But Call Me Betsy

My friend from writing class, Karin (not to be confused with my drawing class friend, Karen), volunteered to write a food review for Philly Style magazine or someone and so invited me along for a free meal last night. The overall dining experience at Meze's was good and I don't want to sound like I'm not recommending it because I am fully recommending it, with the following suggestions: 1. Hold on tight to your silverware and keep an elbow on your plate at all times. Since this is a newer restaurant, the waitstaff has over-service-itis; you know, filling up your water glass after every sip, whisking your plate away at the slightest provocation (if you happen to momentarily lean back in your chair, for instance), having three different people ask you how everything is at four minute intervals, etc. 2. Don't order fish. Actually, that's just a note to myself. If you like fresh fish, order it. If you enjoy choking on tiny little white bendy bones, have the sea bass. W

William S. Burroughs, the only person in the history of the world to be both a hipster and a heroin user. Instead of going to draw-ling (Karen's pronunciation) class at the Fleisher Museum last night, we went to Dive bar and drank. Very irresp0nsible, though we had the best intentions of learning shading techniques earlier in the day and parked in the correct parking lot and everything. But we were running late and so, rather than disrupt the scene, we (very considerately) found our way to Dive and the company of the five other patrons, the bartender (who had her hair done up like Princess Leia), and the bartender's girlfriend who was very chatty and friendly. Dive bar is basically one long bar with stools, but it's frequented by dirty li'l Philly hipsters with thousands of piercings, even more tattoos, and angled bangs that fall in their disenchanted eyes. Karen sat next to a guy who met the hipster criteria except he broke several of the rules of hipsterdom and was d

The magnetic ribbon thing has gotten out of control. Driving to D.C., we found ourselves behind a truck with a "Support Our Firemen" ribbon on the back. Yes, because everyone knows how divided the world is on the subject of firemen and how firemen are treated like second-class citizens in our society, right up there with elementary school janitors and garbage collectors. I realize that the firemen magnet was probably part of a local fund-raiser or other to buy a dalmatian for the fire dept., but it is irritating how so many people buy one magnetic car ribbon (or two. If you already have a yellow "Support Our Troops" ribbon on your car, you're 75% more likely to also sport the "Support America" magnet) and think they're taking a much needed political stance. The $1 or whatever you spent at Walmart on a magnet ribbon to tack above the bumper of your SUV does not mean you support the troops . It means you spent $1 (that goes nowhere near the troops) b

That's Tyra Banks' frequently repeated line during the choosing part of America's Top Anorexic which I swear I only watched for four minutes. Every time she was peparing to pick the next lucky girl (who invariably squealed and seemd to pee her pants a little), she would say, "And the next name I'm going to say is...Amberlynnheatherjenniferkooklafranandollie." Why not just say the name? I guess it would've detracted from the final line, "And the LAST name I'm going to say is..." Though my Brooklyn Liz loves the show, I never got into it, especially after seeing part of one episode where the models were sprayed with a garden hose at a Phillips 66 station and made to straddle a Monster truck-sized tire for a photo shoot. I have no reality shows now, since we don't have cable and consequently don't watch much TV, though we can at least listen to the Daily Show and ignore the scrambled screen. It's like being back in 1940's, gathe

Shawn and I drove to D.C. yesterday to attend my first ever march; a peace march against the war. Shawn brought a sign he's used in various other past marches, one that reads "Do You Feel Safe Yet?" I found a generic sign on the side of the road and held it up for awhile before Shawn and I got into a non-peaceful squabble about how much room it took up and I abandoned it on the side of the street. I don't really have the personality for marches or protests or organizing. I get embarrassed when people chant things like, "This is what democracy looks like!" or, "What do we want? Peace! When do we want it? Now!" I admire the people who don't feel stupid doing that, but I feel self-conscious. I even thought Shawn was whistling too loudly. An excellent mixture of people which I guess is what you want though of course CNN's online article about it is accompanied by a photograph of some lon-haired, bearded hippie dude in a knit hat. In real life,

(Picture by broadywaybound7 ) Have been spending too much time on other people's blogs lately and clicking on their links which bring me to other links and on and on until I'm overwhelmed by the waves of "me, me, me" in them and so what do I do? Decide to begin my own new blog, as though I have anything of interest to add. One category springs to mind. Top 5 Blog Types to Hate: 1. Highly specialized, uninteresting topics only relevant to the reader and her/his family, like this one I just found that's about a woman's baby...The baby isn't even born yet, but she's tracking its growth from the date of inception through age 2. The blog is called "From Sperm to Eternity." (Not really. I wish). On the other hand, I don't mind so much when they're at least funny, like the one about hating horses. 2. Blogs about a person's day-to-day boring shit like those written by undergrads or stay-at-home's. "Today, I had a chemistry test