For some reason, I feel like using stock photos. To decorate. For fun.
I hate it—HATE it—when I let it go this long without updating. I feel such pressure to write, like I have to tell you everything that’s happened, and of course the more I put it off the more guilty I feel. That pile of crossword puzzles upstairs is gnawing at me. I actually really like posting crossword puzzles, but for some reason I’m so daunted by the fact I now have six waiting.
This was triggered by my seeing, on the edge of my seat, a pencil shaving. How did this happen? Who was sharpening a pencil while they rode the subway, and why? Was it a sketch artist? An editor? A child? Who else uses wooden pencils in this day and age, and, further, who carries a pencil sharpener with them? What were they writing, or drawing, that they needed a sharp point right then, right there on the Orange Line?
Another thing that shows up disproportionately often is children’s play jewelry. I understand that kids lose things, and that maybe a little girl’s tiny bracelet or giant adjustable plastic ring is the sort of thing a parent wouldn’t notice missing or bother to pick up. But I see these things every couple of weeks. The same night as the pencil shaving, there was a pink beaded bracelet in the center of the aisle. Last time it was a silver plastic ring under a seat. If a little girl cared enough to “dress up” to go to the zoo or the Mall or the mall or the dinosaur museum or daycare or Mommy’s office (wherever the train takes them), she must have been heartbroken to realize her pretty jewelry was suddenly gone, left to adorn an inch-wide swath of 1970s orange carpeting.
I’ve discovered a great food. It’s called PotatOh! These are potatoes wrapped in plastic. I know, it’s stupid, why not just buy a regular potato, but listen. They’re the same price. You don’t have to wash them. And the plastic is really tight, so the potatoes stay fresh longer and don’t get eyes growing out of them. You put the whole thing, plastic and all, in the microwave (you don’t even stab holes with a fork), and it comes out seven minutes later perfectly baked. They have sweet potatoes too.
Another great food is what Trader Joe’s calls “Mediterranean cheese style yogurt.” This shit is awesome. I was looking at yogurt, having been led to believe it’s better for you than sour cream, which is a staple of my tastes. Unfortunately this stuff, which is thicker than sour cream and tastes the same, only more so, is in fact worse. But it’s so good.
My refrigerator broke. I didn’t happen to open it for a couple of days, then one day I did, and the freezer was completely thawed. Chicken juice and melted coffee ice cream everywhere. The landlord was lightning-fast to replace it, and I was only a little miffed that they threw away the old one part and parcel, including everything that was inside. They did save my plastic iced-tea pitcher, but they threw away plenty of food that would have been salvageable. I mourn mostly the half case of perfectly good Diet Coke in the crisper drawer.
They warned me the new fridge wouldn’t be brand new, just moved from a vacant apartment, but it is in fact as close to brand new as makes no difference. It has better door shelves and two drawers instead of one, and of course it’s clean. It’s also louder than the old one, but I’ll get used to that.
I’ve been working my ass off on the WDI. It’s sort of like I was still working at CDI. The guilt and stress of doing it while at work, and having to hide that I am, and apparently not doing it as fast as Meta and Chris need, is really getting to me.
Holy crap, Slobodan Milosevic just died in prison. I wonder if he killed himself somehow.