Last weekend, one of Scott's many cousins got himself hitched to a fine woman with a fine name, which is also, coincidentally, Adrienne. Her family has a house on Squirrel Island. It's not far from Boothbay Harbor, Maine. It is also just damn scenic.
Sorry about the blog silence yesterday. We went to a wedding in Maine -- more on that later -- and spent yesterday in the car. Re-entry has been tricky. As Scott pointed out, the Diva's morning was very much like the scene in The Breakfast Club where Bender's mouth earns him about a year's worth of Saturday detentions. Big fun.
This is the last road trip for the foreseeable future, however. Which is good, because we could all stand to get back into the routine around here.
And so, links:
* In this time of great upheaval, it is reassuring to know that the Bruce Campbell Watch exists.
* How do I get Nathan Fillion to stop by my office?
* I'm glad that Banks agrees with my personal assessment of his Dead Air. Still, I'm excited that he'll be writing more, even if the circumstances forcing it are less than ideal.
* Half of me thinks that bento-box packers have waaaaay too much time on their hands; the other half of me is really jealous that no one makes me bento boxes.
* Tim's back! Actually, he appears to have been back for a while and I just now noticed. Oooops.
* One of the things I miss most about Austin -- some of the other things are Thundercloud subs and the 183-MoPac flyovers -- is going to the Harry Ransom Center. And now Brenner makes me want to go even more. Curse you, Brenner.
* Mike Gibson has long been one of my favorite reporters. And his piece about alternative healing modalities makes me happy. It's great writing, of course, but it also assures me that Mike is doing OK, which has not always been a given.
* I've been looking for a way to improve my own handwriting. Now I have a plan. Anyone else want to join me in a quest for better penmanship?
* One of the best things about living with an infant is that you can put silly things on their heads and they can't do a darn thing about it.
I'll walk right out into a brand new day
Insane and rising in my own weird way
I don't want to be the bad guy
I don't want to do your sleepwalk dance anymore
I just want to feel some sunshine
I just want to find some place to be alone
-- Everclear "Santa Monica"
This will take a little explaining.
Every night at dinner, we put on the cable music channel devoted to "classic alternative," not because it leads to harmonious meals but because Scott and I firmly believe that we should indoctrinate the children into the wonders of the Ramones, The Cure and the B-52s as often as possible.
So a couple of nights ago, "Santa Monica" came on. In the span of those first three chords, I was back in Austin, aimlessly driving around after getting rejected by my grad school of choice for the second time (no, I don't learn lessons quickly) and wondering just what the fuck I was going to do with my life, which I had decided was effectively over because I'd been told "no."
What followed were several years of seriously bleak behavior. I still don't know a) how I survived and b) why my husband stuck around.* Those opening chords took me right back, even as I sat at the dinner table with my awesome (if maddening at times) children and spouse, in my very own house, which I live in with relative ease and contentment.
Part of me wants to go back and tell the "Santa Monica" me to just get over herself already. But I had to do that to get here, you know. And I wonder what the me 15 years from now will want to tell the me now to just get over already.
All that from a 3-minute pop song.
Humans are just weird, eh?
* Thanks again, btw.
I believe I've figured out why my productivity has taken a dive in recent weeks.
One reaches a certain age where one starts to believe that one has seen (either in person or in a nature documentary) just about every rock formation that can exist. One would be wrong.
* I don't have a problem with cover designers relying so heavily on stock art; I just wish it weren't the same images all the time.
* Bakerella does it again: Cowgirl (or -boy) Cookies.
* I will be going to see this.
* One Lucky Mother comes up with a great list of tips for folks expecting newborns.
* And for those with older kids .... the hazards of manipulating the system so that it only benefits your kid.
* Oh noes! The brown people might get white people's stuff!
* My favorite editorial cartoon this week:
Around these parts, we celebrate Labor Day by laboring, because, despite the fact that the SUCO faculty is unionized, we still have classes. We do have a lovely protest luncheon, however. So there's that.
Goldman's role in the sweeping global disaster that was the housing bubble is not hard to trace. Here again, the basic trick was a decline in underwriting standards, although in this case the standards weren't in IPOs but in mortgages. By now almost everyone knows that for decades mortgage dealers insisted that home buyers be able to produce a down payment of 10 percent or more, show a steady income and good credit rating, and possess a real first and last name. Then, at the dawn of the new millennium, they suddenly threw all that shit out the window and started writing mortgages on the backs of napkins to cocktail waitresses and excons carrying five bucks and a Snickers bar.
Into every writer's life, a copyedited manuscript must fall.