joshing?*
if this is a joke, it's pretty brilliant. if it's not, it's possibly even more brilliant. you have to read the comments for the full effect.
*sorry for the bad pun, i couldn't help myself
*sorry for the bad pun, i couldn't help myself
btietw
due to the soul-crushing humidity, i actually haven't eaten all that much in the past week..... i've been living mostly on seltzer-and-juice. i'm not kidding. if you live in new york, you understand. if you don't, well, i don't want to hear about it if it's not 170% humidity where you are. (as i'm writing this, the cats are looking at me like "cry me a river, fleshy. try dealing with this wearing all this fur. there's a reason that we lie on the floor like road kill all day." to which i say, "well, then maybe you shouldn't try to wriggle away and/or claw me when i'm trying to brush some of that fur off of you, hmmmmmmmm?")
where was i? oh, right, food. so of the bare minimum of caloric intake that i managed this past week, i'd say the best thing i had was an old favorite: hearts of palm dip. i got the recipe from the times a few years ago, and fell head over heels in love with it the first time i made it. it's barely even a recipe: you take two cans of hearts of palm and throw them in a food processor with a clove or two of garlic (do the garlic on its own first for more even distribution), puree till chunky/smooth, and then pour in 1/3 cup good olive oil while the motor is running till it gets fluffy (honestly, it gets fluffy. cloudlike. like puffy cumulous clouds). the recipe calls for chopped scallions, but after the first couple of times, i decided to skip those. oh and stir in a pinch of salt just before you serve it. it's the easiest and most crowd-pleasing thing that i know how to make (though not universally crowd-pleasing.... just after i first made it, stephen's grandfather took us out to peter luger for his birthday, and i started to talk about the dip—i believe i said something like, "i just found the best recipe for hearts of palm..." and stephen's granfather said "jane [his ladyfriend] got some hearts of palm last weekend...and she ruined them with all this garlic!" at which point i decided to move the conversation in another direction....). it's best on crostini, i think.
bonus: the most disappointing thing i ate this week (well, actually, drank): the new green tea frappucino from starbucks. what can i say, i was intrigued, i hunted it down. it tastes basically like melted green tea ice cream, which isn't shocking, and which is actually god for the first few sips. but by the time i got to the middle of the cup, i was completely over it. too sweet, too glutinous. ick. this sounds much better.
p.s.: i don't know why there are so many parentheses in this post, so don't ask me.
where was i? oh, right, food. so of the bare minimum of caloric intake that i managed this past week, i'd say the best thing i had was an old favorite: hearts of palm dip. i got the recipe from the times a few years ago, and fell head over heels in love with it the first time i made it. it's barely even a recipe: you take two cans of hearts of palm and throw them in a food processor with a clove or two of garlic (do the garlic on its own first for more even distribution), puree till chunky/smooth, and then pour in 1/3 cup good olive oil while the motor is running till it gets fluffy (honestly, it gets fluffy. cloudlike. like puffy cumulous clouds). the recipe calls for chopped scallions, but after the first couple of times, i decided to skip those. oh and stir in a pinch of salt just before you serve it. it's the easiest and most crowd-pleasing thing that i know how to make (though not universally crowd-pleasing.... just after i first made it, stephen's grandfather took us out to peter luger for his birthday, and i started to talk about the dip—i believe i said something like, "i just found the best recipe for hearts of palm..." and stephen's granfather said "jane [his ladyfriend] got some hearts of palm last weekend...and she ruined them with all this garlic!" at which point i decided to move the conversation in another direction....). it's best on crostini, i think.
bonus: the most disappointing thing i ate this week (well, actually, drank): the new green tea frappucino from starbucks. what can i say, i was intrigued, i hunted it down. it tastes basically like melted green tea ice cream, which isn't shocking, and which is actually god for the first few sips. but by the time i got to the middle of the cup, i was completely over it. too sweet, too glutinous. ick. this sounds much better.
p.s.: i don't know why there are so many parentheses in this post, so don't ask me.
Friday, July 22, 2005
wait, lactation isn't hot?
when i went out with meg to celebrate her graduamatation from law school, i had the following encounter at the bar of the club:
eurotrash guy with cheesy oblong glasses, a 5 o'clock on the dot shadow, and a freakin' newsboy cap for god's sake: are you having fun?
me: [look at e.t.g. to see who's talking to me, blink, turn back to trying to get bartender's attention]
e.t.g.: the music is good, no?
me: [make "so-so" sign with hand while not looking at e.t.g.]
e.t.g.: do you like to dance?
me: [nod, still no eye contact]
e.t.g.: me too!
me: [.....]
e.t.g.: i like your hair.
me: [big fat eye roll]
[the bartender finally comes over, i order a water]
e.t.g.: why aren't you drinking tonight?
me: [looking him straight in the eye and speaking loudly as to be sure i'm heard] i have a 9-month-old baby and i'm breastfeeding.
e.t.g.: [look of horror, disappears in a puff of smoke]
so, ladies, if you're getting some unwanted attention and blank stares, a snotty attitude, and the total cold shoulder isn't driving the hint home, just tell 'em you're breastfeeding!
[or you could take the route that meg herself took a couple of weeks later, telling a gentleman who'd been at her side for the majority of a party: "look, i'm not going to make out with you in any way, shape or form, so if you want to go try to find someone else, you probably should—the night's almost over." heh.]
eurotrash guy with cheesy oblong glasses, a 5 o'clock on the dot shadow, and a freakin' newsboy cap for god's sake: are you having fun?
me: [look at e.t.g. to see who's talking to me, blink, turn back to trying to get bartender's attention]
e.t.g.: the music is good, no?
me: [make "so-so" sign with hand while not looking at e.t.g.]
e.t.g.: do you like to dance?
me: [nod, still no eye contact]
e.t.g.: me too!
me: [.....]
e.t.g.: i like your hair.
me: [big fat eye roll]
[the bartender finally comes over, i order a water]
e.t.g.: why aren't you drinking tonight?
me: [looking him straight in the eye and speaking loudly as to be sure i'm heard] i have a 9-month-old baby and i'm breastfeeding.
e.t.g.: [look of horror, disappears in a puff of smoke]
so, ladies, if you're getting some unwanted attention and blank stares, a snotty attitude, and the total cold shoulder isn't driving the hint home, just tell 'em you're breastfeeding!
[or you could take the route that meg herself took a couple of weeks later, telling a gentleman who'd been at her side for the majority of a party: "look, i'm not going to make out with you in any way, shape or form, so if you want to go try to find someone else, you probably should—the night's almost over." heh.]
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
oh say can you la tengo?
on the 4th of july, we + aunt syd went down to battery park to see a free concert—yo la tengo and stephen malkmus + the jicks—which we ended up not so much seeing as hearing b/c the line to get in was super long and not moving, despite the fact that there was plenty of room in the cordoned-off part of the lawn where the stage was. but the lawn where we were able to park ourselves was comfy, if the view was obstructed, and we took some good pictures:
no, mama, no....not....the bounty!!!
people always comment to me on how even-tempered mr. baby man is, and though i take this with a grain of salt becasue he's much better behaved when there are other people around (read: when the little ham has a larger adoring audience), i can agree that on the whole he is a pretty good little monkey.
that is, of course, unless i do the unthinkable. the unforgivable. if i commit the abusive, sadistic act of....cleaning off his hands with a damp paper towel!! aiiiiiiiiggggghhhhhh!!
seriously, every time i try to wipe him down a little after he eats—and therefore has half-chewed pretzel/corn pops/peas all over his hands—he writhes in his highchair like a lunatic, flailing his hands out of my grasp, squealing like a stuck pig, like i'm scrubbing him down with battery acid on a peice of sandpaper.
yesterday we went to the doctor to make sure that the little red spots that mr. baby man is sporting all over his chest and arms aren't fatal (they're not) (just an irritation, maybe bug bites), and she poked into his ears and shone bright lights into his eyes and prodded open his mouth with a stick and he sat there like a little buddha, blinking calmly at her.
so, to sum up: wooden stick to the throat? fine. gentle cleansing of hands with soft wet paper product? hell on earth.
someday i'm going to show him the shower scene from silkwood and tell him, "look! they're making like 1/4 of the fuss you make, and that's steel wool!"
that is, of course, unless i do the unthinkable. the unforgivable. if i commit the abusive, sadistic act of....cleaning off his hands with a damp paper towel!! aiiiiiiiiggggghhhhhh!!
seriously, every time i try to wipe him down a little after he eats—and therefore has half-chewed pretzel/corn pops/peas all over his hands—he writhes in his highchair like a lunatic, flailing his hands out of my grasp, squealing like a stuck pig, like i'm scrubbing him down with battery acid on a peice of sandpaper.
yesterday we went to the doctor to make sure that the little red spots that mr. baby man is sporting all over his chest and arms aren't fatal (they're not) (just an irritation, maybe bug bites), and she poked into his ears and shone bright lights into his eyes and prodded open his mouth with a stick and he sat there like a little buddha, blinking calmly at her.
so, to sum up: wooden stick to the throat? fine. gentle cleansing of hands with soft wet paper product? hell on earth.
someday i'm going to show him the shower scene from silkwood and tell him, "look! they're making like 1/4 of the fuss you make, and that's steel wool!"
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
from the home office in brooklyn, ny
stephen told me the other morning that i was creating antagonism toward lulu with all of the things that i've written about her here on pookiellama. i think this was because he noticed that all of my girlfriends now address her as "bitch".
so, even though all of the things i've written about her are 100% true, in the intrest of fair and balanced reporting (that's real "fair and balanced", not fox news–style "fair and balanced"), i give you a top 10 list of nice things about lulu:
1. when stephen gets out of the shower, she dries his ankles for him by weaving around them. it's very sweet. (it would be sweeter if she had ever, even once in the past 6 years dried my ankles...okay, right, sticking with the positive...)
2. when she attacked sydney, she really was just trying to protect her brother. [note on that: syd and henry came to visit again 4th of july weekend, and syd drove up friday afternoon, which meant she had to drop henry off here at the house and then come meet us at shea for the mets-marlins game. we figured it would be okay—she would put henry in his crate, hopefully the cats would just stand at the end of the hallway and hiss insults at him. i should have known better. i got this voicemail as i was walking back to the parking lot with sarah: "kristen, it's syd, your cat won't let me into your house. i don't even have henry with me yet. [he was still in the car] i don't know what to do." by the time i talked to her, she had managed to get past the stripey beast and get henry into his crate without anyone losing any blood, but only becasuse she put the crate immediately inside the door with the opening facing out and basically shoved henry into it from the vestibule.]
3. she is a skilled balancecat:
4. she has a soft white underbelly:
5. when she was a kitten, she used to suck her paw, like a kid sucking her thumb. it was adorable.
6. she likes to get into the clawfoot tub and chase her tail. it's a really good arena for tail-chasing because the sloping sides really facillitate the spinning and flipping. i could watch her do this for hours.
7. unlike her brother, she doesn't knock our belongings off of our dressers and bedside tables when she wants us to get up in the morning to feed her. she just waits. like a good cat.
8. all winter long she sleeps on our bed, at our knees. granted, sometimes she steals the covers, but it's still nice.
9. she can do this:
10. though i can see in her eyes that she would like to take a swipe at wile when he gets too close, she checks herself and just walks away.
so, there. she really isn't pure evil.
but i will also—fair & balanced!—report an incident that took place mere hours ago: trucky sauntered in to the living room, where stephen was lying on the couch. stephen called to him "come here trucky, come sit with me." trucky, amazingly, walked over to the couch and put his front paws up on it and thought about jumping up. at this point lulu, who had been asleep on the arm of the couch, stood up, stretched, gave trucky a look and walked down the couch and sprawled out on stephen's lap. ten minutes later, when trucky was definitely gone, she jumped off his lap and stretched out on the rug.
we report, you decide!
so, even though all of the things i've written about her are 100% true, in the intrest of fair and balanced reporting (that's real "fair and balanced", not fox news–style "fair and balanced"), i give you a top 10 list of nice things about lulu:
1. when stephen gets out of the shower, she dries his ankles for him by weaving around them. it's very sweet. (it would be sweeter if she had ever, even once in the past 6 years dried my ankles...okay, right, sticking with the positive...)
2. when she attacked sydney, she really was just trying to protect her brother. [note on that: syd and henry came to visit again 4th of july weekend, and syd drove up friday afternoon, which meant she had to drop henry off here at the house and then come meet us at shea for the mets-marlins game. we figured it would be okay—she would put henry in his crate, hopefully the cats would just stand at the end of the hallway and hiss insults at him. i should have known better. i got this voicemail as i was walking back to the parking lot with sarah: "kristen, it's syd, your cat won't let me into your house. i don't even have henry with me yet. [he was still in the car] i don't know what to do." by the time i talked to her, she had managed to get past the stripey beast and get henry into his crate without anyone losing any blood, but only becasuse she put the crate immediately inside the door with the opening facing out and basically shoved henry into it from the vestibule.]
3. she is a skilled balancecat:
4. she has a soft white underbelly:
5. when she was a kitten, she used to suck her paw, like a kid sucking her thumb. it was adorable.
6. she likes to get into the clawfoot tub and chase her tail. it's a really good arena for tail-chasing because the sloping sides really facillitate the spinning and flipping. i could watch her do this for hours.
7. unlike her brother, she doesn't knock our belongings off of our dressers and bedside tables when she wants us to get up in the morning to feed her. she just waits. like a good cat.
8. all winter long she sleeps on our bed, at our knees. granted, sometimes she steals the covers, but it's still nice.
9. she can do this:
10. though i can see in her eyes that she would like to take a swipe at wile when he gets too close, she checks herself and just walks away.
so, there. she really isn't pure evil.
but i will also—fair & balanced!—report an incident that took place mere hours ago: trucky sauntered in to the living room, where stephen was lying on the couch. stephen called to him "come here trucky, come sit with me." trucky, amazingly, walked over to the couch and put his front paws up on it and thought about jumping up. at this point lulu, who had been asleep on the arm of the couch, stood up, stretched, gave trucky a look and walked down the couch and sprawled out on stephen's lap. ten minutes later, when trucky was definitely gone, she jumped off his lap and stretched out on the rug.
we report, you decide!
dog (not butt) of the week
this is zoe. she came to stephen's birthday party on saturday with paolo and heather.
as stephen said, it was an absolute miracle that she made it through the party with out being stepped on, eaten by lulu, or thrown on the grill.
Monday, July 11, 2005
the metropolitan museum of ba!!!!
wile and i went to the met with grandma barbara last week, and, well...i think we'll be sticking to children's museums for a couple of years.
wile made a fabulous discovery: when one is in a cavernous marble room with 50-foot ceilings, the noises that one makes create an echo! when we walked in to the medieval room just past the entrance, he innocently said "ba!"—and when he heard it come back to him, he sat up straighter in my arms and his eyes lit up as he looked around, all "did i do that?". so he tried again with another normal-volume "ba?" and when he heard the echo on that one again, he looked at me like "i am an acoustic god!!", and unleashed the most powerful "ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!" i've ever heard.
we decided that the roof garden was the right place for us.
i told him it's a good thing he'e cute, or 100% of the looks we got would have been nasty, instead of only 50%.
wile made a fabulous discovery: when one is in a cavernous marble room with 50-foot ceilings, the noises that one makes create an echo! when we walked in to the medieval room just past the entrance, he innocently said "ba!"—and when he heard it come back to him, he sat up straighter in my arms and his eyes lit up as he looked around, all "did i do that?". so he tried again with another normal-volume "ba?" and when he heard the echo on that one again, he looked at me like "i am an acoustic god!!", and unleashed the most powerful "ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!ba!!" i've ever heard.
we decided that the roof garden was the right place for us.
i told him it's a good thing he'e cute, or 100% of the looks we got would have been nasty, instead of only 50%.
miiiiiiine!
at the playground today wile and i ran in to finn and his nanny deena, who we had met one time before. finn is 4 months older than wile—he was one of the walking babies who wile schooled in throwing skills—and a very sweet, gentle little guy who does a lot of observing and seems to really weigh his options before taking any actions.
wile and i were playing ball again, and finn and deena joined us. finn was getting better at throwing—doing a little overhand, even—and things were going fine. then finn took a little too long to get the ball back to wile. first wile looked at me, like "could you tell him to get a move on?" then he looked at finn, like "have you not played ball before? i believe i've even played ball with you before, so you should get the concept. i throw to you, you throw it back." then he looked back at me and started crying. oh dear. deena got finn to throw the ball back, and said "you know what, we have a ball with us too. i'll get it."
this seemed like a good solution—until finn threw his ball to wile, and wile was all "thanks, sucka", and wouldn't give it back. he had his ball in one hand and finn's ball in the other hand, and was not letting go. finn crawled over, reaching for the ball and whimpering/crying. deena said "huh, he's never cried over a toy before." oh, excellent.
apparently, i am that baby's mom....
wile and i were playing ball again, and finn and deena joined us. finn was getting better at throwing—doing a little overhand, even—and things were going fine. then finn took a little too long to get the ball back to wile. first wile looked at me, like "could you tell him to get a move on?" then he looked at finn, like "have you not played ball before? i believe i've even played ball with you before, so you should get the concept. i throw to you, you throw it back." then he looked back at me and started crying. oh dear. deena got finn to throw the ball back, and said "you know what, we have a ball with us too. i'll get it."
this seemed like a good solution—until finn threw his ball to wile, and wile was all "thanks, sucka", and wouldn't give it back. he had his ball in one hand and finn's ball in the other hand, and was not letting go. finn crawled over, reaching for the ball and whimpering/crying. deena said "huh, he's never cried over a toy before." oh, excellent.
apparently, i am that baby's mom....
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
trucky attacks!!
okay, not really.
wile and i had just made it home from the upper east side—a journey that, from our house, is not for the faint of heart even without an 11-month-old who is two hours overdue for nap time and therefore acting like a schizophrenic monkey on acid—i'm really happy and clapping my hands, whee! now i'm really upset and crying hysterically and clinging to your neck! here, let me climb up your shirt with my monkey claws! ooo! ooo! eee! eee!—and were sitting on his futon nursing. i had the window fan and the ceiling fan on, and the wind was making the door blow open and shut a little bit. he was 3/4 asleep, and i was leaning my head on the wall with my eyes closed. it was so nice and peaceful, after the long trip home from a long and tiring day...then i opened my eyes and saw, at the end of the futon, about three feet from my face, truck charging us like a crazed rhino!! i screamed and clutched the baby (who barely moved, he was so beat), and trucky took a hard right and skidded to a stop under the glider, looking around for whatever he thought was chasing him.
at this point i figured out what had happened: he must have come through the door when it was open and then had it catch him in the ass when the wind blew it shut, which catapulted him into his mad dash straight for us. so of course i started laughing silently, my eyes tearing, trying not to wake up the baby any more. but when i looked down at him, his little eyes were open about a millimeter and he was smiling this totally drunken smile around the boob, trying desperately to get in on the joke. he managed a few feeble little "heh"s before falling asleep again, and i nearly bust a lung trying not to laugh anymore, now both at my poor high-strung cat and my poor exhausted child.
not that i blame trucky for being high-strung, having to live with that crazy bitch up in his face all the time....
wile and i had just made it home from the upper east side—a journey that, from our house, is not for the faint of heart even without an 11-month-old who is two hours overdue for nap time and therefore acting like a schizophrenic monkey on acid—i'm really happy and clapping my hands, whee! now i'm really upset and crying hysterically and clinging to your neck! here, let me climb up your shirt with my monkey claws! ooo! ooo! eee! eee!—and were sitting on his futon nursing. i had the window fan and the ceiling fan on, and the wind was making the door blow open and shut a little bit. he was 3/4 asleep, and i was leaning my head on the wall with my eyes closed. it was so nice and peaceful, after the long trip home from a long and tiring day...then i opened my eyes and saw, at the end of the futon, about three feet from my face, truck charging us like a crazed rhino!! i screamed and clutched the baby (who barely moved, he was so beat), and trucky took a hard right and skidded to a stop under the glider, looking around for whatever he thought was chasing him.
at this point i figured out what had happened: he must have come through the door when it was open and then had it catch him in the ass when the wind blew it shut, which catapulted him into his mad dash straight for us. so of course i started laughing silently, my eyes tearing, trying not to wake up the baby any more. but when i looked down at him, his little eyes were open about a millimeter and he was smiling this totally drunken smile around the boob, trying desperately to get in on the joke. he managed a few feeble little "heh"s before falling asleep again, and i nearly bust a lung trying not to laugh anymore, now both at my poor high-strung cat and my poor exhausted child.
not that i blame trucky for being high-strung, having to live with that crazy bitch up in his face all the time....
Monday, July 04, 2005
Friday, July 01, 2005
work it baby, own it....
maybe the flash isn't necessary, no?
le tigre (or perhaps blue steel)
you're a monkey, wile! dance, monkey!
you know you wanna take a bite
okay, lady, give me the shiny silver thing now....
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