A Large Slice of Cake

Blogger, Can You Hear Me?

2010-06-07T10:53:00.002-05:00

Since my blog has moved to www.jessicaleader.com/blog, maybe I can just hide out over here and test whether Blogger is working. Some of my blog tour hosts use Blogger, and I want their sites to be workin' their mojo this week!

Blog Relocation!

2009-12-11T11:33:00.004-05:00

I love finding book-review blogs with smart reviews. When I love them, I love to connect. Sometimes, this means Twitter. Sometimes, this means GoogleFriendConnect, and sorry, friends and googley-eyed people, but I don't Google-blog anymore; I'm a Word Press kind of gal. So if I just GoogleFriendConnected you, and you want to know more about me, I hope you'll leap over to my official author site,

www.jessicaleader.com

It's pretty! There's a poll! And a blog, and news about my book, NICE AND MEAN. Hope to see you there!

Mercy buckets.

~ Jess

Bye bye, Large Slice of Cake

2009-10-29T09:54:00.003-05:00

As Mother Superior says in The Sound of Music, "wherever God opens a door, somewhere, he opens a window."

I am sad to say that I am closing the door on A Large Slice of Cake. It's been fun, hanging with this exclusive little cadre of readers (I think we number about 10 at this point?), but I need to take my blogs a bit more public for the cause of author publicity, and since a girl only has so much time and so many thoughts, I'm going to be here from now on: www.jessicaleader.com/blog

Sadly, it won't be as fun to blog there as it was here. Wrapped in the Cake cloak of password protection, I could sound off about people, books and life in a way I'm not comfortable doing in front of strangers. Well, to be honest, *I'm* comfortable, but I don't think *they're* comfortable.

Still, I hope to come up with things moderately interesting, and I hope you'll visit me on the new site!

Tootles, and thanks for reading,

Jess

Sending and Bending

2009-04-16T14:37:00.002-05:00

I sent the latest draft of NICE AND MEAN to my editor yesterday!

She's so speedy and awesome, I'm sure I'll hear from her sooner than I think. I am so *relieved* to have reached the end of a revision. I've worked every single day for the last three months or so, taking 4 days off for celebratory showers, and I am knackered.

I celebrated last night, though -- with bowling! I am not a very good bowler, but I thought it would be a fun way to bring people together. And guess what? I went from bowling 55 to 88 to 119! Yes -- the girl who has never broken a hundred shattered her record!

What was my secret? First of all, as I learned a while ago, attempting power moves does not help me in bowling. The harder I try to throw the ball, the more likely it is to go into the gutter. If I my roll is moderately speeded, though, even seemingly slow, and I focus my aim, I have a good chance of getting a strike. It's the same as in pool. Power=bad. Low speed=good.

So what is my motto? Slow and steady. Which is kind of like the title of my book, in that it is two adjectives that are often found together. I joke about writing a sequel to NICE AND MEAN called CUTE AND BAD. But maybe I'll have lots of double-adjective books. Laurie Halse Anderson and Ellen Hopkins are already rocking the one-word titles (SPEAK, CHAINS, WINTERGIRLS, CRANK)--I think I'll be Miss Duality. Let's see, what else is there...

Neat and Clean
Sweet and Sour
Silent and Deadly (heh heh)
Free and Easy
All Dressed Up and No Place to Go (okay, 2 concepts more than 2 ideas, but you get it)

Nobody steal this, now! They're mine. All...

mine.

(Cake bonks head on keyboard with immediate onset of sleep, but does not awaken. Instead, she drools.)

ps Classmates will enjoy the image, no doubt!

All This Beauty

2009-03-24T21:18:00.002-05:00

by The Weepies

All this beauty--
You might have to close your eyes
And slowly open wide.

All this beauty--
We travelled all night
We drank the ocean dry
And watched the sun rise.

You can ask about it
But nobody knows the way--
No breadcrumb trail to follow through your days.
It takes an axe--sometimes, a feather
In the sunshine and bad weather
It's a matter
Of getting deeper in
Any way you can.

All this beauty--
You might have to close your eyes
And slowly open wide
And watch the sun rise.

I can see you're new awake
Let me assure you, friend,
Every day is ice cream and
Chocolate cake
And what you make of it, let me say,
You get what you take from it, so be amazed
And every stop,
Every stop,
Every stop,
You've got to be brave.

'Cause all this beauty--
You might have to close your eyes
And slowly open wide--
Watch the sun rise.

Things that are beautiful:

* Cherry blossoming trees

* street lined with fluffy snowball trees

* My 9th-grade dyslexic ESL tutee rocking out at "Frog and Toad" (and being very upset that Frog laughed at Toad in his bathing suit, something that has always miffed me, too!)

* Kissing my fiancee--still makes me weak after almost 8 years

* My adorable 5th graders, about to put on their Civil War plays, and how they laugh every time they play "Honey, I love you"

*The amazing shower my sister threw me this weekend, with a Jeopardy game about me, and the booklet Betty put together with questions about me like, "If you were a contestant on Project Runway and had to make Cake a wedding dress from items in her home, what would you use?" Best answers: Blokus pieces, Le Pens, recycled bottles of moisturizing body wash.

* The most beautiful--my advisor said this about my reworking of the first half of Nice and Mean:

Really great job, Cake. Just really great.

(Well, she didn't say Cake. But you know.)

And it struck me: I may know a thing or two about this writing business. Which feels really, really great.

All this beauty--
We travelled all night
And drank the ocean dry
And watched the sun rise!

Sunday at the Desk with Cake

2009-03-15T10:08:00.004-05:00

Do you recognize that quotation? It's from one of my all-time favorite pieces of literature, Sunday in the Park with George. It's a Sondheim musical, and it details the process of Georges Seurat as he creates his masterpiece, "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" (think I got that right.) In the second act, we see the struggles of an artist who may or may not be Seurat's descendent. As Joss Whedon famously said (so famously, Sondheim wanted to meet him after he said it), the first act is about the pain of being a genius, and the second act is about the pain of not being a genius. (Which pain would you rather have? Hard to know, but probably the first. Then again, if that was your pain, would you know it?)

A mentor recently cited the song "Finishing the Hat" as one of his favorites. That drew me back to my old cassette-tape soundtrack, with all its attendant musings on art, and then to my books about Sondheim, collected during high school. Something funny happened: while I had originally read those to delight in the gossip and insider information, now I read them and felt less alone in my artistic process.

In the past, when I'd read about authors and especially theatre-makers struggling to complete a show, I'd thought, "Oh, it just took them a while to find the right solution." Or, embarrassingly, "Wow, they didn't know what they wanted from the start? Why not?"

Reading it now, I realized that I'm not the only person ever to pack a story too full of themes and have to winnow away. Not the only one to think, "How to explain this character trait? Blame the mom. Ooh, this reader says the mom is a cipher. Must beef her up. Wait, that reader says the mom is superfluous to the story. Find a balance. Hope it meets with approval." Etc. Okay, maybe that particular iteration of the revision process is unique to me, but the point is, even Sondheim grasps around for the right solution. Even James Lapine goes in with one approach and comes out with another. Both struggle to balance work habits, incorporating outsiders' opinions, and more.

The title of the song I've quoted above is "Art isn't easy." This is true. It's a lot easier, though, when I remind myself that I'm not alone. As Sondheim says, in fact, "No one is alone." And "Connect, George. Connect."

The Art of Making Art

Waltzing with Bourbon

2009-03-15T10:02:00.001-05:00

I have the kind of silly brag I would have sat on two years ago, but now that I have a forum for such things, I can tell the world: I won second place at a bake-off party last night! The theme was bourbon and chocolate, and I waltzed in late with a chocolate-bourbon bread pudding and bourbon caramel sauce and everyone was talking about it! And it wasn't even that hard to make!

After spending literally day of the last month wrestling with NICE AND MEAN, I can't tell you how good it feels to give very little effort and forethought to something and then have it turn out absolutely delicious and universally lauded. If only writing a novel were that easy. Maybe I should stick mine in a water-bath...

Gift Economy

2009-02-28T18:20:00.006-05:00

Earlier today, Betty called to ask what I wanted for my wedding shower. I was touched--Betty gives *awesome* presents, and since the shower is not for three weeks, I was tickled that she was thinking about it already--but I was also like, oh gosh, I don't need wedding shower presents! I should have asked my sister to put that on the invitation. People are already going to be trekking to the Berkshires, plunking down $$ for a hotel, and contributing to my highly unnecessary trousseau--shedding light on my preference in vases seemed an embarrassment, and not just of riches.

Since, as Betty pointed out, the invite hadn't read, "Your presence is all the giftitude I need," I gave her some guidance (turned out to be unhelpful, actually--I told her I had reached capacity with bags for the moment, only to learn that she'd found one she thought I'd like); we moved on to other subjects; I didn't think much about how I am not often the ideal presents-recipient.

Later today, going through my "Tax Stuff" folder, I thought, "Oh, let's see what's lurking in the 'Gift Certificates' file, too." I already have gift certificates elsewhere, mind you. They're in my wallet or on my desk if I don't think I'll use them often (which only means they're the exact one I'll spontaneously want and not have), or maybe they're hiding out in my 12-inch inbox. I was curious and excited, though, to see what that potentially neglected Gift Certificates folder might yield.

I should have known myself better. First, there was the $6.24 remainder of a gift certificate to the independent bookstore down the street--from 2006. I could totally have used that when I bought former advisor Rita Williams-Garcia's latest book, JUMPED, in hardcover the other day. (It's so good! Hilarious and chilling! You have to read it.)

It got worse, though. Much, much worse.

Fifty dollars to The Strand--from 2001! A hand-lettered gift certificate. Do they even honor those anymore? Would they trendily bespecled Strand employees laugh in my face if I tried to spend it there? Say, "Thanks, sistah, but we ain't sellin' you no tote bags?" (Oh wait, I don't need any more bags.)

Worse than that, though: Crate and Barrel from 1999. 1999! That's ten years ago! When we were partying like it was! And even more sadly, there's nothing I really want from Crate and Barrel. Well, we may partly register there. But only because we can't think of anyplace else people can send dollars they don't want to donate to turtles.

The very saddest was at the back of the folder. A square enveloped, wrinkled. I was pretty sure I knew where those gift certificates were meant to be spent.

HMV: Her Majesty's Video. The hottest New York record store back in 1990! I'm sure I got the gift certificates after that--say, in 1998--but this store literally no longer exists. The envelope held little square mini-records in various denominations, and reader, I could not bring myself to do the math.

Not that I'm so great at the math, mind you. I called my mom so she could laugh at my plight and I said, "Well, I guess it's an investment. I mean, I bet the dollar was stronger in 1999 than it is now."

"Yes," she said, "but things are more expensive."

Duh! Of course they are. I'm a lousy spender and economic imbecile to boot.

I know that our nation got into trouble with an overload of consumer confidence, optimistic home purchases, and thick slabs of greed. But failing to buy things that have already been paid for, then mistakenly thinking you've got the long end of the stick--well, that just needs some adjustment. If anybody wants to send me to a night-school course in economics, I'm all ears. Of course, most of you readers don't even live here. You don't know where I should take such a course. You might just have to get me a gift certificate.

NICE AND MEAN and everywhere in between

2009-02-08T23:27:00.004-05:00

Just updated a whole lot, but posted in the wrong order! You can scroll down
to "What's New, Pussycat?" or just read out of order here. xo!

Now I'm both happily ensconced back in my life and also running around like crazy. For some reason, all the teachers in the world (or at least, in Louisville) want teaching artists to instruct their children in playwriting or drama through history RIGHT NOW. I'm booked almost every single day at one school or another, and am continuing to tutor two students and am adding a third. In the midst of this, I'm planning the wedding, turning 34 next week (hell, George!) and revising my novel for publication. Gah!

The latter, though, is awesome. To all you writers out there: I strongly recommend taking huge chunks of time away from your novel, preferably 18 months. When I returned to NICE AND MEAN after a major vacay, one that included drafting and attempting to revise a second novel and starting a third (don't be too impressed--most of my classmates have done the same in the last 18 months)--it was like I'd suddenly been given glasses with the right perscription, and could now see things I had been totally blind to before.

Things like, “Wow, why don’t I show Marina getting hauled into the principal’s office to account for the evil video she made about her so-called best friend? Seems like that would be an important emotional moment, especially if her mom, the source of all her misery, is there to shake her head in embarrassment.” You’d think I would have considered showing a scene of such emotional importance, but no, I’d merely referred to it. Or maybe, if Elizabeth, Marina’s good friend, was going to tell her they needed to take a friend-break, she’d come into the conversation knowing that, instead of springing it on Marina when they get off the bus. Wouldn’t want to make Elizabeth’s actions cogent or anything. Definitely warp her motivation!

So it’s just been fun, to go back to these middle-grade characters, after dealing in more adolescent angst in my other work-in-progress, shore up a plot whose shape I already know. It also makes me dread the fact that when I’m done, I’ll have to go back to books that are so mushy, but whatever. I’m sure there will be joy there, too.

Now I leave you, since I’m sure you’ve had enough of what is possibly an annoyingly sunny update. I hope to write more here (yeah yeah, I always do) and to read all your bloggerinas, too!

Bye now, for a bit.

~ Cake

ps My computer chair really hurts my back. Does anybody have any remedies for that?

I'm ending with a photo taken from our Clue party. I'm sure many of you know the game Apples to Apples, but did you know the superstition/whatever that the adjective cards you end up with describe up? As I hope you can see from this picture, this player's cards have a real tell!

In case you can't see, her cards say, "Fuzzy," "comical" and "unusual." !

The Ice Storm of '09

2009-02-08T23:26:00.002-05:00

Then it was back to KY, where an ice storm knocked out our power for 6 days! We didn't fear for long, but found ourselves lodged snugly with Elizabeth and then with Holly's mom, who not only gave us a snug little suite, but also fed us vegetarian food. I'm not exagerating at all when I say that the night I heard our power came back on, I considered lying about it so I could stay for sweet potato stew.

Holly's mom, Kay, is one of the most engaged "adults" (by which I mean people over 55--I mean, 55 is the new 30) that I've ever met. And she's definitely the only mom I know whose questions I actually want to answer! It was so great to spend more time with her.

(no images for this, alas, but if you Google "Louisville ice storm," I'm sure you'll see some sad images of bent, shining trees. They're beautiful, but often destroyed.)

Part Deux: Vermont College of Oh So Very Fine Arts

2009-02-08T23:15:00.003-05:00

In January, I went to my fourth (and penultimate! Sniff!) residency at the most excellent Vermont College of Fine Arts, where I, along with my fantastic classmates, The Super-Secret Society of Quirk and Quill, threw what I hope is not bragging to say an excellent Clue-themed party for the graduating class. (I think everyone in this picture will be super-famous one day and scholars will drool over it.)

It was one of those rare occasions where everybody agrees on the over-all picture, splits off into their pods to do their part, and delivers even better than expected. I mean, could I photo-shop this? (Graduating student, made up as Professor Plum!)

Could I draw that? (It's Pippi, in chalk outline.)

I'm so lucky for these guys. (They also threw me my very first wedding shower! Like we didn't already have enough to do!)

For my final semseter, I got paired with an advisor I've wanted to work with since first semester. She was on sabbatical then, but she came back to introduce her graduating students at their readings, and I was so warmed by her jokiness and specific, loving knowledge of them. If we hadn't ever worked together, I would have felt like I'd left VC missing out on something big. So yay, Margaret, who told me stories about her boys decorating their birthday cakes with headless gummy bears and who agreed, even before we were paired, to be my aunt. ("Why?" she asked me later. "So we could see each other on holidays," I replied, "and it would be fun.")

I took this as I sat at her feet (ha! prescient!) while we waited for the group photo to be taken. She's the wise, uncharacteristically scary looking one on the left. The one on the right is my first-semester advisor, Julie! It's alpha and omega!

What's New, Pussycat?

2009-02-08T22:57:00.002-05:00

Gosh, so much has happened since I last ruminated on commitment! (I still furrow my brow when I spell it.) Since I’m sure you don’t want to read all of it in one installment, I’m going to do it in several. Watch me now….

Had a great New Year's with Twig and her friends (hi, Hanna!), eating Japanese food at a random restaurant, because Hanna and her hilarious sig other went into the place we'd aimed for, decided, "We can't handle live jazz!" and walked out. I second that emotion. Rocka-flute is not my way to send in the new year. But singing the song from A League of Their Own is!

And oh yeah! I got my first-ever digital camera! Thanks, Mom! (She's really glad I've joined the 21st century.)

Quel Outrage, or Even Authors Get the Strep

2008-12-06T13:56:00.003-05:00

In AP French, we had to read "Le Cid." I found it boring. The action was predictable, and they kept using the same end rhymes: orage (storm), dommage (shame...I think), outrage. As in, "quel outrage"--what an outrage--an expression we were quick to adopt.

My friend's French mom found these outbursts extremely annoying. I never quite understood why, but there was something ungrammatical about "quel outrage," or perhaps outdated. But I care little enough to say that I will be the first in line to shout,

Quel outrage,
I have strep throat!

Guys, I have *never* had strep throat. Cakefamily doesn't get strep. I had my tonsils and adenoids out before I knew what they were, and I've never even had so much as a throat culture. But after three days of waking to the feeling of a small golf ball on the left side of my throat, I decided I should seek medical advice, and after thirty seconds of gagging and seven minutes of waiting on the test, I found out that the disease was mine, saith the lord.

I know that many people are suffering far worse diseases, and I've felt much worse than this in my life, but I can't help feeling like I let my family down, and myself down, in succumbing to this. Who passed on the dreaded bacteria? Why was I not able to fight it? Was it the round of penicillin I downed last month for an ear infarction? Tiredness? Travelling? Poor quality moral fiber? NB, Department of Complaints: I want an explanation.

Tragically, the antibiotics are not taking action as soon as I'd like. The golf ball may now only feel like a pea, but it is still preventing thoughtless swallowing. I feel slightly feverish and vaguely vague. And to all this I say, boo! Boo! Quel outrage!

From the Most Unreliable Blogger

2008-11-09T18:12:00.003-05:00

Hey. Oh gads, I wish I posted more. I had so many things to say this week. Like the fact that guys say, "Nah, that's not me, dude. But you go ahead and enjoy it"--as explained to me by the very excellent teacher and coach at the all-boys' school where I'm teaching. or how it turns out that the best way to get kids to shut up and work is to stand at the front of the room and watch them do it. Sad! I really like conferring with them about their work and think it's the #1 quality-control activity, but hey, maybe it's demoted to #2 if everyone thinks they can chat because teacher-lady is talking to one person. Not the best use of my hourly fee, or so it may seem, but what the heezey!

As some of you know, TWIG and I are getting married this summer! At Race Brook Lodge in Sheffield, MA, to be exact, a place where 60 of our nearest and dearest can stay overnight, to be entrapped into Apples to Apples and stream swims and hammock hang-outs and pancake breakfasts. I'm *so* excited. Everything involves a lot of decision-making, though, and that can be wearying. I'm learning a lot about myself, though, like how I tend to like something, then freak out about it, then realize, "Hey, I haven't seen a lot of stuff yet--I need to relax." I recently had the same realization the other week when I was choosing...

my...

agent!

Yes! Someone wants to buy my book, and I have an agent! (Details on the book to come when the formal offer is made.) But I totally lurve my agent (and would say more embarrassing things if I didn't fear she'd someday see this), and it just took waiting, like, three days for her to READ MY MANUSCRIPT and offer to represent me. Yeah, I know this is a totally anti-climactic way of sharing this completely life-changing news, but what can I say, I'm a professional doodler, not a writer or something like that.

All right...there's no way I can rescue this post from its lameness, but I want to post something, so

here

I

go.

ps I heart The Weepies and Rihanna. Yes!

pps Oh my gosh, I must be the only blogger in the world not to mention how thrilled I am by Barack Obama's victory. But yaaay, Obama! I love the flexibility of his mind and his tendency toward sophistication over easy answers. I admire him more than any politician in our current time and pray--yes, I do--that his skills will enable him to accomplish the gargantuan tasks ahead of him.

Worst Buy

2008-09-21T21:46:00.005-05:00

Oh, how I hate Best Buy! Let me catalogue the broken items they've sold me:

* an iTrip that was iCrap

* a back-up drive that didn't synch

* something I've obviously blocked out

* a laptop with a bad sector that means not only do I sometimes turn on the computer do a black screen with options, but also to a scary BLUE SCREEN with numbers that gives me no option but to press the power key until it goes "CHONNN."

But they committed their worst crime on Saturday when a Geek Squad member moved something from my hard drive to the new back-up drive AND LEFT IT IN THE RECYCLING BIN. And oh, what was that item MY NOVEL. Fortunately, I had saved an earlier version of the folder on a jump drive in May 07, and I'd sent it recently enough to several people that I wasn't worried about finding the most recent draft, but still, I had years of brainstorming and revisions on that thing, as well as notes for a new revision, and I needed that thing!

Two of my grad school profs, including my advisor, shared their m.o. of writing a novel, deleting it, and then starting from scratch, and amazingly (or perhaps insanely), I've actually come to see how that could really benefit someone's novel. However, I'm just not as seasoned as they are, and I really wanted those notes, and gah. Gah. Gah.

THANK GOLD (as my new protag says), I finally found the folder, hidden on, yes, the G drive. FUCKERPANTS GEEK SQUAD! F you and your ironic name. You should change it to HORRIBLE SQUAD (you don't even get the dignity of a cool rhyming name. You're just horrible.)

But in better news, *yay* to Tina Fey who won 3 Emmys while all this was unfolding, and for her brilliant words on SNL last week, imitating the Republican VP nominee

I can see Russia from my window!

Thanks

2008-09-12T18:35:00.002-05:00

I had a health scare this week. I'm probably fine, but it was a legitimate fear for a while there, and I'm still calming down from being relieved. But what it revealed was that I'm pretty happy with the way things are. For the past few days, I've been thinking, "If the news is bad, will I move back to NYC so I can get better treatment? Will I quit any of my jobs or my MFA? Will I watch more/less tv, read more/fewer books, eat with abandon, never work out, buy more clothes--what?"

Every tree I barked up, though, yielded the same answer: nope, I think I'll keep doing what I'm doing. I love writing and my MFA (LOVE IT!! Will be totally bereft when it's over), but I don't want to work fewer jobs, because I need human contact and the scrapes of $$. I really don't want to move back to NYC right now, even though I'd have the best reason ever, because I want to live with my honey (fiancee!), and as for KY, well, I've grown accustomed to its face. Don't worry, I do NOT want to be there forever, but I couldn't re-enter NYC in quite the same way as I was there before, and there are a lot of things keeping me tied to KY, honey aside. As for reading, eating, sleeping, even working out--I want to do it all pretty much the same as before. The occasional milkshake and doughnut are mm-mm-great, and they keep away the cravings, but when I eat too much, the head gets spinny and the energy gets lugey. I've grown to actually sort of like working out (nooo!) As for clothes--well, maybe someday, I'll have a use for more fancy ones, but honestly, that's something I like about KY: very little need to look trendy. (Then again, my many day jobs don't require too much fance, either.)

So, on the anniversary of so much pain, and in the face of the fear or real and terrible lifestyle change, I'm actually feeling startlingly at peace. Well, getting there. Let's let the bruising go down first.

I wish all of you well

~ Cake

Next!

2008-08-25T12:36:00.002-05:00

I picked up a book at a yard sale: HELLO, HE LIED, by Linda Obst, Hollywood producer, about her life in the trenches. It's fun enough, not super well-written and I don't admire quite enough about her, but it's fun to read by the bedside. There is one part of it, though, that really resonates, and that is her philosophy of

NEXT!

"Next" as in, finish revising that thesis, honey, because it's time to revise that novel. Need a new first chapter? Write one for your critique group.

Feelin' bogged down by their kind but firm response, like even though you once wrote some first chapters that editors responded well to, you'll never be able to write a good first chapter ever again?

NEXT! Get over yourself, honey. First chapters are always hard, and you'd better revise that one, because one of the critique group members has volunteered to read a draft before you (hopefully) send it to your advisor in a few months, and you'd better get cracking.

Balking? Overwhelmed? Too bad. This is your job. Next!

Inspirational Words of the Day

2008-08-19T08:02:00.005-05:00

She lay back, and all was light and warmth. Life, she thought, is sometimes sad and often dull, but there are currants in the cake, and here is one of them.

-- Nancy Mitford, The Pursuit of Love

Very Very Important To-Do List

2008-08-12T15:21:00.003-05:00

Garden weeded?
Garden watered?
Tomatoes re-staked?
Pepper buds checked?

Neighbor's potatoes harvested?
Girlfriend's line-dries arm-rested?
Worm tea wee-wee-wee-wee'd
All over the garden?

Oven pre-heated?
Eggplant de-seeded,
Finely chopped and olive-oiled--
Salted, too, and hose recoiled?

Blog updated?
And G-rated?

PHEW.
Now I can get back to my writing.

You Can't Argue with Cake

2008-08-03T21:38:00.004-05:00

When I say, "You can't argue with cake," I don't mean you can't argue with me. Many do, and some even win. I just mean you can't argue with cake.

One of the kids in my show, we'll call him Bobby, started out as the most whiny and annoying. Or, to be more specific, the most likely to stand in front of the air-conditioner and the most likely to tell other kids how and when to say their lines. (To the first, I say in my head, dude! We're all hot here! To the second, I say out loud, "There's one director on this show." That line's become famous, used by all several times a day. "Bobby! One director.")

He totally endeared himself to me over lunch, however, when we started talking about how he's moved four times since he was six. Yikes! Poor guy. "That must have be hard," I said, "having to make new friends wherever you go."

"Yeah," he said, "and I was really sad to leave my Boy Scout troop in El Paso, because that camp had really creative desserts."

I almost choked on my baby carrots. That was why it was hard to move? Never mind making friends, or adopting a new ball team, or waking up in the dark, wondering where you are, or catching up in math--boy scout camp desserts?

"Really," I said. I wanted to drag this out as long as possible. "Like what?"

"Like, they had this one dessert called a sand castle, where the mooshed together all the crumbs they had -- it could be cookie, or cake -- and they made a sand castle of it, and then they dribbled melted chocolate over it. It was really good."

Oh, man, did it ever. Mooshy crumbes. Dribbly chocolate. Probably there were half-melted chocolate chips in there, too--my favorite. "That's great," I said. "I mean it. That sounds really great."

Jeez, Cake! Way to mentally make fun. I had to go and ask, and now I have to be stuck with the image of the sand castle cake I'll probably never have. Maybe I should go to the boy scout camp.

[A note to my classmates: sorry I keep repeating stories here and there! It seems I'm only good for a few tales these days. Ah, me.]

The Really, Really Best Part of Writing a Big, Fat Paper

2008-07-27T10:58:00.004-05:00

You know what is the really, really best part of writing a big fat paper?

Ordering the books.

The sense of accomplishment! The hope for how readable and useful they'll be! How impressed you feel that you have read all these nifty-sounding books--except, oh, wait, you haven't.

Yet.

You will definitely read them. You promise.

In the meantime, directing the kiddies is going swimmingly. I finished blocking the play Friday morning (a first for me--that's speed) and we had our first run Friday afternoon. They continue to be talented, amenable and adorable.

Stay tuned for next week's reports of all Jekyll breaking loose.

Sincerely,

Back

2008-07-19T12:17:00.004-05:00

Just returned from my residency in Writing for Children and Young Adults at Vermont College of Fine Arts (VCFA.) I was a little apprehensive about it at first, but when I got there, I was so happy. Or was that the lack of sleep, and the unprecedented infusion of alcohol and caffeine? I'm such a clean-liver most of the year (and have such a clean liver), but that place really makes me bring on the substances.

But to reduce the transformative nature of the program to stimulants would be lame. The lectures. The lingo. The classmates who name ourselves The Super-Secret Society of Quirk and Quill, and do things like hang giant sheets, emblazoned with "S-Cubed Q-squared" out the fourth-floor window of the administrator's office (with her permission, of course.) People to whom you can really vent about the problems you're having writing your novel, and they actually have ideas about how to help you. That's what blows your mind in those 10 days. I'm so grateful.

I'll write more about it in these next few days, I think. But here's a photo of me and Roommate Rachel at the dance that I wanted to share. I think it's kind of typical: Rachel looking cool; me looking like a complete dork. But a happy dork. ps, on her blog (http://storybookgirl.blogspot.com) are much more articulate entries about the residency, and, even better, a video of my new advisor, Tim Wynne-Jones, and Tobin Anderson, rock god, auctioning off a stuffed cow. You've got to see it to believe it.

Nes Gadol Haya Sham

2008-07-03T18:23:00.003-05:00

As all you Jews out there know, the title that means, "A Great Miracle Happened There." The Hebrew letters that start those words are the ones on the dreydl, and the saying is used to commemorate Chanukkah (although, nu, can they not be used to describe any Jewish holiday?), but I use it now to fill the skies with cheers over the fact that it took me less than one minute to unearth the necessary and as-yet-rarely-seen pair of heels for this weekend's wedding.

L'Chayim!

I'm also packing for the grad school residency. The last time this happened, I got home from dinner at 9:30 and stayed up til 1 packing and cleaning and G-d knows what else. Actually, it doesn't take G-d to know, because now I'm remembering the long back-and-forth of emails along the lines of this entry. Tonight, I started packing at 7, and if I post too often, well, you'll all know what a terribly procrastinatory packer I am. None of that! To bed at a reasonable hour, I say!

Also, on an unrelated note, if you have something weird on your arm, like a rash that bubbles, consult your doctor or pharmacist. It's probably not staph, but won't you feel better knowing you're death-free?

A great miracle happened there, too!

The News from La Leche, Good and Medium

2008-06-25T17:12:00.006-05:00

Well first, actually, there's great news, which is that my rose bush is sporting three new buds. Yeah! I thought I'd denuded that thing in the great enthusiastic pruning of May 2008. I definitely credit the worm tea for the renaissance, since after I doused the roots with it, the rose bush sprouted these reddish leaves that then burst and fanned out into a whole new limb, now bearing buds. I'm so excited! Go, wormy worms!

The good news is that I have a new idea for a novel! I won't say much about it except that I'm going to do what I've never done before, which is write in the third person omniscient. Someone in my program wrote her thesis about it, which alerted me to its possibilities: you don't just describe people from the outside, but you can jump between their thoughts, so cool for those who want their reading experience to be the ultimate eavesdropping experience. I got even more sparked about it after listening to Louise Erdrich on tape--The Master Butchers Singing Club, to be specific, although apparently many (most?) of her books use this technique. I liked the brain-jumping so much, and the chance to describe landscape, which my characters never seem to want to do (how stubborn of them), I decided that I'd try to do it if I got the opportunity.

I have my community of people I'm going to be writing about (well, several of the 10) and, after some web browsing this morning, more ideas about the milieu. While blueberry picking, I thought more about the characters. Though I hate it when writers base characters too much on actual people, I came up with the perfect person from my past who I could use as a model for the cute, jocky but also nerdy and crunchy boy. He's just a side character, but I was having trouble figuring out what kind of person would have a conversation about the distributive property of wasabi and then ditch the person he talked about it with. Now I know! I only knew him for one summer, goodness, 18 years ago (holy moley), but he is IT.

The medium news, though, is that I should not be working on this book. There's the one I finished this semester that, yeah, I'm proud to have finished, but the end sucks so hard I think it's induced someone's lactation (not mine, but somebody's, somewhere.) Then there's the one that I'm marketing that I should be poised to do revisions on. So I shouldn't start something new. It's just--wouldn't you rather create than lactate? So would I.

I've always said there's nothing for writing like housework, and nothing like housework for writing. I never zip through a pile of dishes with as much glee as I do when I'm avoiding the glare of my laptop in the other room, and I never pound the keys as feverishly as I do when I can barely see my desk for the printouts. Apparently, there's nothing to inspire a new story like the prospect of facing down an old one. I wonder what I'll do...

I do still plan to recount the events of my NYC adventures. Like, I have to tell you JG's theory about our high school classmate's gambling problem, or her brilliant invented lyrics for "Stayin' Alive." Or about the dizzying congratulations drink Julia bought me at the Japanese cocktail bar. Soon, grasshopper, soon. Creation, not lactation, seems to be the order of the day.

Monday, June 16th

2008-06-23T13:10:00.003-05:00

If you're unnecessarily observant, you may be asking yourself, Why is this entry titled June 16th when today is the 25th? Well, I just spent a terrific week in New York and wanted to document a little bit about each day I spent there. So I will start with last Monday morning, when I got on the plane and pulled out an ARC (Advanced Reader's Copy, for those of you in the dark, as I was of late) of Julia Gillian and the Art of Knowing, a completely delightful middle-grade book by Alison McGhee, who may have graduated from my program. It's the latest in what I see as a string of middle-grade books (for ages 8-12) that pretty much focus on everyday events and feelings. When I was that age, the books aimed toward me tended to involve big events (going to camp for the first time!), or the supernatural and death (Lois Duncan--shiver!) I like the emotion-focused books (Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell Out of a Tree is another), and I know many students who hate all the issue books on the shelves ("Why can't someone have a normal family?" cried one girl in despair), but I hope these quiet books aren't too subtle for them.

Anyway, that's a long way toward sharing what I wanted to share about last Monday morning, which is the great quote from the aforementioned book that I totally relate to:

"The DOGS! PLEASE HELP YOURSELVES! sign had been laminated, so that it would last forever, through rain and mist and hail and snow. Julia Gillian loved lamination. Someday she hoped to master the art of lamination. She pictured all the things that she could then laminated if she wanted to: birthday cards, abstract portraits, excellent spelling quizzes, and all manner of signs. Lamination was a wonderful thing. Sometimes, when Julia Gillian's parents were sighing over their newspaper, she wanted to remind them that there were many good things in the world, such as lamination."

That made Monday morning terrific. For the events of Monday afternoon (seeing Alex) and evening (seeing Julia [not Gillian], tune in later today.

This Kentuckian Life

2008-05-30T14:19:00.004-05:00

So I felt a little smug this morning. I had written very little yesterday--brainstormed a lot but been fantastically unfocused on the very messy desk of the upstairs officina--so I packed up all my stuff today to head out to the nearest Heine Brothers Coffee in order to take advantage of adjacent brainwaves. (Did you know that people work better when others are thinking nearby? Psychology Today says so.) In only a few minutes outside, I felt a rush of appreciation for my life.

Instead of heading right out to the street, I turned into the backyard to check on my rose bush. It's one of those growsalot varieties (I always forget what it's called--not exactly Golden Palace of Eternal Harmony, like all the buildings in the Forbidden City, but something ringing like that)--and it's been popping out about 15 gorgeous pink blooms a week. In the effort to grow longer, stronger roses, though, I'd pruned it back a lot two weeks ago, and now it hasn't had a new bud in days! I'm very distressed. How will I live without my poppin' pink bush?

So I headed out there, and as I ducked under my clothes on the line, I saw my downstairs neighbor standing over his garden plot in cut-off sweats, holding a handful of white beans. I greeted him and we talked about the potato plants that have sprung up out of their mounds of manure; the parsley that is, in fact, parsley, and not some other mysterious thing I'd begun to speculate it might be after seeing it grow stalky and tall. ("It's a something-something," he said. "Every other year, it grows long stalks and flowers. I'm going to save the seeds and grow them next year." "Cool," I said, though I couldn't imagine why you'd need multiple plants of parsley.)

He shared some wisdom on the rose bush sitch (not encouraging: they only bud from old shoots, so even if the juice I sprinkle from my worm-compost makes it shoot out lots of new reddish stalks, it won't result in--ha--beans if I've pruned away too many old stalks.) I smelled my fleece that I'd dried on the line--dry and sunny. We both declared that we needed to get to work and off I went, walking by the man whose bloodhounds lay, amazingly, curled up next to him on the porch, and passing by tangles of honeysuckle so sweet, I just wanted to malinger and sniff.

Four years ago, I wouldn't have been able to imagine doing any of this. Worm compost on 10th and University? Clothes drying on a what-now? Appreciating chats with neighbors? Yes, friends, though I still lament aspects of This Kentucky Life not infrequently, there are some wonderful things about being here. Cheers to you all--I hope you appreciate something new about where you live this weekend.

Not my garden--you think I'm organized enough to stretch out plastic bags?--but that's the general mood of it all.

Talk to the Animals

2008-05-19T14:54:00.003-05:00

I'd like to dedicate this post to whichever member of the Vermont College faculty said, "If you write characters as animals, the editors say, 'We don't like talking animals.' If you write them as people, the editors say, 'Let's make them pigs!'" (I think it was Sharon, in case anyone cares.)

So I'm writing a picture book, and I need my character to be an animal who's blind when he's born and lives in a hole. It can't be a mole because there are proprietary issues with that species I'm unable to discuss for legal reasons. At first I thought, "meerkat," but then I learned that they live on prairies. (Little Meer on the Prairie, anyone?) Badger seemed like the only other likely suspect, so started up the internet research to find the kind of specific information that would make my classmates really impressed that I'd done my homework. ("Oh my gosh, I love the part where he eats pasta puttanesca. We had a badger who came round the house every time Mom cooked that! Did you look that up?")

After getting thoroughly sidetracked by the fact that Hufflepuff's mascot is the badger (thanks, Wikipedia), I stumbled on this post about badgers (I'd feel bad quoting somebody if this were a public blog, but since it's not, I won't get fussed). Maybe those of you who play intense video games won't find anything funny here, but I just have to laugh at all the lingo in the world this nifty writer is pretty invested in. There are so many worlds out there I know nothing about. I mean, Slirp and Loofa?

Okay, I'm in the Ice Troll lodge completing the various challenges, when two big humongous ice trolls (Slirp and Loofa) come in and start kicking the whowhatzits out of all the berserkers and my party. My deep gnome warlock/Harper agent doesn't stand a chance.

Then to make matters worse, some angry badger comes in and starts going to town on everyone--ice trolls, berserkers, my party--all he does is kill people. He refuses to listen to reason, and if I try to cower under the tables he just rips them up with that pointy badger snout of his and waddles right towards me.

And the icing (ha ha!) on the cake, as it were--I'm always caught with my pants down, having been soaking in the ice tub with Yulia, and the badger inevitably crashes through the wall right where the chest containing my gear is located, so everything goes scattering all over the place.

I deleted all my saved games except the one I made right as I settled into the ice tub, because Windows Vista said I was running out of space on my Q drive, so I'm just at a loss. I don't even have a Q drive!!!

Anyway, I suspect I need a flaming vorpal blade or something to beat this badger, and then I got those two crazed ice trolls to deal with--didn't the berserkers say they'd wiped 'em all out?

Is there a cheat code that'll turn my gnome's towel into a flaming vorpal blade? Any help appreciated, this is driving me nuts.

You know it's a great writing day when I'm posting about a gnome towel.

Guamaniac

2008-05-04T10:03:00.003-05:00

Have you heard the news? The results of yestrday's Guam caucus mirrored the split between Clinton and Obama. It took people all night to count the 400,000-odd votes, and the final count showed a 7-vote lead for Obama.

First of all, another victory for Obama: whoo!

Second of all, I think Guam has something important to tell us. Why should these candidates spend their time, energy, carbon and money traversing the continent if they're going to get the same results from one small island where it would take mere days to campaign? Guam's time has come, people! Let us take a step for conservation and invest all our democratic power in this fine island nation. A vote from Guam is a vote from all of us!

I am a Large Slice of Cake and I have no investments in Guam, except in their excellence.

From The Onion: Mead Releases New Grad-School-Lined Notebook

2008-05-01T12:25:00.003-05:00

I've been meaning to link to this for weeks. Whether you've got an MA or are on your way, Mead is creating notebooks for those who have surpassed mere college ruling. Read all about it at The Onion and have a marvy day.

Yonkapatawpha My Chain

2008-04-30T14:03:00.002-05:00

I have a complaint to register: there aren't enough good synonyms for the word YANK. Not the kind that means 'the opposite of British,' or 'Northerner' (note that those are two very appropriate synonyms, sort of), but the kind that means, to pull back in a rough manner (I made up that definition, but how different can it be?)

So many times in my novels, characters want to yank. They want to yank books from their backpack. They want to yank up their socks. They want to yank their elastics off their wrists and their ponytails through the elastic, and some of them even want to yank on each other.

Why can't there be better synonyms? Pull is wimpy dishwater. Wrench implies twisting. Tug--well, tug comes slightly close, but it's more clingy, and twitch I don't think I even have to dignify with an articulated objection.

Oh, yank, yank, yank! You are the perfect verb. Let not editors notice your omnipresence, for you express the anger of the gods. I would include an image, but everything either has to do with soldiers or sex. And that is not what I am talking about, at least not today.

Specify!

2008-04-20T10:03:00.002-05:00

This one's been bugging me since February. When Betty came to visit, we had this very enthusiastic waitress. And I keep thinking of how she said, "If you have any questions, my name is Julie."

Which just made us think,
"What time do I need to leave here to get my flight on time?"
"Julie."

"Do I need to cut my manuscript, or is it okay as is?"
"Hmm....Julie."

"Should I keep kosher for Passover this year?"
"Definitely, Julie."

I know, it's picky, but still, I can't help fixating.

Also, I just wanted to post something.

Happy 4/20, everyone!

Sam Antics

2008-04-01T10:00:00.003-05:00

Or, really, semantics.

I've been teaching playwriting at this Catholic school, and throughout the halls these kid-made signs are posted,

Notice Hurts.

Then there are pictures of teddy bears and band-aids, and occasionally phrases about friendship.

Notice hurts? How does it hurt to be noticed? Shouldn't you try to notice people if your goal is to cut down bullying and make every person feel good?

Finally I realized how it was meant: notice WHEN people are hurt.

Okay, I can get behind that. But then, isn't that a little passive? A little letting-ourselves-off-the-hook? "Oh, wow, her face is just glazed with tears. She must be really hurt. Ooh, time for snack!"

I think the whole thing is misconceived.

Happy April Fool's Day! I wish you good pranks.

~ Cake

Sometimes, you have to tell the world...

2008-02-27T10:51:00.002-05:00

Last night, I was shopping at the local health food store and talking to Betty (yeah, kind of rude to take up airtime in a small joint, but it's an occupational hazard of having a best friend.) Conversation turned to her dog, who, sadly, is having some health issues.

"I think things might be getting better," she said. "He went to the vet yesterday, and he's got a new kind of food."

At the exact same moment, the two of us burst out, "He's got a new kind of food!"

I added, "He's feelin' good from his head to his paws. He barks a little but has very few flaws. Ah ah ah ah ah--he's got a new kind of food!"

Cracking up next to the bulk foods. Occupational hazard of being so damn funny.

Click here to see Patti Labelle in all her New Attitude glory

Super-Duper Tuesday

2008-02-05T18:13:00.001-05:00

Okay, I know it's been a while, but what with getting my MFA in Creative Writing, I have no excess creative thoughts! Fortunately, my sister is there to take up the mantle. Here's what she had to say about her experience Dialing for Democrats:

I went to make calls for [Democratic candidate] last night (sorry mom-- you still love me, right?!) I did it partially because I think I like [him/her], partially becuase I need to get off my ass more, and partially becuase I feel very disenfranchised by DC's lack of/minimal delegates. It was actually pretty fun, and my favorite calls were...

1. the 95 year old man who lied and said he was 17 so he wouldn't have to talk to me

2. the man who, after I said "Hi, this is sister and I'm a volunteer..." said "Hi, I'm tom, STOP CALLING ME."

3. the woman who said she was waiting for her daughter to come home with her dead husband

4. the woman who said she had filled out her absentee ballot but wouldn't be able to mail it since she had recently broken her back and neck and couldn't leave the house. don't worry though-- she had a lot of kids and they all come and bring her food and take her to the doctor so she'll get better.

I am Large Slice of Cake and my sister authorizes the publication of this message.

If you are lucky enough to live in a state where you can cast an important vote, I hope you already did it!!

May the best phone caller win!

Narrowly Missed Perils of the Season

2007-12-20T14:08:00.000-05:00

Overheard in Target:

"Do you have a karaoke version of High School Musical?"

"Uh, no, ma'am, sorry."

Something for which it is truly worthy to praise the lord!

More Perils of the Season

2007-12-12T15:55:00.000-05:00

I was at our version of 10,000 Villages the other day, buying wrapping paper for TWIG's Chanukkah present, in a rush to get to the theatre on time. "Are you on our mailing list?" chirped the women at the register.

"Um, yes," I said. I did not want to be enrolled. I just wanted to get out of there.

"Name?"

"Cake."

"And how do you spell that?"

Without thinking, I said, "I don't know. Look, I'm in a little bit of a hurry; can you just ring me up?"

G-d help me. In the name of the Maccabees, I forgot my own.

The Latest in Green Gifts

2007-12-08T10:56:00.000-05:00

Even recycled, reusable grocery bags require resources for assemblage. Carbon offsets just entitle gas guzzlers to quell their consciences. The latest in green gifts? Something to rescue resources from being squandered. Something old-fashioned, with a new twist:

A lump of coal.

Just think: by rescuing one lump of coal from being burned, you are decreasing the amount of carbon released into the atmosphere! By displaying your lump of coal, you are making a statement that coal should remain in its natural state. Okay, maybe someone had to mine it to make its way into your friend, family member or significant other's gift pile--but whatever! It's the first step. And it's classic.

Buy someone you love the green-grey gift of a lump of coal today! And have a merry, merry, merrry Christmas.

Thankful for La Sis

2007-11-20T16:03:00.000-05:00

In honor of Thanksgiving, I will say:

I am oh so grateful for my sister, who entertained me with the following email exchange during her flight this morning:

Subject: I'm such a bitch but...

We're grounded on the runway and the woman behind me is calling everyone she
knows to tell them. Lady, do you really think they care that much?!

Shoot-- now I'm going straight to hell for being so mean!!

Can't wait to see you later!
me

I replied...

You made me laugh out loud again! If you're going to hell, I'll be right
there by your side--probably complaining about the people on line calling on
their cell phones. "Can you believe I'm in hell? This is so unfair! What
did I ever do?"

She, in turn...

The guy next to me thinks that she is "paid by the word" or that "there's no
one on the other end of the line". He most definitely going to hell before
me, since he's talking smack about her to the rest of us-- at least I have
the dignity to silently e-mail you about it...

I told her this:
(NB: We recently discovered that we can't STAND it when my mom puts down the cell phone and then spends a full minute going, "Wait a minute! Don't go away! I'm still here! Don't go away!" &c. We also give her a themed stocking every year--things like Martha Stewart or The Apprentice--whatever she's obsessed with that year.)

Oh my gosh! I'm seriously rocking back and forth here in my chair, chuckling and chuckling. Who IS this guy next to you? And does the woman know he's talking about her? Or is she too worried about contacting all her friends? Has she stopped yet?

And you, yes, ever the dignified one. Mom would be a nightmare, muttering and muttering. Not that I want to speculate on who's going to hell in what order, but--if patience is one of the things that keeps you out, well, Mom will have a nice view toward the front of the line!

"Hold on--waitaminute! Waitaminute! Don't go away. I'm here! I'm here!
Don't go away!" Maybe that should be her stocking theme this year!

Okay, I just boosted myself WAY the hell to the front of the line. Uh-oh!

Now Mand said...

I'm now the weirdo on the plane who's laughing silently, but out loud.

The woman is still chatting and just told a friend that we still haven't taken off. NO KIDDING-- would you be on the phone if we had?! Now a new chatter has spring up in front of us too-- this is really just too much.

Oh, this poor guy next to me-- he's in the middle seat, he now has TWO chatters to listen to, and he has to feel the vibrations of my seat shaking because I'm laughing so hard...

How can one be anything but overwhelmed with gratitude for having such a fun gal in the fam?

I love you, Mand!

And I love the rest of you, too! Happy Thanksgiving!

-- Cake

Switching Over the Drawers

2007-11-01T21:36:00.000-05:00

Not because it's November, but because it's finally colder than t-shirt weather, it's time to switch over my drawers. Do the rest of you store summer and winter clothes in an attic or closet during the off-season? Either I don't have that much space (not currently true!) or I just have a lot of clothes (potentially true! Though why can I never find anything to wear?)--but I'm a clothing changeover gal. It always takes a while to switch over the drawers, because it involves assessing which clothes to keep and which to chuck; which to the Salvation Army and which are too insultingly holey or stained even to donate. Today's changeover was made more interesting by my documenting the process, so here's what I wrote...

1) Just found the Clarks I bought on sale last year at Broadway shoes! They're a little sleeker than the Dykey Danskos. But are they as supportive? And wait, what's this--there's a giant gap in the back? Are they too big? Noo! Not my on-sale Clarks. Well, I'll wear them as I do this little dance of switchover and see how I fare.

1.5) We seem to have lots of flies.

2) Do I really need five pairs of black tights? I know what some of you would say, but I'm thinking no. And I certainly don't need navy ones. Blarg!

3) Two pairs of silver tights, left over from my Dad's wedding, the only occasion for which I have gotten drunk at 10:30 in the morning. This is uncharacteristic of me, I know, but I needed something to help me walk him down the aisle (arg!) with a smile. (That, and singing, "Hey now, you're a rock star" in my head. Feel free to use this strategy if your father has the misfortune to wear a woman who wore lipliner and push-up bras well past their time of even dubious fashionability.) So chuck the tights! Well, the ones that are too silvery. Well, maybe. I may need them for a Halloween costume. Even if they're always too small. Hm. No decision on this yet.

4) Mismatching socks? WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER?!

5) A black sweater from Banana Republic that I totally forgot I had bought. Did I order it? Anyway, its cousin in moss green linted up after about a day! It was embarrassing. I was shedding everywhere. Though blackie here shows no signs of doing same, one wonders. I'll wear it for a few minutes.

6) Blue and white striped PJ bottoms with a non-working drawstring. But Suzy T (awesome former dad's girlfriend) has similar ones, and I always think of her. Hmm. Keeping them.

7) A pair of brown cigarette pants I wore all the time at my first job. They used to look hot. Now they look stretched out. Toss 'em!

8) A magenta shirt I used to think of as My New Shirt, but now I think, I've had that shirt all the time since I moved here. I guess it's not new anymore!

9) Brown striped wool pants that I probably got shortened too much. They have odd leg-width. However, they're only 2 years new, and more professional than anything else I 've found, so I think I'll keep 'em. Maybe have to run 'em by the TWIG advisory committee, though. She's got a discerning eye.

10) Not an item, but a fact: probably one should store one's pants hung. Now mine are all wrinkled. Anyone got a steamer?

I'm back, folks!

~ Cake

Closed for Construction

2007-09-14T16:18:00.001-05:00