But Call Me Betsy

I had a dream the other night that I was visiting Chicago and my heart did this leap and I thought, Oh, I missed this city! But then I got lost on and couldn't find my way to 9th and Pine (I don't even remember if there is a Pine Street in Chicago), and wished I was back in the City of Brotherly Love (aka Killadelphia b/c of the high murder rate per capita. I think it's going down though. As long as you buy your crack in an upper-class neighborhood, you're safe). And then both yesterday and today, I ran into Celia on the way to work, and she is one of my favorite people. But seeing people I know is a common occurrence here. After running in Celia again this AM, I also spotted one of the guys who took my fiction workshop a couple of times and we were able to briefly talk about Mary Gaitskill, Raymond Carver, and the importance of bike helmets while waiting for the traffic light to change.So nice. And luckily, I had my promiscuous phase in my early 20s, so there's n...

I've been going to Sweat (the gym) a little more often than usual, and I generally like the experience, but there are a few things that irritate the hell out of me: 1. People talking on their cell phones while working out on a machine. Is it necessary to be on the phone while you're exercising? Like, I understand that there might be emergencies, but since I can hear the entire conversation, I can tell you that I personally wouldn't consider a detailed discussion of The Hills to be an emergency. I guess a cell-phone exerciser would argue that I can always just put on my headphones--I don't have to listen. That's true. But it just seems like maybe, once in awhile, it's okay to take a break from talking on the phone. You probably don't talk on the phone while you're in the shower, right? Or while swimming? And at least one person in the world agrees with me . 2. Not turning off the TV after working out. Yes, each of the machines at the gym have tiny li...

I had the sneaking suspicion the other day that I was possibly wearing mom jeans. I bought these jeans in Nebraska because I wanted a pair of dressy jeans--you know, long leg, no back pockets. These seemed to fit those parameters, but then I was walking down the street and caught a glimpse of myself in a store window. I looked like I should be heading to the Dress Barn to pick up a few more mock turtlenecks before starting dinner for the kids. It's not that they were elastic or high waisted, but they just had that aura of mom jeans about them. I don't know if I ever dare wear them again. Tomorrow, will go with Dan to Art Council of Princeton's "Pinot to Picasso" fund raising event. Tickets range from $75 to$225, but since I'm a guest of his, I get in for the bargain price of $35. He has a painting in the show, along with Paul Muldoon, a Pulitzer Prize winning Irish poet who Padhraig says never combs his hair. He is exhibiting his poem, "The Fling"...

Your friend and mine, Jenn Bing, sent me this pic yesterday, and I thought I would share it with you. I am mostly familiar with the 2006, woodsy hipster as I was dating someone like that at the time. Though he wasn't really a hipster. He tried to be. He listened to the right fringe music, drank PBRs ironically, had a tattoo (one), and I think he may have even considered smoking a pipe. Be at heart, he was too big of a nerd to be a hipster. Too high strung as well. I started reading The Guinea Pig Diaries by A.J.Jacobs. Each chapter is him trying out different ways of being--what's it like to employ Radical Honesty with everyone, to have a naked picture of yourself appear in a national magazine, to live each day as a rationalist,etc. One of the things he mentioned in the rationalist chapter is this theory that applies to people always thinking that they're in the slowest line at the grocery store. And that applies to how our brains tend to remember unpleasant experiences...

I keep meaning to post more of these older photographs. But because I have a bad memory, two things make this a problem (1). I forget I have them; (2). I remember I have them but can't recall which ones I've already posted. So, you'll have to forgive me in advance if you've seen these already. Here we have my mother and two of the her brothers--I think it's Jodie and maybe David? They look like Jersey boys stuck in the middle of the Midwest.   Mother with cat-eye glasses and beehive hairdo with my two uncles, Jeff and Frannie. Curtains are closed.   Mom, younger, before classes--on a horse. I'm not sure if they owned this horse or if they just rented out space for it. I know they had one horse named Strata.   Mom, holy. This must be her first communion. She is a little bride to God.   More holiness and a family dog who likely got run over by a truck or shot by one of the neighbors for terrorizing their chickens.   I may have posted this one before. My mom sq...

This is what I do every morning. Make too much coffee and drink only one cup. On Saturdays and Sundays, I drink more, and listen to Car Talk until I can't stand the Boston accents any more.  This is the only picture I got around to taking of Saturday's Lo Mo Association flea market. Here is Jenn Bing, offering you a much-needed electronic alarm clock. I bought a toy fire engine for Luke and some cookies and a notebook. I was not a huge supporter of the organization.    Wish this photo had turned out better. It's a window decorated in celebration of a girl's confirmation You can sort of make out the doll dressed in white and the streamers.   And then, directly across the street you have another celebration--either a wedding of adults or maybe a wedding of a kid in her vows to Jesus. It's not completely clear.   Finally, your hanging holy statute of the day.I believe this is a Virgin Mary. I hope she doesn't get dripped on by the air conditioner hanging ...

Go to the Lo Mo Flea Market . That's where I'll be, looking through other people's discarded crap to bring home with me. Jenn said that they have lots of books, so maybe I'll get a few more to put on my shelves and never read...I'll report back with pics later on today.

Not a great week for photos, but I thought I would go ahead and give you what I have... I, of course, like this door because of the color.  Here we have a lovely bra display. Not exactly sure what is being advertised here. I always just assumed it was a medical equipment store, but I guess that doesn't work with the bra thing? Lovely lady behind iron bars (possibly a version of the V. Mary? Not sure). Curious cat.

Feel free to buy me this shirt (stolen off of www.regretsy.com ): Thank you!

Went to the Philadelphia Cherry Blossom Festival with Luke and Dan yesterday. Only took us like 3 hours to get into the city for the remaining 45 minutes of the festival. Still, the people-watching was good. Tons of awkward 14 year old boys and girls dressed in funky clothes and walking like colts around the grounds--in that "Is everyone looking at me? God, I hope no one is watching me. Wait, why is noticing me? Am I not interesting?" kind of way. And lots of dogs, including a woman who had six little yappy dogs that she shoved all into one black mesh backpack. I took the train into Trenton on Sat. afternoon and had to contend with two things I hate in one place--spitting and littering. So, on one side of me, there was this super tall guy in a red jobbing suit talking on his cell phone and spitting over the side of the track every 30 seconds. Really. I timed it. At the time, I was trying to eat a snack, and had to close one eye every time I saw him venture over to the side ...

This won't be as funny if you haven't seen the actual performance, but...

This week in photos, we have a mix between South Philly pics and ones I took on a walk home yesterday through side streets near Rittenhouse. That's where the homes are worth 5 kajillion dollars. Oh, but first, here is a photo of this woman I saw on my way to the subway one morning. I could not believe her hair--it appeared to be made out of cotton candy or some other non-real substance. She was on her way to the subway too so I was able to observe her in much closer proximity. She was wearing a boob-revealing, tiny top and she had this scary, weathered tan face. But all the dudes were looking at her b/c she looked like she would be happy to turn a trick for like $5 or 2 Oxycontin tables. Cat praying. Cat interrupted b/c I tapped on the window. Someday, someone is going to come out and yell at me. What may be your last Easter window for awhile. The next holiday to decorate for will be July 4, so be ready for some flags, flags, and a few more flags + Jesus waving a flag and...

Not really, but taking the class did remind me that I never properly learned how to step-ball-change. Went with Carrie and Jenn B. last night to see what it was like and luckily, there were only two other people who'd taken it before, so the rest of us were flailing our arms around together. The class is basically this combination of Latin dance interspersed with fist pumps and "whoot" noises. I could almost sort of get the steps, but not always the steps along with the hand motions. It reminded me of when I was in middle school and would turn on my clock radio and just bounce around my bedroom listening to Quiet Riot and Pat Benatar or whoever else they played. Alls you gotta to do is jump around, jump around, jump up, jump up and jump down (name that song). Oh, and shimmy. Oh, and try not to knock your teeth out when bumping into other awkward participants. The class made me feel a little sorry for Kate Gosselin. Hey, people, it's not that easy to learn the Merengue...

On the subway this morning, I was sitting by two 20+something hipster guys talking about their babies and babies-to-be. One said, "Dude, Mara like totally had the baby all natural. She was in labor for like 49 hours and then had the baby in our bathtub. It was radical. I put it on YouTube." Other guy,"No way! She is hardcore. I don't know if Jules will be able to handle that. She's all, 'Give me the epidural right now...'" Laughter, jangling of chain wallets. Can you still be in the scene and a dad? How does that work? Do you bring your baby to the Death Cab concerts in an organic, hemp baby sling? Get the baby a tattoo for its first birthday? Pierce its belly button? If you're interested, here is an article on what not to name your baby if you are a hipster. Liz, are you paying attention?

Here is a picture of me in a nightie with a short haircut; probably age 8 or so. Step dad accurately caricatured in the background. Our entire family seems to wear glasses. And this is me in Laura Ingalls braids, age 10-ish. I eventually turned out okay. I mean, look at the genes I had to inherit. This is my mom wearing an outfit her brother Richard brought back from his travels in the Army. I believe she is posing without her glasses, next to a glamorous fir tree in the back yard of Grandpa's house. She was 18. Little did she know that in 8 short years, she would have me.