But Call Me Betsy

Even though I haven't been walking quite as much lately, I do find the occasional moment to snap pictures of windows.It's been rainy and gross in Philadelphia lately, but next week should be better and I will try to get out and about more. Until then: An Ernesto look-a like And this cat looks like it's looking at the cat about it ala the boxes in the opening of The Brady Bunch He just wants to go outside Perpetually looking as if she's saying, What is this mess on the floor? Awaiting your return   And this is the second in the series of ink drawings Dan is doing wherein he takes regular song lyrics and substitiutes the word kitty or cat somewhere.

The kitchen is getting taken apart. Last weekend, Dan dismantled the center island and removed the cabinet, so now the wall by the fridge is completely ready to go. And Dan moved the shelves that were on this wall into the living room. Voile. Now all I have to do is order the rest of the cabinets and counter tops, figure out when they're going to get them installed, coordinate that installation with the delivery of appliances, and figure out what to do with the lights. Meanwhile, here's a very rare sighting of Emma Carol and Henri together on my lap. Blood was shed shortly hereafter, but it was nice while it lasted.

These photos show the never before seen journey of Henri outside--for the second time in his entire life (16 years? Maybe 17?). I lured him out using cat treats. He sniffed the air cautiously, like pre-man emerging from a cave after 1000 of years of darkness. He ran back inside when a distant car horn sounded, but at least he will die having actually smelled fresh air two times.

I am suddenly taking two writing classes and going to a conference tomorrow and so have been too busy this week to write. And I still need to finish up a few tasks, so here is your bullett-ed update: 1. Screenwriting class: no text, which I think is a little weird. 11 students, all but three are guys. Does that mean that men are more interested in screenwriting than women? Is screenwriting, like, the masculine writing discipline? Teacher played some clips from This American Life and stand up by my new favorite person, Mike Birbiglia. We got out early and have 10 pages of work due on Tuesday. 2. Fiction class: I don't like it when we read our stuff out loud in a circle. For one thing, I'd rather spend the time talking about the craft of writing. And for another, I am not totally shy, but I am secretly a little shy and then I wonder about the other people around me who might be really shy. We also did two guided visualizations; one was more productive for me (about grandparen...

I almost forgot that I took a bunch of pictures from my real camera last weekend. Now I miss Brooklyn. Not Liz or Luke or JJ, just the city. But first, here's a time when my worlds collided. Dan brought Luke in to my work last Friday. They climbed on the Button. Kids simply cannot resist it. Dan and Luke on a Penn icon At the House of Pigeons I didn't capture the whole thing--someone feeds them tons of bird seed every day. Love the scary lion Dan with JJ. Liz with Blue Monkey. Incongruous. Baby at Cemetery. Same day, different lion. Basquiat is buried here--not exactly here, but in this cemetery. The picture of grief This is Tessa. She drools. Dan working on a design. We spent part of Sunday at Brighton Beach and then walked over to  Coney Island. I tried not to think what would happen if you threw up in this thing. Dan asked me to take this picture. Roller coaster. Old photo of Cone...

Still on my Edgar-Award winning book series. This past weekend, I finished In the Woods by Tana French. It's interesting in part b/c the narrator is male, though the writer is female. That's refreshing to me. Male writers seem to have no trouble picking up other genders/races, but women writers don't do this as often. Her voice is convincing, and the story is a page turner, but I was so disappointed that she didn't solve one of the central mysteries. I won't spoil it for you in case want to read it, but what happened to the kids??? It was just beautifully written and compelling. Also finished Walter Moseley's When the Thrill is Gone ; liked it okay, but got a bit confused by the characters and their motivations. It involves twins, if that explains the potential confusion. Restocked my books from the Penn library and just started The Serialist by David Gordon (narrator's a tiny, tiny bit too cutesy and aside-y... Has one of the worst, self-conscious first l...

For our Labor Day, we went to see Liz and Luke in Brooklyn. I love Brooklyn with all of its high buildings and people and cool coffee shops and dogs (we actually didn't see that many dogs, unfortunately) and the diversity--you just don't see that many Hasadic people out and about in Philadelphia. I took a bunch of pictures, but here is just a sneak peek. I'll put the rest up on Friday. This is Dan driving. Overall, he did a good job, as he always does--I, of course, was a terrible passenger.  This is the Verrazano Bridge And again. Her is JJ, chewing on the blue monkey we brought for him. Wish these weren't so blurry. You can't see how beautiful he is. In motion. He is a very good baby. Hardly fusses, eats his veggies, smiles all the time--my only complaint is that you can't carry him around everywhere. He prefers his parents to a virtual stranger who is constantly making animal noises to capture his attention.

I just found this short piece I wrote for the writing class I was in last fall for about two seconds. I stopped going, but I worked on a few things while I was there. Here is one of them. It needs a better title. Tragic High Bentley, James (Jimmy). A tree branch crashed on his beautiful blond head as he stood goalie for the championship soccer match. Those of us who knew him even a little bit wept in the hallways at school, holding on to one another, looking sideways at the passing students, to see who was noticing how sensitive we were. Jimmy Bencusky with his strong, broad swimmers’ shoulders, bright blue eyes, and orthodontically straightened teeth. None of us had ever dated him, but we daydreamed about it. Lucky Jimmy, in a way. He went out in the prime of his life. He would never age. He got a full page in the senior yearbook next to his picture with the words, “In Loving Memory of One of Dunedin’s Finest Boys.” We gawked at his sisters during the funeral. They looked different...