Monday, January 31, 2011

Poetry Monday

Another by T. S. Eliot...

La Figlia Che Piange

(The Weeping Girl)

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair--

Lean on a garden urn--

Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair--

Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise--

Fling them to the ground and turn

With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:

But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

So I would have had him leave,

So I would have had her stand and grieve,

So he would have left

As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,

As the mind deserts the body it has used.

I should find

Some way incomparably light and deft,

Some way we both should understand,

Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.

She turned away, but with the autumn weather

Compelled my imagination many days,

Many days and many hours:

Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.

And I wonder how they should have been together!

I should have lost a gesture and a pose.

Sometimes these cogitations still amaze

The troubled midnight and the noon's repose.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Tales of an Idiotic Cat Owner

Another cat story- from sometime in September-October 2010.

So, last night I was sitting on my couch trying to decide what to do with the rest of the evening. I had 2 cats on my lap, and Felicity was curled around the back of my neck. Well, she suddenly went into one of her itchy spasms and dang near clawed my throat open while trying to get to her itchy spots.

Now, it’s after midnight. Any normal person would treat their scratches, call it a night, and go to bed. Not me. I decide that NOW is the perfect time to give my cat a bath in the hopes of relieving her itchiness. And yes, this IS the same cat that literally went for my mother’s throat the last time she was bathed. I bought some special anti-itch cat shampoo a while back, but I’d been putting off the process for weeks because it’s always a traumatic ordeal. Also, the recent cold snap made me hesitant to get her soaked because she’s older and frail. But since we’ve had some oddly warm weather, and I was clearly out of my mind, I decided to go for it.

I decided to bathe Felicity in the bathtub. Knowing how she flailed around the last time she had a bath, I stripped down. The cats –all 3 of them- followed me into the bathroom, like they usually do. I tried to shoo Greymalkin and Nightshade out, but they were having none of it. So I closed the door, turned the water on in the tub, and braced myself for impact. Grabbing Liss, I stuck her under that faucet. She let out one shriek that nearly curled my hair and went limp. The other two went into panic mode and started hurling themselves at the bathroom door. I held onto Felicity with one hand and managed to get the banana-walnut scented shampoo opened with the other. I poured some onto her and started sudsing her up.

So far, so good. Then I made the mistake of sticking Felicity’s head under the running water. This is when all hell broke loose. She started screaming, peed on me, and bit me so hard that I let go of her. The other two are panicking even harder now. All three of the cats are now racing in circles around the bathroom. Malkin hits the door, headfirst, so hard that he damn near knocked himself out. Nightshade jumps to the top of my head and is clinging to my scalp like Davy Crockett’s coonskin cap, wailing at the top of her lungs. Felicity is still shrieking and sliding into the walls as she tries to run away.

I finally pried Nightshade off my head, opened the door a fraction, and tossed her out into the hall. Malkin realized that the door was open and managed to lurch his way out. Felicity made a break for it, but I scooped her up, slammed the door and stuck her back in the tub. As soon as she went under the water, she went limp again. I rinsed all the soap off her, turned the water off, and wrapped her in a towel. Holding her bundled up in one arm, I started mopping up the rest of the bathroom. Did you know that it takes 3 beach towels to dry off one 4 pound cat and dry up the water she trailed all over an approximately 5x8 bathroom?

Anyway, Liss was swaddled in the towel and shivering. I’d gotten her as dry as I could, but she was still pretty damp and I didn’t want her running through the cool house in that condition. So I get the bright idea to blow her dry. I pull my hair dryer out, plug it in, and she just gave me this look as if to say “What fresh hell is this?!?”

I was kind of surprised that she didn’t try to take off again. It took a few tries, but I finally figured out the right distance and angle to hold the dryer so that she was getting dry but not burned by the hot air. In fact, as long as it wasn’t blowing on her face, the little snot actually seemed to enjoy the experience!

Once she was dry enough, I put the dryer away, and let her out of the bathroom. I got a fresh towel and took a shower of my own. By the time I got out, all three of the cats were peering in at me from the door way. I got the dryer back out to dry my hair, and felt a paw pat my calf. I looked down to see Felicity looking up at me expectantly. As soon as she realized she had my attention, she flipped over onto her back and showed me her still-slightly-damp belly. I pointed the dryer down at her- as soon as I flipped it on and the warm air hit her tummy, she started wiggling and purring.

After everyone was warm and dry, (and my various scratches and bites were treated with antibiotic cream) I allowed the cats to come snuggle on the bed with me. Liss was so happy not to be itchy that she curled up on my shoulder and purred some more. The other two were so happy not to be given baths that they burrowed into my hip and thigh and did some purring of their own. And after sniffing Felicity’s gourmet shampoo scented fur, I am craving banana nut bread.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Conversations With the Fat Girl

Conversations With the Fat Girl

From Goodreads:
Everyone seems to be getting on with their lives except Maggie. At 27, shes still working at the local coffee house, while her friends are getting married, having babies, and building careers. Even Olivia, Maggie's best friend from childhood, is getting married to her doctor boyfriend. Maggie, on the other hand, lives with her dog Solo, and has no romantic prospects, save for the torch she carries for Domenic, the busboy. Though Maggie and Olivia have been best friends since their fattie grade school years, Olivia's since gone the gastric-bypass surgery route, in hopes of obtaining the elusive size two, the holy grail for fat girls everywhere. So now Olivia's thin, blond, and betrothed, and Maggie's the fat bridesmaid. Ain't life grand? In this inspiring debut novel, Maggie speaks to women everywhere who wish for just once that they could forget about their weight.

My 2 Cents:

How do you know when you've outgrown your best friend? It takes Maggie an awful long time to figure it out in this novel. She and Olivia had promised as children to be in each other's weddings- the problem is that Olivia has had gastric bypass surgery, totally reinvented her life, and is treating Maggie like dirt because she doesn't want any reminders of her life as a big girl. Maggie, on the other hand, is trying to salvage the friendship, kickstart her own happily ever after, and get a 'grown up' job. She has support from her mother and sister, and finally comes to some big realizations at the end of the book. The vengeful part of me especially loved the wedding rehearsal dinner.

Total thumbs up for this one! It is possible to be a big girl and have a happy life, and Liza Palmer does a good job getting her character to that frame of mind.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Poetry Monday

I just love Dorothy Parker. I hope you, Dear Reader, are enjoying this as much as I am!

Inscription for the Ceiling of a Bedroom

Daily dawns another day;

I must up, to make my way.

Though I dress and drink and eat,

Move my fingers and my feet,

Learn a little, here and there,

Weep and laugh and sweat and swear,

Hear a song, or watch a stage,

Leave some words upon a page,

Claim a foe, or hail a friend-

Bed awaits me at the end.

Though I go in pride and strength,

I'll come back to bed at length.

Though I walk in blinded woe,

Back to bed I'm bound to go.

High my heart, or bowed my head,

All my days but lead to bed.

Up, and out, and on; and then

Ever back to bed again,

Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall-

I'm a fool to rise at all!

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Silly Sunday

Well, I've done books and food, let's go with another of my vices: music!

5 of My Favorite Albums

This doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of my VERY eclectic music collection!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Monday, January 17, 2011

Poetry Monday

Today's poem is by T. S. Eliot:

Eyes That Last I Saw in Tears

Eyes that last I saw in tears
Through division
Here in death's dream kingdom
The golden vision reappears
I see the eyes but not the tears
This is my affliction

This is my affliction
Eyes I shall not see again
Eyes of decision
Eyes I shall not see unless
At the door of death's other kingdom
Where, as in this,
The eyes outlast a little while
A little while outlast the tears
And hold us in derision.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Deranged Stalker's Journal of Pop Culture Shock Therapy

The Deranged Stalker's Journal to Pop Culture Shock Therapy

This made me laugh like a loon. The cartoons are brilliantly twisted and warped. The entries made by the 'stalker' aren't quite as amusing, but it's still a great read. I'm copying several of the pages in this book and putting them up on my bulletin board at work- if that doesn't scare my bosses, nothing else will!

Monday, January 10, 2011

Poetry Monday

Today we visit with Ms Dorothy Parker:

Ballade Of A Talked-Off Ear

Daily I listen to wonder and woe,

Nightly I hearken to knave or to ace,

Telling me stories of lava and snow,

Delicate fables of ribbon and lace,

Tales of the quarry, the kill, the chase,

Longer than heaven and duller than hell-

Never you blame me, who cry my case:

"Poets alone should kiss and tell!"

Dumbly I hear what I never should know,

Gently I counsel of pride and of grace;

Into minutiae gayly they go,

Telling the name and the time and the place.

Cede them your silence and grant them space-

Who tenders an inch shall be raped of an ell!

Sympathy's ever the boaster's brace;

Poets alone should kiss and tell.

Why am I tithed what I never did owe?

Choked with vicarious saffron and mace?

Weary my lids, and my fingers are slow-

Gentlemen, damn you, you've halted my pace.

Only the lads of the cursed race,

Only the knights of the desolate spell,

May point me the lines the blood-drops trace-

Poets alone should kiss and tell.


Prince or commoner, tenor or bass,

Painter or plumber or never-do-well,

Do me a favor and shut your face

Poets alone should kiss and tell.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Silly Sunday: revised

I was a little ambitious with my last attempt at this, so I'm scaling it back a bit. From now on it will just be a list of 5 things with whatever theme pops into my head. Ready?

5 Books I'm Looking Foward to Reading This Year

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Why, yes, they are all listed as #1. I didn't want to pick an order for them. And my tabs got screwy and I couldn't figure out a way to fix it without deleting everything and starting over. But it's my blog....I can do that. *grin*

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Totally Tubular 80's Toys

Totally Tubular '80s Toys

I saw this on the library shelf and couldn't resist. Quite a fun read as well as a stroll down memory lane. I saw a lot of the toys that I had and quite a few that I wanted but never got. There were also year in review charts at the end of each chapter that gave you information on the top tv shows/movies/music, just in case you needed an additional nostalgia boost. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go dig out my old Simon game and see if my Atari is still functional...

Monday, January 3, 2011

Poetry Monday

New feature- until I get bored or run out of poems that I like! Welcome to Poetry Monday. We're going to kick things off with my favorite Lord Byron poem:

She Walks In Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meets in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellow'd to that tender light 

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress

Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o'er that brow

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 

But tell of days in goodness spent,—

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.