John Updike

I will now speak ill of the dead. Sorry.
I don't care for John Updike's writing. At all. A&P is one of the many reasons I don't really and truly care for fiction. I read it when I was thirteen, in my freshman English class, and I was not pleased. It really left me cold.
That being said, I hope that we can all agree that his was a life well lived and I offer my condolences to his family today.

Acquired: Ironic Travel Mug

See! Brooklyn does have a sense of humor!
Purchased at a fancy pants kitchen supply store on Lorimer near Metropolitan that also had a really cute dog.

But seriously, if I ask the guy at the cart outside the F train to fill up my fake paper cup, do you think he will? Alternately, how long until someone gets drunk and throws it away after a dinner party?

Foot!

I broke my foot. If ever there were a reason to be and stay an indoor kid, this is it. I mean, it's just a stress fracture, but man, it's a pain in the bum (or foot).

Here is the beast, in its soft cast:

48 Hours To and From St. Louis, Second Verse

It was similar to the first, and delightfully worse!

Friday:

On three hours sleep, please, my friends, go to Laguardia Airport on Passover weekend. It will crack you up. I have never seen so many people going home, so many white, blonde people going to Aruba, nor have I have ever been that late to the airport without running into serious bad luck. God was on my side.

Nap.

Rental car. Now, I am not a car person, nor do I like to drive. But I love the rental car. I love that it wasn't that expensive, and they still guilted me into buying the extra insurance. It was a machine and I still felt bad. Near fatal car accidents do put the fear of God into you, I suppose. But still.

Drive to Broham's new house, which despite being full of vaguely offensive college items was very cute. Went for a sandwich, and got fixings for lamb curry and the fancy supermarket that looks like it was built in a mansion. Clayton, which is both a suburb of St. Louis, and remarkably like a second downtown in the really rich neighborhood, is weird. But it's okay. Watched so much 30 Rock we thought we might explode, and then watched some more. Cooked. Napped.

Out to dinner with several of Broham's sweet college friends. I felt exceedingly old, but I was so happy to not be afraid of getting carded. Actually, every time I got carded this weekend, it just made me feel worse about how old I am. But that's another story.

Saturday:

Wake up late!

Cardinal's game! The ebst deal in town is these standing room only seats in Busch Stadium where you just sit in folding chairs behind the bleachers. Wonderful. Beautiful stadium and nice folks. Everyone in St. Louis is so friendly. We had food and sat and then.....Jonny came to meet us! In a true homage to St. Louis Road Trip I, The Quinn came all the way from Chicago to explore the magic of the Lou. Also, Broham and I invented a tee-shirt about St. Louis that involves Nelly, Lewis and Clark and the Arch.

Speaking of which, our next move was to the Museum of the Westward Expansion, where we went up in the Arch. The Arch is so cool. Did you know that it is as wide at the base as it is tall? Yes, it is the world's largest optical illusion (it's an illusion, Michael; a trick is something whores do for money!)!! So awesome. I also may have bought a Laura Ingalls Wilder themed cookbook.

Home, nap.

Dinner at Bar Celona, a cute tapas place in Clayton (which is within walking distance of Forsyth, for all you lazy Wash U kids out there). Delicious food, sweet waitress who loved us and two bottles of wine! Oops! Also, there was a party of potential professional athletes and the women who wear inappropriate clothes for them. It was amazing. One could actually see a girls' thong through her dress, which I though was impossible/the point of thongs. We loved them. They did not see us.

Then we did a little Clayton Bar Hop, which was so cute. Clayton is weird, but there were several cute places. Also, the beer in St. Louis is not all Budweiser. There are several excellent breweries locally and they usually have lots of good Midwestern beers. Take that, beer snobs.

(The rest of the night involved crazy college times that made me want to go to bed and be old.)

Sunday:
Wake up late!

Brunch at Soulard Coffee Co? Jon and I went there the last time we were in the Lou, and it is so cute. We sat outside for brunch. It was really nice. We Then took a walk around Soulard and saw St. Louis' oldest standing home. I would totally run a multi-use arts space in Soulard, which is also the site of St. Louis' Mardi Gras.

Then it was quick trip to the Schnuck's and home to pack and run to the airport. I got lost, despite the iPhone maps and directions. I am an idiot. It's funny. Then I was massively late but my plane was delayed by the Pope's visit to NYC airspace.

Home. Chinese food. Sleeping.

I love the Lou.

Bar Celona: http://barcelonatapas.com/
Museum of the Westward Expansion: http://www.nps.gov/archive/jeff/expansion_museum.html

Form vs. Function: The Rain Flat

I am not sure how I feel about this show, other than confounded. As a firm believer in the awesome power of the gallosh, I want to love the rain flat. And then I consider that it will not keep me dry or warm in the toes. I shake my head and wonder...

Dan Rather; man or superman?

From an article in the December 3rd issue of New York magazine:

"Rather’s shock turned to quiet fury. He stalked the offices, barely acknowledging staffers in the hallways. People referred to this mode as “Defcon 4.” “He got progressively, visually angry,” says a former colleague. “You don’t want to be in his eyesight when he’s like that.” His only release was commiserating on the phone late at night with Mary Mapes; he would announce himself as “Dan Rather, plus three”—meaning he’d had three glasses of bourbon."

Amazing. I grew up with Dan Rather on the CBS Evening news. He is truly, for me, a source of incontrovertible truth. And now, I love him even more. Plus 3.

10 Second Sitcoms

Thank you, Tina Fey, for this great idea.

We have invented a new TV show called "Smug Marrieds" about Heidi and Dave.

Here is the Pilot:

"Dave!"
"Yes, dear."
"We need to give money to Barack Obama!"
"What we need is a new ottoman."
"Oh, honey."
(laugh track)

Fin.

So everyone should have a 10 second sitcom. None of these have names, except Melanie's which is called "Unconsentual Goodtimes."


"Guys, I am so hungover!"
"Oh, Melanie."

The end.

"Guys, I am totally gay.
"We know, Jon!"

The end.

"Guys, Chad has a giant beard."
"Oh, Fliz!"

The end.

Anna: Art's pretty rad!

Us: Totes!

The end.
(by Jon)

Ice; or Sadness Embodied

As we approach middle age, there are some life lessons we have come to appreciate. Don't drink the Whole Thing, staying out until 4 a.m. makes it hard to wake up at 8 a.m. and go to work, use sunscreen.

What they don't teach you in your financial aid exit interview or similar faux-adult rite of passage is that you should not fall down on a patch of ice. Ever. It is like automatically adding 5 years to your age. My back is a jangly jangle of knots and sharp pains, I cut my hand. It's almost too sad.

While I know that this is an isolated and violent experience that does not actually signify my decent into elderliness, I feel somehow that this is a harbinger of things to come. What will happen, for example, if I tried to go to the gym? or hike a mountain? or live through 2.5 weeks at home for Christmas*? I could die. I could be laid up for weeks, unable to move, or make jokes, or watch 30 Rock on nbc.com.

Good God, this life is a cruel one.



* kidding, hi parents!

For a While Now...

this has been coming:

Song of the Day
All I want for Christmas is You - Mariah Carey