giovedì, luglio 31, 2003
And People Say Women are Confusing?
My husband, who reads this blog, has informed me that, even though he doesn't actually care that I won't wear a thong, it was embarrassing for him when I publicly announced that I (his wife) wouldn't wear a thong, even though nobody knows who he is. Does the illusion of wifely thong-wearing bear directly on a man's honor?
My husband, who reads this blog, has informed me that, even though he doesn't actually care that I won't wear a thong, it was embarrassing for him when I publicly announced that I (his wife) wouldn't wear a thong, even though nobody knows who he is. Does the illusion of wifely thong-wearing bear directly on a man's honor?
I did win something recently!
*and*
Confessions of a Thong Winner
Xoloitzquintle's mention of the teddy bear (see explanation in the previous post) reminded me that I did win something recently! I won the A Girl Named Bob 50,000th visitor prize (May 28)! Which did include a very cute A Girl Named Bob teddy bear:
And also a very stylish A Girl Named Bob thong:
Which brings me to my confession: I have never understood the appeal of wearing a thong. As you will notice, the prize thong is adorning my wall rather than my crack. I just don’t like that perma-wedgie feeling!
Am I missing something?
*and*
Confessions of a Thong Winner
Xoloitzquintle's mention of the teddy bear (see explanation in the previous post) reminded me that I did win something recently! I won the A Girl Named Bob 50,000th visitor prize (May 28)! Which did include a very cute A Girl Named Bob teddy bear:
And also a very stylish A Girl Named Bob thong:
Which brings me to my confession: I have never understood the appeal of wearing a thong. As you will notice, the prize thong is adorning my wall rather than my crack. I just don’t like that perma-wedgie feeling!
Am I missing something?
The National Science Foundation teddy bear?
A few years ago, I learned that I had been awarded “honorable mention” two years in a row for a graduate fellowship from the NSF. (The honorable mention yesterday was something else). This means that, instead of getting 3 years of tuition paid and a $17,000+-a-year stipend, I got a (proverbial) pat on the back. I found this frustrating to say the least.
When I called my dad to tell him about it, he said that in his opinion, for honorable mention they should at least have given me an NSF teddy bear.
A few years ago, I learned that I had been awarded “honorable mention” two years in a row for a graduate fellowship from the NSF. (The honorable mention yesterday was something else). This means that, instead of getting 3 years of tuition paid and a $17,000+-a-year stipend, I got a (proverbial) pat on the back. I found this frustrating to say the least.
When I called my dad to tell him about it, he said that in his opinion, for honorable mention they should at least have given me an NSF teddy bear.
mercoledì, luglio 30, 2003
Honorable Mention Girl
Risking being ungrateful, I just wonder why I have to always get honorable mention. Is it so wrong to want to actually win something rather than being perennial second best?
On the screen now: Found magazine. You won't believe some of the things people drop. Like this one.
Risking being ungrateful, I just wonder why I have to always get honorable mention. Is it so wrong to want to actually win something rather than being perennial second best?
On the screen now: Found magazine. You won't believe some of the things people drop. Like this one.
Dear Ms "Brown" Ass,
Yes, I do understand that it is fashionable to wear tiny little workout shorts with the name of your school across the butt. But must you really do this if your school is named "Brown"? Seeing brown displayed across your ass calls up unpleasant associations, don't you think?
On the Screen: Sissy Squad. A cross between Powerpuff Girls and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
Yes, I do understand that it is fashionable to wear tiny little workout shorts with the name of your school across the butt. But must you really do this if your school is named "Brown"? Seeing brown displayed across your ass calls up unpleasant associations, don't you think?
On the Screen: Sissy Squad. A cross between Powerpuff Girls and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
martedì, luglio 29, 2003
A Beautiful Providence Evening
Starting with Shakespeare in Waterplace Park:
Then something to eat at Nordstrom Café, overlooking the city. Finally, WaterFire:
WaterFire has become a Providence tradition. There are wood-filled metal receptacles placed along the river, which are lit to produce a very distinctive effect. Boats full of people dressed all in black refill the fuel, “hidden” like the Bunraku puppeteer.
Starting with Shakespeare in Waterplace Park:
Then something to eat at Nordstrom Café, overlooking the city. Finally, WaterFire:
WaterFire has become a Providence tradition. There are wood-filled metal receptacles placed along the river, which are lit to produce a very distinctive effect. Boats full of people dressed all in black refill the fuel, “hidden” like the Bunraku puppeteer.
The Woes of Wide Feet
After watching a few old episodes of Sex in the City on DVD, I am having a serious case of shoe envy. What makes it worse is that I have a condition known as "wide feet." So even if I could afford those Manolo Blahniks or Jimmy Choos, I still couldn't cram my feet into them. (Thank you Stuart Weitzman for leaving me a few choices to drool over).
After watching a few old episodes of Sex in the City on DVD, I am having a serious case of shoe envy. What makes it worse is that I have a condition known as "wide feet." So even if I could afford those Manolo Blahniks or Jimmy Choos, I still couldn't cram my feet into them. (Thank you Stuart Weitzman for leaving me a few choices to drool over).
lunedì, luglio 28, 2003
The Corn Striptease!
Run your mouse over the “Corn Smut” logo above to see the Corn Striptease. This will not be working correctly if you have an old browser, and I have no idea about on the Mac!
Did it work?
Run your mouse over the “Corn Smut” logo above to see the Corn Striptease. This will not be working correctly if you have an old browser, and I have no idea about on the Mac!
Did it work?
sabato, luglio 26, 2003
I Love My Dysfunctional Dog
It is clear that my dog had a traumatic puppyhood. When we got him from the rescue league, he was one and a half. His file said that his previous owners, a teenage girl and her grandmother, gave him up because he had too much energy and they could not take care of him. Apparently, they kept him in a crate all day and all night, with only a couple of trips outside to do his business. So, being a naturally high-energy dog, it is no surprise that he would have lots of extra energy during his daily 20 minutes outside of the crate. The grandmother was “frightened” of him with all his energy.
There is some evidence to suggest, though, that the grandmother wasn’t the poor, frightened old lady that she described to the shelter intake people. Our dog is scared of strangers. Particularly old people. And particularly when people put their hands near his head. Did she used to hit him on the head? It would seem so.
Unfortunately, as may also happen for people with traumatic pasts, this results in a dysfunctional relationship to the current-day world. When he is afraid, rather than flopping over in a submissive heap, he snarls and growls and bears his teeth. So whenever someone unfamiliar comes to pet him, he snaps at them. People who have learned that the correct way to meet a new dog is to offer their hand for him to sniff are in for a surprise. He is actually quite startling in this state. First, because he isn’t a particularly small dog, and he has pretty big teeth. Second, because he looks like a big beagle, and most of the time he has an “I’m an innocent sweet puppy!” look. The instantaneous transformation from “I’m an innocent sweet puppy!” to “I’m gonna rip your throat out!” is an unexpected one.
Not that he bites anyone. It is all an act performed by a frightened dog. But as he gets older, he also seems to be getting more shy and nervous around strangers, so we have to be very careful about where we take him. It is really sad because he loves to run around and play, but we can’t take him to do that where there are crowds.
"I’m an innocent sweet puppy!"
Something Fishy in the Desert
The death of New Mexico oilman Colin McMillan, the nominee for Navy Secretary, has officially been ruled a suicide. I had originally found his nomination to be fishy because, as someone who grew up in New Mexico, I can personally attest to the fact that there is no ocean for hundreds of miles. But now, in conjunction with other high profile suicides, it is beginning to look curiouser and curiouser.
It is clear that my dog had a traumatic puppyhood. When we got him from the rescue league, he was one and a half. His file said that his previous owners, a teenage girl and her grandmother, gave him up because he had too much energy and they could not take care of him. Apparently, they kept him in a crate all day and all night, with only a couple of trips outside to do his business. So, being a naturally high-energy dog, it is no surprise that he would have lots of extra energy during his daily 20 minutes outside of the crate. The grandmother was “frightened” of him with all his energy.
There is some evidence to suggest, though, that the grandmother wasn’t the poor, frightened old lady that she described to the shelter intake people. Our dog is scared of strangers. Particularly old people. And particularly when people put their hands near his head. Did she used to hit him on the head? It would seem so.
Unfortunately, as may also happen for people with traumatic pasts, this results in a dysfunctional relationship to the current-day world. When he is afraid, rather than flopping over in a submissive heap, he snarls and growls and bears his teeth. So whenever someone unfamiliar comes to pet him, he snaps at them. People who have learned that the correct way to meet a new dog is to offer their hand for him to sniff are in for a surprise. He is actually quite startling in this state. First, because he isn’t a particularly small dog, and he has pretty big teeth. Second, because he looks like a big beagle, and most of the time he has an “I’m an innocent sweet puppy!” look. The instantaneous transformation from “I’m an innocent sweet puppy!” to “I’m gonna rip your throat out!” is an unexpected one.
Not that he bites anyone. It is all an act performed by a frightened dog. But as he gets older, he also seems to be getting more shy and nervous around strangers, so we have to be very careful about where we take him. It is really sad because he loves to run around and play, but we can’t take him to do that where there are crowds.
"I’m an innocent sweet puppy!"
Something Fishy in the Desert
The death of New Mexico oilman Colin McMillan, the nominee for Navy Secretary, has officially been ruled a suicide. I had originally found his nomination to be fishy because, as someone who grew up in New Mexico, I can personally attest to the fact that there is no ocean for hundreds of miles. But now, in conjunction with other high profile suicides, it is beginning to look curiouser and curiouser.
venerdì, luglio 25, 2003
Boston links of the day: Citgo Sign Facts. Then, download the screen saver here. Then, if you also went to BU, read this book.
giovedì, luglio 24, 2003
Providence link of the day: Save Buddy!
Watch that Foot!
I have a class called “cardio kickboxing,” which is basically aerobics with a kickboxing theme to keep it more interesting. Most of the people in the class are there just to work out, but there is this one student who is sooooo into it. She really really looks like she wants to hit someone. Some aggressions to get out, maybe? I’m honestly afraid to stand next to her when we do the kicks.
Nerdy Joys
Waiting for Uru to finally come out, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia for those old Infocom text-based adventure games that I loved as a child. I have the Zork Anthology already, but I was thinking about how great it would be to have all of them. Looking for The Masterpieces of Infocom, I discovered that the only copies available for purchase were “unopened” and “collectors editions” for up to $150. Who wants to buy something for that price from ebay just to stare at the unopened cellophane and never play them!!! Well, someone probably does, but not me. So instead, for those of you who understand the nerdy joys of Infocom playing, download them all here, and get the original documentation here.
Watch that Foot!
I have a class called “cardio kickboxing,” which is basically aerobics with a kickboxing theme to keep it more interesting. Most of the people in the class are there just to work out, but there is this one student who is sooooo into it. She really really looks like she wants to hit someone. Some aggressions to get out, maybe? I’m honestly afraid to stand next to her when we do the kicks.
Nerdy Joys
Waiting for Uru to finally come out, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia for those old Infocom text-based adventure games that I loved as a child. I have the Zork Anthology already, but I was thinking about how great it would be to have all of them. Looking for The Masterpieces of Infocom, I discovered that the only copies available for purchase were “unopened” and “collectors editions” for up to $150. Who wants to buy something for that price from ebay just to stare at the unopened cellophane and never play them!!! Well, someone probably does, but not me. So instead, for those of you who understand the nerdy joys of Infocom playing, download them all here, and get the original documentation here.
Watching
I have been thinking lately about Big Brother, both in Orwell’s classic and in the TV shows. What would Orwell think about the number of people who want to be on camera 24 hours per day? I was discussing this with someone I met in Manchester after noticing the number of CCTV cameras there. She told me that there are the most cameras of that type per capita in Britain. She also said that the reality shows work to get us used to the idea of being watched. I think she has a good point – they are subtly desensitizing. It also calls up the memory of the (now less popular) webcams (like the infamous jennicam), and yes, the blog. Is this how our privacy will ultimately be lost – by giving it away voluntarily, bit by bit?
I have been thinking lately about Big Brother, both in Orwell’s classic and in the TV shows. What would Orwell think about the number of people who want to be on camera 24 hours per day? I was discussing this with someone I met in Manchester after noticing the number of CCTV cameras there. She told me that there are the most cameras of that type per capita in Britain. She also said that the reality shows work to get us used to the idea of being watched. I think she has a good point – they are subtly desensitizing. It also calls up the memory of the (now less popular) webcams (like the infamous jennicam), and yes, the blog. Is this how our privacy will ultimately be lost – by giving it away voluntarily, bit by bit?
mercoledì, luglio 23, 2003
Corn Smut = Forbidden
Not wanting to disappoint Sarah in her requests for vegetable porn, I went out in search of flagrant veggie smuttiness. So of course I went to the local supermarket.
My husband, who has been a very good sport with this blog thing so far, was not particularly pleased when I told him that I planned to take photographs of the vegetables. He went off to hide in the organic cereal section as I went towards the produce. And what a scene! Apples and oranges casually touching skin to skin! Rows and rows of bananas, all pointing upward! Ooooooh, the loose morals of these modern day fruits and veggies! Scandalous!
To be polite, I went up to the produce employee and said that I was doing an art project and could I take a few pictures of the vegetables? He said no. Picture taking and video cameras are not allowed. Store policy. I would have to talk to the manager. I really didn’t want to talk to the manager, so I said never mind, forget it, I won’t take any pictures. But may I just ask out of curiosity why pictures aren’t allowed? He blushed. I don’t know, he said, but I think it has something to do with our competitors. (Huh?)
I sulked over to the organic cereals. “They won’t let me take pictures!” I whined. Husband laughed at me in an I-told-you-so way (completely justified on his part). But I know the truth of it all. Why did the produce man blush? What are they hiding from the competitors? It’s all because they know their vegetables are pornographic, and they don’t want to share for free!
Vegetarian Spam
To: unsuspecting@wherever.com
Subject: CORN SM*T!!!!!!!! Raw!!! Shucked and Husked!!!!
From: Cornmonger@smutsmut.com
Not wanting to disappoint Sarah in her requests for vegetable porn, I went out in search of flagrant veggie smuttiness. So of course I went to the local supermarket.
My husband, who has been a very good sport with this blog thing so far, was not particularly pleased when I told him that I planned to take photographs of the vegetables. He went off to hide in the organic cereal section as I went towards the produce. And what a scene! Apples and oranges casually touching skin to skin! Rows and rows of bananas, all pointing upward! Ooooooh, the loose morals of these modern day fruits and veggies! Scandalous!
To be polite, I went up to the produce employee and said that I was doing an art project and could I take a few pictures of the vegetables? He said no. Picture taking and video cameras are not allowed. Store policy. I would have to talk to the manager. I really didn’t want to talk to the manager, so I said never mind, forget it, I won’t take any pictures. But may I just ask out of curiosity why pictures aren’t allowed? He blushed. I don’t know, he said, but I think it has something to do with our competitors. (Huh?)
I sulked over to the organic cereals. “They won’t let me take pictures!” I whined. Husband laughed at me in an I-told-you-so way (completely justified on his part). But I know the truth of it all. Why did the produce man blush? What are they hiding from the competitors? It’s all because they know their vegetables are pornographic, and they don’t want to share for free!
Vegetarian Spam
To: unsuspecting@wherever.com
Subject: CORN SM*T!!!!!!!! Raw!!! Shucked and Husked!!!!
From: Cornmonger@smutsmut.com
FRESH VEGETABLES UNCOVERED!!!!!! Special for you!!!!!!!!!! Limited time only!!!!!! Watch them go bad before your eyes!!!!!!!
martedì, luglio 22, 2003
Thank you
A thank you for everyone who wrote comments (especially the very prolific commenter Texas T-Bone)! It is greatly appreciated to have been saved from the empty comment box blues.
A thank you for everyone who wrote comments (especially the very prolific commenter Texas T-Bone)! It is greatly appreciated to have been saved from the empty comment box blues.
The Wiles of Noisy Saab Bitch
We have nicknamed one of our neighbors “Noisy Saab Bitch” because she has one of the noisiest cars I have ever heard. When she starts it up, it sounds like a pack of Hell’s Angels are coming. And it is not as if they don’t have the money to fix it. It is a convertible with personalized plates, and Mr. Saab Bitch has a Land Rover. Their college-age daughter has a shiny new orange BMW, also with personalized plates.
There are other reasons not to like these people. Mrs. Saab has been known to yell at people for parking (in the public street) near her house. Mr. Saab can be seen in autumn with his leaf blower, blowing the leaves directly into the yard next door. Additionally, in the winter she will start that car up early in the morning and let it run for 15 minutes before she leaves – it wakes me up even though the bedroom is at the other side of the house. She will run it for 15 minutes to drive two blocks to the convenience store and then come back 5 minutes later! An Italian friend suggested going late at night and building a brick wall across their driveway for a nice surprise.
A few days ago, my husband and I were sitting on the porch when I noticed she had left all the windows down in the Saab. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone spilled a milk shake in her car?” I asked (yes I was kidding). “You know, she said hi to me while you were gone,” he said, “she even asked how I was.”
I was aghast. After two years of not acknowledging our existence, she says hi once, and now all of a sudden, what? “You don’t like her now, do you?” I asked, alarmed. “Well, her car is still noisy… Just because you like someone doesn’t mean you have to like her car…” Then, yesterday Husband started saying: you know, they (the Saab Bitch family) have such nice window boxes! What nice red flowers! This made me feel inadequate because I tried to plant lavender in my window box and it didn’t work.
What does it all mean?
We have nicknamed one of our neighbors “Noisy Saab Bitch” because she has one of the noisiest cars I have ever heard. When she starts it up, it sounds like a pack of Hell’s Angels are coming. And it is not as if they don’t have the money to fix it. It is a convertible with personalized plates, and Mr. Saab Bitch has a Land Rover. Their college-age daughter has a shiny new orange BMW, also with personalized plates.
There are other reasons not to like these people. Mrs. Saab has been known to yell at people for parking (in the public street) near her house. Mr. Saab can be seen in autumn with his leaf blower, blowing the leaves directly into the yard next door. Additionally, in the winter she will start that car up early in the morning and let it run for 15 minutes before she leaves – it wakes me up even though the bedroom is at the other side of the house. She will run it for 15 minutes to drive two blocks to the convenience store and then come back 5 minutes later! An Italian friend suggested going late at night and building a brick wall across their driveway for a nice surprise.
A few days ago, my husband and I were sitting on the porch when I noticed she had left all the windows down in the Saab. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone spilled a milk shake in her car?” I asked (yes I was kidding). “You know, she said hi to me while you were gone,” he said, “she even asked how I was.”
I was aghast. After two years of not acknowledging our existence, she says hi once, and now all of a sudden, what? “You don’t like her now, do you?” I asked, alarmed. “Well, her car is still noisy… Just because you like someone doesn’t mean you have to like her car…” Then, yesterday Husband started saying: you know, they (the Saab Bitch family) have such nice window boxes! What nice red flowers! This made me feel inadequate because I tried to plant lavender in my window box and it didn’t work.
What does it all mean?
lunedì, luglio 21, 2003
Neti Potter
A few months ago, I had a bad sinus infection. After many days of antibiotic, I got myself a Neti Pot to help with ongoing congestion. This is a device, looking like a teapot with long spout, that is filled with warm salt water. The goal is to place the spout in one nostril and then tilt your head until the water runs through and out the other side. This is supposed to clear out bad stuff from the sinuses. You can watch a Norwegian woman demonstrate this very technique! (No, don’t worry, it’s not nasal porn).
The first few times I tried this, I got that inhaled-the-swimming-pool feeling. After a few days, I was doing a little better, only suffocating a tiny bit. Then one day, about five hours after the Neti wash, I was crouching down to look at the bottom bookshelf when whoosh! a gush a water shot out of my nose and onto my knee and the floor. It had been in my head for five hours and I hadn’t even noticed. That’s when I stopped with the Neti Pot experiment.
A few weeks ago, I had another sinus infection, and now I am thinking of trying out the Neti once again. I just need to remember not to use it before a job interview.
A few months ago, I had a bad sinus infection. After many days of antibiotic, I got myself a Neti Pot to help with ongoing congestion. This is a device, looking like a teapot with long spout, that is filled with warm salt water. The goal is to place the spout in one nostril and then tilt your head until the water runs through and out the other side. This is supposed to clear out bad stuff from the sinuses. You can watch a Norwegian woman demonstrate this very technique! (No, don’t worry, it’s not nasal porn).
The first few times I tried this, I got that inhaled-the-swimming-pool feeling. After a few days, I was doing a little better, only suffocating a tiny bit. Then one day, about five hours after the Neti wash, I was crouching down to look at the bottom bookshelf when whoosh! a gush a water shot out of my nose and onto my knee and the floor. It had been in my head for five hours and I hadn’t even noticed. That’s when I stopped with the Neti Pot experiment.
A few weeks ago, I had another sinus infection, and now I am thinking of trying out the Neti once again. I just need to remember not to use it before a job interview.
domenica, luglio 20, 2003
The joys of air travel
--Disneyland-length security lines. But then the flight isn’t as fun or as brief as Space Mountain.
--The requisite screeching child. In this case it was “Madison,” as in “Madison, stop hitting mommy in the face! It isn’t funny anymore!”
-- Of course there is also some mystery and intrigue. Which line should I stand in? Do I really have to take off my shoes? Will I have to spend the rest of my life here in the airport?
The flight from Manchester to Philadelphia was fine, but then I had a 5-hour layover. I knew there would be a problem when the flight before mine was an hour and a half late, resulting in the screen flashing Indianapolis 5:50 and Providence 5:55. It seemed unlikely that both planes would be able to take off from the same gate five minutes apart, yet the agents behind the booth insisted crankily that we would have to wait and see. In the meantime, two flights full of people were crammed into the seating area of one gate.
It looked like a refugee camp, with people huddled into corners with all of their belongings and children, eating little bits of salty food and looking sadly out the window. I was sitting on the floor playing with my hair elastic when I noticed that I had a perfect shot at the head of the particularly cranky woman behind the desk. (I have always been good at accurate rubber-band-shooting). But I didn’t do it. I was afraid that if I did, the security would descend upon me immediately and take me off to Guantanamo.
Finally, they announced that we would be leaving from another gate down the hall, and everyone moved en masse over there to wait, and wait, and wait. Then we got on the plane and waited there. The crew kept apologizing for everything, sorry for this delay, now we have to wait for the baggage to come to the new gate. Sorry for this delay, now we have to wait for everyone else to take off first. It was as if they had never had this happen before. It is never a good sign when a flight of “34 minutes flying time” takes off over two hours behind schedule.
England
Was fun, though my time in Manchester in no way resembled 24-hour party people. I was at an academic conference listening to papers all the time.
But where else will you find a pork and pickle pie?
I could never get used to the traffic on the other side of the road. I would frequently get completely confused while waiting to cross the street. One time, when I looked at my watch, I forgot which way the hands were supposed to go around.
--Disneyland-length security lines. But then the flight isn’t as fun or as brief as Space Mountain.
--The requisite screeching child. In this case it was “Madison,” as in “Madison, stop hitting mommy in the face! It isn’t funny anymore!”
-- Of course there is also some mystery and intrigue. Which line should I stand in? Do I really have to take off my shoes? Will I have to spend the rest of my life here in the airport?
The flight from Manchester to Philadelphia was fine, but then I had a 5-hour layover. I knew there would be a problem when the flight before mine was an hour and a half late, resulting in the screen flashing Indianapolis 5:50 and Providence 5:55. It seemed unlikely that both planes would be able to take off from the same gate five minutes apart, yet the agents behind the booth insisted crankily that we would have to wait and see. In the meantime, two flights full of people were crammed into the seating area of one gate.
It looked like a refugee camp, with people huddled into corners with all of their belongings and children, eating little bits of salty food and looking sadly out the window. I was sitting on the floor playing with my hair elastic when I noticed that I had a perfect shot at the head of the particularly cranky woman behind the desk. (I have always been good at accurate rubber-band-shooting). But I didn’t do it. I was afraid that if I did, the security would descend upon me immediately and take me off to Guantanamo.
Finally, they announced that we would be leaving from another gate down the hall, and everyone moved en masse over there to wait, and wait, and wait. Then we got on the plane and waited there. The crew kept apologizing for everything, sorry for this delay, now we have to wait for the baggage to come to the new gate. Sorry for this delay, now we have to wait for everyone else to take off first. It was as if they had never had this happen before. It is never a good sign when a flight of “34 minutes flying time” takes off over two hours behind schedule.
England
Was fun, though my time in Manchester in no way resembled 24-hour party people. I was at an academic conference listening to papers all the time.
But where else will you find a pork and pickle pie?
I could never get used to the traffic on the other side of the road. I would frequently get completely confused while waiting to cross the street. One time, when I looked at my watch, I forgot which way the hands were supposed to go around.
martedì, luglio 08, 2003
One Quick Post Before I Go...
I haven't even started yet, and I'm already addicted.
Sending advance copies of books to popular bloggers is a genius marketing idea. After reading reviews from Bob and Fish, I went out to buy The Parker Grey Show. I would never have known about this book otherwise - it wasn't on the new fiction table, and I had to search around for it. And yes, it was a good book. I'm glad I got it.
On a similar note, I would like to recomment a post-Bridget-Jones selection of my own: Talking to Addison by Jenny Colgan. I did get this one free, yes, but not an advance copy. I got it as a freebie with a magazine last year in England - it is common there to get free paperbacks with a magazine (I wish we had that here as well!). Maybe this time I can get some more.
On the Screen: Monster Garage. I want to learn how to weld just so I can go on this show!
lunedì, luglio 07, 2003
Not Quite Yet
I have been an avid blog-reader for a year and a half, and I have been thinking of starting a blog for a while, but then I never did. So now I am *almost* ready to start. The almost is because I will be in Manchester, England until the 18th. When I get back, then hopefully I will actually be ready to start.
