At Least It Was On Sale

Yeah, I bought this.

Best New Time Killer

http://overheardinphilly.blogspot.com/
is making my attempts to research "legitimate" blogs that might review our scholarly books oh so difficult.

Ashyknees Moving Adventure

Thanks to the minds, muscles, and moral support of my great friends, including Lipby, Sage, Mr. Snacks and Papertrix, all of my major posessions are now in my cozy new apartment. Yoko stopped by after a hard day's work to offer assistance. I almost believe that if this group of people put their minds to it, they could take over the city or at least a couple of blocks of South Philly. Oops! I may have leaked their plot.

For the most part, the moving gods were with me. The weather was bright and cool. I had just enough boxes and bags. Even the truck rental people were cool. I did brush my rent-a truck against a luxury SUV, but since I'd actually purchased the extra insurance and I held my temper with the crabby cop, I think I can put that incident behind me.

Best of all, no one was attacked by street urchins.

Saint Julia's Elusive Yet Heavenly Omelet

On a vintage black and white episode of The French Chef, Julia Child was cranking out about 2 omelets per minute using what I call the no spatula wiggle technique. She also dismissed the omelets produced by slower flipping methods as "leathery." Not wanting to remain slow and leathery, I gave the wiggle a try.

The texture of my wiggled omelets was cloud-like, but the shape was practically non-existent. Part of the blame must go to my pan.

I'm Mad as Hell and I am Going to Take It Some More

This weekend, while doing a little S and P from that S.P.A.C.E organizing acronym, I thought I'd make this tedious task lighter by listening to This American Life. I'm glad that I did, and I'm mad that I did.

The episode, called Habeas Schmaebeas, is one of the best of the series.
It's hard to dwell on the irritations and shame of going through over 10 years worth of personal documents while listening first hand accounts of how completely f'd our nation's Gitmo prisoner policy is. Once again, a situation's worse than I thought it was.

It's a gut-wrenching shame. Now, what am I going do about it? Write a letter to Rick Santorum?*

These are my usual excuses for not getting involved in a political issue:

1. My Senators aren't going to make an effort to court my favor, especially not the crazy one.*

Solution: work to get the crazy one out of office.

2. I don't know if I have enough information to start advocating any solutions.

Solution: If I don't know, I'd better call somebody.

3. Why get involved with this particular issue when there may be a more vital one that deserves my attention?

Solution: This is so weak! It's better to chose an issue and get involved that to be a wishy-washy lump.

4. I don't understand local politics because I didn't grow up around here.

See solution to Number 2.

5. Corruption in local politics seems so pervasive that I can't sort out the weevils.


Excuse 5 is my big stumper.

Two Ears Does Not Equal Two Phones

Now that I finally have a cellular phone and I like it, I'm seriously considering dumping my LAN line. I can think of no good reason to pay for two phones. No, I do not talk that much. The trouble is, going LANless scares me a bit. I can barely remember to take pills regularly. How long will it be before I forget to charge my cell phone or leave it goodness knows where? When that happens, not only will I be LANless, I'll be phoneless.

In my dream world, I would keep my old fashioned phone line. It would cost 10 dollars a month. At 30 plus bucks a month, the old line just ain't what she used to be and it looks like she's going to have to go.

Also, how come 9 times out of 10 I can hear my cell phone alerting me that I missed a call or that I have a message, but I can only hear the incoming call ring about 6 or 7 times out of ten.

Ashy Went to New York and All You Get is this Lousy Blog Post

My trip to Brooklyn last weekend to see Hedda Gabler was mighty fine. From my high chair in the bleachers, Ms. Blanchett was all ears and cheekbones as she crackled with lethal boredom.

I saw old friends. I went to Juniors for cheesecake. I went to the Brooklyn Museum which houses the most amazing piece of yarn craft I have ever seen.

I bought a mess o chicken patties at Christie's on Flatbush Avenue, and believe it or not, the patties are even better now than when I lived on the border of Prospect Heights and Crown Heights.

Later I went up to the Bronx to see Quiconque. We endured the Oscars show dance numbers together ("a whole lotta witches"). Hella was there with her man and she wasn't the least bit bitchy. The next day, Quiconque and I went to the AMNH to learn about space and time and look at cool rocks. Tickets to the Darwin exhibition cost as much as tickets to Hedda Gabler, so we had to pass on that.

And that was the essence of my trip. But what was in it for you? Just this post (nearly a week after the fact) and this observation--nothing can make me meloncholly like Manhattan sometimes does. Maybe it's all those dogs with so little space to run.