Subject lines on emails from People I Don’t Know:

Cindy:  “If you thinks she’s spunky, cover your Monkey!”
Michelle:  “teresa, Firmer, Fuller breasts without surgery!”
GreetingWishes:  “Sears Cabinet Refacing, Free Estimate and Save $500″
Herbal-hike:  “Go for it, Dude”
Anthony:  “Call my cell”
Government Grants:  “Looks like you did it again, Teresa!”
Felicia:  “WE SLEPT TOGETHER”
Jeff:  “Fake Boobies”
Morris:  “Meet Single People in your Neighborhood”
Stephanie:  “Sex is cleaner with a packaged weiner”
Tracy:  “Porn site raffle”
Me:  “Teresa, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?”
Becky:  “You can’t go wrong if you sheild your dong”
Lingerie Exclusive:  “Get free panties, now!”
Shocking News:  “Teresa, enhance your penis safely and naturally”
Car Quote Guys:  “Teresa, New Cars, Best Sticker Price”
Jason:  “Teresa, Reduce Your Debt in Minutes”
Collin Escamilla:  “You can reduce your debt in a slow economy”

I like spying on people because it’s not fair, and I can make self-righteous snap judgments about unwitting participants.  I go to Ixtapa when I get stuck writing.  It’s cheap and easy and I like their iced tea.  So today there were three people at the table next to me.  A young couple, really young.  Maybe just out of high school … and maybe they were just friends.  And then a big guy — I’ll call him Big Guy — who was a little older, in a black sweatshirt, jeans, crew cut sitting across. 

Big guy was talking about Paris and New Zealand and Japan, and going in the “off season” this year to Hawaii.  He didn’t look like the sort to have “off seasons,” or Paris or Japan.  I caught something about “motorcross”.  I think he was part of a crew, or some sort of race thing.  So Big Guy was telling stories from the road.  It was an odd threesome – they seemed to know each other, but not well.  Like maybe there was a third-party who linked them.  Big Guy was explaining things like where he grew up and stuff about his Dad. Big Guy seemed to be the worldly one. 

Anyway, I caught the tail end of this between Big Guy and Young Guy (across the table): 

Young Guy:  ” … And that was the only time I ever lost consciousness.”  [Dude!]

BG:  “Really?  Man, not me, I had eight concussions.  One time I went up this 80-foot sand dune … my front wheel exploded … [something] went through my helmet, sideways.  Ha ha.  I have a video of this dude named Seth.  Made a name for himself doing crazy jumps and stuff, went off a 170-foot [garble] … it went through his helmet, into his brain.”  [Dude!]

Young Guy and Girl:  “Ewww.”

Yikes!, did Seth die??  I was too polite to ask. 

I’m just getting back into this. A. was a dad-at-home for almost two years — finishing school, looking for a job, etc. It was nice at times, and challenging, but that’s all for my therapist and my book. Now I’m three weeks into full-time mom. Working and momming, which is nice at times, and challenging, and some for my book. But it takes a bit to, well, stomach it again. It’s a terrifically different routine (see definitions #3 and 4.)

To get out of the house is the thing. But I have a terrible habit of overplanning. I see myself as an entirely different mother than I am. For instance, we have a perfectly great new park a few blocks from the house, with colorful playground stuff, water things, bike paths, etc. All I have to do is take them there and sit.  But I’ll have none of it, at least in the morning. I start the day with the plan that we’ll learn Italian, see three art galleries and write haiku — by 10:00, I’ve completely failed. We’re barely out of pajamas, the house is a wreck, and I’m checking Craigslist for nannies.

Today I pulled it together enough to get everyone on the sidewalk by 11, for a bike ride downtown. “To Shari’s for lunch!” I said, for motivation. But by the bottom of our hill, G. wouldn’t ride, would barely walk, was mad that we didn’t stop at the Nipp’s.  It was ridiculous. A. was waiting for us 5 blocks away at the stop sign like a saint. G. walking slower and slower, me carrying the stupid bike. Finally I ordered her still, ran close enough to yell to him, got him to turn and come back and we all went home. Threw bikes in the van and drove to Shari’s, where we killed a good hour. Killed another hour at the dollar store across the parking lot. Then drove to the park, two blocks from the house, and killed the rest.

No Italian, no Art, no Haiku, we’re all still alive.

I had the “Fiesta Chicken Salad” for lunch, it sucked. I hate Shari’s. Kids both ordered the Happy Cake. A. made a beautiful thank you card to give them but I kept it. Will scan tomorrow.

More later.

So, a few things:

1. I like this template.  But it’s in German.  And I haven’t figured out the code in the template files enough to fix all the German words.  Most, but not all.  For instance at the bottom of the page “nach oben.”  Literal translation is “up” or “up here”, which in this case I think means “back to top.”  Though it doesn’t go anywhere.  I’m clumsy enough with style sheets and code and all that, never mind figuring it out in German.  So it might stay.  The other problem is the Comments page.  Not a big priority for me yet.
2. Umm .. two … oh yeah, I’m moving everything over.  So this is the new me, the old me I still need to move to pages.  The BYOB letters, the Bruschetta saga, the Dear Blabby and Daily archives, etc.  All on the way …
3. So I was at the coast a couple weekends ago, in Newport at this cute little used bookstore at Nye Beach.  And kids found books for $1, and I picked up an Edna Ferber because I just started reading her, and then A. found another little kiddie book, used, a little beat up, looked cute, so I grabbed it.  It wasn’t in the kids section, was in a different section, which I guess was some sort of vintage thing.  Anyway, gave it to A. Sr. who paid, then asked me what was so special about it for $20.  Okay, $20 not the end of the world, but still, annoying for a beat up kids book that you just grabbed as an afterthought assuming it was $1 like all the other books.  Tommy the Timid Turtle.  So now I’m stuck with this annoying beat up $20 book about a turtle.  Sigh, boring story … mine, not the turtle’s.
4. I’m looking for a poem.  I thought it was called “The Sports Page” but can’t find it anywhere.  An old poem about reading the sports page because someone is always winning, there is always good news, etc.  Much more poetic than my description.  I found it a couple of years ago and loved it, wanted to stick it in A’s office somehow.  Now can’t find it … plus wanted to use it in a related post on Sports Radio.  If you find it, send it, for crying out loud.

Seattle weekly interviewed Courtney Love’s mom Linda Carroll, who lives just up I-5 from me in Corvallis and who just wrote a memoir. i didn’t/haven’t read it.
But the Courtney Loves, what an intriguing little crew! First, Courtney is stomping out this fall with the lead title for FSG, Dirty Blonde. Then, the writer Paula Fox, it turns out, is her grandmother — who knew! Then, of course, Love’s mom, Linda, just published her memoir, “Her Mother’s Daughter,” some of which details the account of finding out 40 years later, that her own biological mother was Paula Fox. 

more »

For like two years, but now i’m back!

Among other things, I’ve been reading partial books and then writing partial and meaningless things about them. All of it interrupted and started in the middle of nowhere.

I had this great idea where I was going to drop G. off at pre-school Mon., Wed., and Fri. and then walk over to the beautiful brand-new library with the giant windows and cozy chairs, pick random books of the shelf and read for 2 1/2 hours, then put back.

I started on the New Arrivals wall with John Banville and The Sea.  An award-winner and I usually avoid those, but started reading and fell all over it and here’s some of why:

more »