But Call Me Betsy

Finally found the cord I need to move my Nebraska pictures over from my camera to the computer, so here they are, though a little late and not in the most chronological order.Most of the photos I'm featured in have me wearing the same expression and sporting the same white streak in my hair that I suppose I could take on as a trademark, since no amount of dye really seems to absorb the color. The following two photos are of me and my Aunt Margaret. Me and Stephanie's dog. I have some video of him and Taylor, but I'll save that for another day. He is on a diet, in case you're worried. And this would be my mom and Aunt Margaret at lunch one day. My 91 year old grandma and me. Taylor Jo, Grandma, and my mother, in her natural state. This is Krista Detor, who gave the concert for everyone and was wonderful. Mother and me. White streak: intact.Where do you think I get it from? My second cousin, Ellie. Cute as a button and knows it. The birds.

Jenn Bing and I discussed the possibility of starting a new blog about Philadelphia called "Found Underwear." Really, a day doesn't go by where I don't see a pair of trashed up women's underwear somewhere along the city sidewalks or gutters. We rethought the blog; Philly gets a bad rap (warranted, for the most part), and I don't want to contribute to making that even worse, especially since I have been begging my friends Liz and Luke to give up Park Slope and move to the city of Brotherly Love/Panties. I also have to confess that I'm reading Stephen King's Under the Dome, which I checked out from the Penn library. I feel guilty reading him...But like, kind of guilty and defensive at the same time. He can tell a good story. After reading the first hundred pages before turning out the lights, I had an apocalyptic dream inspired by what I had just read (it didn't directly correlate, but the same fear was there. This fear that the world was ending o

Because I am lazy and unimaginative today, I'm just going to post this video I stole off of Cute Overload. I will try to think of an interesting topic of conversation later on.

Dan noticed last night at the grocery store that Sandra Bullock's face appeared on all of the tabloid magazines. He's not much of a pop culture follower, so he said, "What happened? Did she die?" No, she got cheated on by her husband who formerly dated mostly strippers and porn stars and who's notorious for his tattoos. A bad boy. So, but, how can this be a surprise? And anyway, who cares? I honestly don't care about Tiger Woods cheating either. I just don't think celebrities should try to be married; not until they're old or their careers are over. Fame is such a weird thing and it screws people up and I'm sure there's tons of temptation and people who are dying to sleep with you and get on TMZ to tell the world about it and post camera photos on their various blogs.

Much Heterosexual Love, The Conservatives So now the argument is that giving health care to Americans is a violation of human rights. Like, how dare you mandate that I be protected against illness, debilitating disease, injury, or epidemics!  You know what else we should repeal? Seat belts. Why do I have to wear a seat belt? What if I have a large stomach or am pregnant and wearing a seat belt is uncomfortable for me? The government has no right to tell me that I must wear something that could save my life at the expense of causing me some discomfort. It's my life! And while we're at it, let's do away with drunk driving laws or legal blood alcohol limits. Hey, it's my body; if I want to drink 10 beers and then speed down the highway, why can't I? If I die, it'll be my fault and I'm okay with that. And also, don't tell me that I have to register my gun. Haven't you heard of the second amendment to the constitution written 200+ years ago when it wa

We talked in class last night about what details you should give to illuminate character. This discussion was sparked by a story we were going over that gave only one significant physical detail about a guy; that he had a copy of a porno in his living room. I suggested that unless we have more to go on than that, we're going to just assume he's perverted or really into something kinky. The reader has to believe that this is a significant; some details that show who this person is and that make him specific or real and not a generic stereotype. That made me think of the NY Times Magazine photo spread on Sunday called "The Shrine Down the Hall." It's a collection of black and white photographs of the bedroom's of American soldiers who were killed in Iraq. You can see the details of the lost person there---the posters they hung on their walls, the way their shoes are lined under the bed, their stuffed animals, their high school trophies. Each one is this photo

Part II of my article on "How to Become a Writer" is in Philadelphia Stories newest issue, which you can read online here . It's aw-right. Also heard back from Carlin Romano that they are moving forward with the Philadelphia Noi r book, so my story, "Princess" will appear in it when it is out this fall. The premise of the book is based on this series produced by Akashic Books where they choose a city (they've done everything from Paris to London to Manhattan to Mexico City) and then ask writers to set their stories in a particular neighborhood in that geographic region. So, for instance, the Philadelphia book will include stories set in Fishtown, Rittenhouse Square, and, in my case, South Philly. Hearing that the project is moving forward makes me really happy, because I thought maybe it wasn't going to get made. Will send you links to it as soon as I can. The story isn't that great (" not Pushcart Prize material," as my mother reminded

We will talk on Monday in the writing class about how not to use metaphors and similes. They are so hard to write well, because many are common cliches and others just don't work. Examples of bad similes: She smiled at him like a snake charming a snake charmer. Her eyes danced like two shooting stars across the sky. He felt as heavy as a 550 pound barbell 400 feet beneath the ocean. The dog's tail wagged like a tsunami. Another thing to be really careful of in fiction at all costs is personification. It's hard to do well. Examples of bad personification: The scissors cut angrily into the paper. The graffiti on the brick wall gloated boldly under the streetklamp. With a quick jump, the dice hurled themselves across the table like two tiny square soldiers running from war (hey, bad personification AND a bad simile).

I've been trying to walk to a farther subway stop each morning so as to get a teeny, tiny bit of exercise. It also requires me to have more exposure to Philadelphia, which means I have the opportunity to witness numerous bizarre acts in 20 minutes or less. Today, I ran into the same homeless crazy lady who I saw on the train Monday night. She gestures and hoots and tugs at the waistband of her jogging pants. And another woman, seemingly sane, who was wearing a short blond wig on top of a long black wig. Like, just placed on top. I wish I could find a picture for you.Then, a guy wearing headphones, and gesturing as if conducting an orchestra. More likely a theater person vs. crazy. And two toothless elderly people sitting on a front stoop in their pajamas smoking cigarettes and saying hi to everyone who passed. Even the city birds are a little off--the one I passed near the fire station was trilling in a way that sounded just like a fire truck. While I was in the waiting room for

So, this video is probably like 20 years old, but I just saw it for the first time last week at my Aunt Margaret's. I love it. It's a public performance piece and I swear, I am not a person who gets chills and I get goose bumps when I watch this. I may be coming down with the ague, or it may be that this is just really cool. I'd love to try this in 30th Street Station.

Here you have my Grandma, who was born on December 3, 1918, which I suppose makes her 91 years old or so (if only I could do math). She lives in a retirement community in a two bedroom/two bath apartment. She still has a good sense of humor and says things like, Well, now we're in a pickle! And this is my mother and her mother. Mom is making a tuna casserole with whole wheat noodles for my Uncle Francis. She can whip up these meals lickety-split. It is not a genetic trait, nor is her sewing ability. Me and my Aunt JoAnne. I'm staying at her house and Mom is at Grandma's. JoAnne has this great guest bedroom that gets really, really dark so you feel all safe and secure. It also has a ceiling fan. I like to sleep with the sound of the fan whirring. Even if I'm cold, I will still put it on. You'll notice from this photo that I am having a patch of white hair on my forehead. I'm trying to resist pulling out those hairs because I'm going to go for a Stacey fro

Woke up this morning a little before 5 AM as Henri was doing is trick where he bangs on the closet door and then jumps on my head and then gets down and meows in a pitful mournful way, all in the name of being helpful in getting me up for my 7:30 flight. Drank some coffee, drowned the cat, called the airport taxi and made it with time to spare. The flight to Chicago was uneventful--a few crying babies that made me wonder why there aren't more cases of child abuse reported. This one woman was traveling alone with four boys between the ages of 2 and 7. I never would have been able to do it. I probably would've given them all adult cold nighttime medicine. Weird to be back in Chicago, if only at the O'Hare airport and I wondered if maybe I would see someone I used to know--maybe Christy or Bennett Weiss or Becky. I called Dan and was so engrossed in talking to him that I completely missed my connecting flight. Totally. I went up to the desk at 10 (the flight was supposed to l

And mom will be there too! So here are a few photographs to prepare you for that visit. I am certain grandma will not approve of the one of her in her brassiere with a cigarette. Here she is as a young mom. Four more kids and countless grandchildren to follow.

Once again, I am tuning in only for the second hour, which really means I only missed 10 minutes of actual new programming and about 40-50 minutes of commerical breaks and recaps. Here's what I've garnered so far. Vienna believes she loves Jake with all of her breasts. Yes, she was married once for three weeks to a friend of hers, and yes, she was sickened when she realized what a mistake she made, but mostly, she was upset because she disappointed her daddy. Said daddy had given her a promise ring, which she would like to give to the man she's going to marry. Does this mean she had to get it back from her ex-husband, or did she just never promise it in the first place? It's unclear. Vienna says she knows that she and Jake have this amazing chemistry, but do they have enough amaziness to last them a lifetime or at least a couple of months to milk as much publicity as possible out of this reality show before she ends up as the 3 AM d-jay for MTV 3? She then shows Jake