Nedstat Basic - Free web site statistics
Personal homepage website counter
Free counter The Many Names of Paradise <$BlogRSDUrl$>

Friday, January 23, 2004

The Plan

Having negotiated with the emotional terrorists holding Dante hostage (a thing that would be sternly frowned upon if I were President), I hope to soon have my precious little puppy back underfoot within the next month.

Here's how it's going to go down:

1. I will scour Washington, Maryland, and Virginia for a suitable Pembroke Welsh Corgi breeder of sufficient repute, ask the appropriate questions, tender the appropriate cash, and bring back to my apartment a squirming, un-housebroken bundle of joy.

(Progress Status: Due to the unprecedented demand for Corgis this season, acquiring a puppy is becoming harder than originally anticipated. It broke my heart that the woman I spoke to today had sold her last one yesterday, as he was descended from the Windsor line. Not that you care.)

2. I will hop on the next weekend plane to Houston for a three-day détente during which I will deliver the goods.

3. At the end of these three days, I will return to Washington with a disgruntled puppy who has no doubt developed a case of Stockholm syndrome and is no longer getting a slice of bacon every morning.

4. I will apologize profusely.

5. Dante (and consequently I) will never return to Houston.

Thursday, January 22, 2004

So today, I went back to Georgetown, back through the thronging lines of protesters and clots of snotty Presidential classroomers. Somehow it's only crossing through the city that I come into contact with the unwanted hordes. Generally they have better sense and little desire to seek out the federal ghetto of my workday or the cobblestoned maze of my ex-home. (M Street, of course, being the notable exception-- and really, who wouldn't brave the exploding manhole covers and the over-scented masses for the shopping? Sigh.)

But I digress.

Really, what I mean to say is that it's been a (relatively) long time since I've set foot in that unholy place, but it's starting to look a little better, develop a touch of that maternal glow that makes it seem slightly less sinister, somehow.
I might even be tempted to yield to their ridiculously transparent schemes to get me to donate someday.
But God help them if some SFS freshman makes the call. I haven't forgiven that much yet.

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

For a colorful and surprisingly accurate play by play of the State of the Union address,
I refer you here.
(Yet another sign of the impending Apocalypse...)
A new, tastier era dawns in economics...

What about the Venti Non-Fat Chai index?

I feel marginalized.

Monday, January 19, 2004

What I shall most likely be doing tomorrow night...

Friday, January 16, 2004

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Thursday, January 15, 2004

Today's Word of the Day:

serendipity \ser-uhn-DIP-uh-tee\, noun:
The faculty or phenomenon of making fortunate accidental

The word serendipity was formed by English author Horace
Walpole (1717-1797) from Serendip (also Serendib), an old name
for Sri Lanka, in reference to a Persian tale, The Three
Princes of Serendip, whose heroes "discovered, quite
unexpectedly, great and wonderful good in the most unlikely of
situations, places and people.

Aren't words grand? ::happy sigh::

Wednesday, January 14, 2004

More Adventures of Dante in Sugar Land

So today, Dante is going to the puppy salon.

Apparently, whilst out traipsing through the brushy Texas fields, Dante managed to locate, in true canine form, the smelliest, nastiest, most fetid puddle of god-knows-what in all of Sugar Land. He then proceeds to roll in it, his little (once) white paws waving in the air with malicious glee. My mother, she of the ultra-sensitive olfactory sense, realises at once that something is amiss, and attempts to rub him down with wet towels and failing that douse him in eau de cologne. Nothing works. That night, Dante decides to sleep in her closet, on top of one of her favorite sweaters. Today, she calls me to ask if he's allergic to conditioner and regale me with tales of his nonsense with a tone of voice equivalent to Oh you scamp! Aren't your little adventures adorable?

It seems that I have a lot to learn from young master Dante.

Tuesday, January 13, 2004

My parents are intelligent people. They did well in school; they've carved a niche for themselves in an unforgiving world; they even raised two wily daughters and managed to remain fairly resistant to their tricks.

But boy are they suckers for my dog.

I found out from my mother today that my father has been feeding Dante a strip of bacon every morning because he looks hungry. (A note to the hopelessly naive: Corgis ALWAYS look hungry.) My mother gives him a little snack so that he can last through the day. This is, of course, in addition to the two cups of food he gets for dinner.
I'm going to be getting back a fat little puppy.
(But not soon enough.)

Children's books are a secret refuge of mine. I love their luminescent clarity and their unshakable faith in beauty, wonder, and the therapeutic effects of a little bit of mischief. I can't wait to read to my children...


Thursday, January 08, 2004

A note on Dante:
Dante is the deer-eared, rabbit-tailed, unabashedly scheming, white-hair-on-black-clothes-leaving light of my life. He is, as you may or may not have surmised from the preceding description, a dog-- a Pembroke Welsh Corgi to be precise (which is the breed without a tail as opposed to the breed with a tail, which is the Cardigan). For the past eleven, dolorous days, Dante has been serving a tour of duty as court jester and all-purpose ray of sunshine to my sister in Texas. Let it be a testament to sisterly affection that I have agreed to extend this exile (mine, not his; he's having a glorious time being the darling child of the household) for another two weeks.
Oh puppy, my heart follows you the way your bright black eyes follow a choice morsel of food...

Wednesday, January 07, 2004

I quite enjoyed this article. It not-so-subtly (but nonetheless deftly) casts the uncontrolled behaviour of the Bush Twins and the reticence of Laura Bush as the deliberate passive agressive gestures of a woman who has sacrificed her identity and her wants on the altar of her husband's ambitions. How very Texas. How delicious.

Monday, January 05, 2004

Stephen King receives a Lifetime Achievement award from the National Book Foundation.

It's not that I'm against popular fiction. I'm actually quite democratic in my tastes (meaning I'll read the telephone directory if it happens to be in front of me). It's just that Stephen King is getting above himself. The world is fairly simply divided in my mind. If you write a good, entertaining story and have a fair bit of luck, you will achieve popular acclaim and lovely, fat book deals and all the attendant money and fame that go with them. You even have the opportunity to get awards for people who write books in your genre.

The National Book Award, however, is for books that display more than just a strong understanding of the principles of plotting a good story. The NBA is for the rare, lyrical gems of literary virtuosity that elevate and expand on the basic level of language and at the more elusive and fundamental level of the spirit. It's a whole other class of book. It's like apples and orangutans. Admittedly there is some overlap (apple-shaped orangutans like Shakespeare or, as the article points out, Mark Twain), but ultimately the chasm gapes wide between them.

And Stephen King for all of his best-sellers and billions will never be able to fill it.

I have been remiss, I admit, but I promise to be better this year. I'll even make it one of my New Year's Resolutions, sandwiched between number 7 (stop procrastinating) and number 8 (allow my shoe collection to expand at the modest and controlled growth rate of 19.3%). There, Dear Readership of six. Never let it be said that you were neglected.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?