Quesadillas at R.P. Tracks. If only the train would go by...
Blue Moon, even when they don't have oranges. I keep forgetting to bring my own.
Free wi-fi.
My netbook, source of this blog post.
Hopefully my new purse will be one of my favorite things. After spending the better part of a day shopping online (following several unsuccessful in-person shopping trips), I chose a rather unusual style made from recycled candy and soda wrappers. My contribution to the "green economy." And large enough for my netbook and everything else that won't fit in the pockets of my skinny jeans.
Free shipping, for both my netbook and the purse that will eventually carry it.
Being ignored by my waiter is NOT one of my favorite things. But knowing that he just read that sentence over my shoulder makes up for it.
Off to the grocery store, also not one of my favorite things. But I'm much better prepared now than I was before I stuffed myself full of quesadilla and beer. If only the train had gone by...
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Second Post of 2009
Since yesterday's was the first, which didn't really occur to me until I "viewed" my blog today. I've been really bad about doing this, haven't I?
Unfortunately, this will have to be short, as I am off to stimulate the local economy by having dinner with a friend. If there were tax credits for eating out, I'd have a guaranteed refund instead of owing like I usually do.
Unfortunately, this will have to be short, as I am off to stimulate the local economy by having dinner with a friend. If there were tax credits for eating out, I'd have a guaranteed refund instead of owing like I usually do.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
For Anna, with love
It's nice to know you're missed...
So the last time I did this was in December, when my sunroom was full of Christmas tree. Now it's March, and my sunroom still has lingering Christmas tree needles. I can honestly say that it's not just my poor blog that I've been neglecting. I've had the most rotten case of the winter blues that I can ever remember. The fact that it's supposed to be 31 degrees and precipitating in some frozen form tonight is not helping things. Especially since it was 80 degrees yesterday. It was about 70 degrees last Sunday, and the Sunday before that there was six inches of snow on the ground. Apparently the weather in Memphis suffers from bi-polar disorder.
I am blogging this from my new netbook. Binky the Third, my old, reliable laptop, has served me well for almost five years and, while still ticking along, he's starting to show his age. So I invested in a new toy, which would easily fit into a decent-sized purse if I had one. I've always been a "stuff in my pockets" type of girl, mainly because I'm really bad about leaving stuff places if it's not in my pockets. But Binky IV will not fit in my pocket, so I'm going to have to acquire a decent-sized purse. Actually, now that skinny jeans are making a comeback, there's very little that does fit in my pockets these days, so I guess the purse will come in handy.
I feel like the whole world has changed since December, and I can't even begin to describe how different it is. But, on the other hand, it's not all that different. The alleycat is still overweight; the kitten is still behaving badly. My fiance is still not my spouse, and I'm still happily living in the city. The Eagles have still not won a Super Bowl.
More for another post. Someday spring will really be in the air, and -- now that I figured out how to reset the password on my wireless router -- I will be able to blog from my back deck. No purse necessary.
So the last time I did this was in December, when my sunroom was full of Christmas tree. Now it's March, and my sunroom still has lingering Christmas tree needles. I can honestly say that it's not just my poor blog that I've been neglecting. I've had the most rotten case of the winter blues that I can ever remember. The fact that it's supposed to be 31 degrees and precipitating in some frozen form tonight is not helping things. Especially since it was 80 degrees yesterday. It was about 70 degrees last Sunday, and the Sunday before that there was six inches of snow on the ground. Apparently the weather in Memphis suffers from bi-polar disorder.
I am blogging this from my new netbook. Binky the Third, my old, reliable laptop, has served me well for almost five years and, while still ticking along, he's starting to show his age. So I invested in a new toy, which would easily fit into a decent-sized purse if I had one. I've always been a "stuff in my pockets" type of girl, mainly because I'm really bad about leaving stuff places if it's not in my pockets. But Binky IV will not fit in my pocket, so I'm going to have to acquire a decent-sized purse. Actually, now that skinny jeans are making a comeback, there's very little that does fit in my pockets these days, so I guess the purse will come in handy.
I feel like the whole world has changed since December, and I can't even begin to describe how different it is. But, on the other hand, it's not all that different. The alleycat is still overweight; the kitten is still behaving badly. My fiance is still not my spouse, and I'm still happily living in the city. The Eagles have still not won a Super Bowl.
More for another post. Someday spring will really be in the air, and -- now that I figured out how to reset the password on my wireless router -- I will be able to blog from my back deck. No purse necessary.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Getting into the Festive Spirit
I finally got my Christmas tree last night. My fiance, after protesting that I had to get a smaller tree than the one he had to carry up the stairs last year, agreed to help me. This year's tree, of course, is a full foot taller and about three feet wider than last year's. The good news for my fiance: it's just barely touching the ceiling, so next year's won't be any taller -- unless I'm living somewhere else.
As we wandered around the Christmas tree lot, my fiance hopefully lingering among the seven-foot-tall trees while I carefully inspected the eight- and nine-footers, I fondly recalled the day we got our very first Christmas tree. Because I am an electronic pack rat and can manage to dig up such things, here's how I told the story in an email to my Mom way back then...
So my (then-)boyfriend (now fiance) has this brilliant idea that we're going to cut down a Christmas tree. He doesn't want to buy one from a Christmas tree lot, because he says they don't stay fresh and they get dried out too quickly because it's too warm here for Yankee fir trees. Since it's supposed to be 70 degrees today, I suppose he has a point. (No such problem this year; the Yankee fir trees are feeling right at home. It's the Yankee woman who's doing all the complaining -- I moved here to get away from weather like this.)
So, on Saturday, we drive around out in the country (which starts about ten minutes outside of the town where he lives) for about an hour and a half looking for a Christmas tree. In honor of the occasion, my boyfriend's wearing his red plaid flannel lumberjack shirt. He said that he had found several Christmas trees -- cedar, not fir -- on empty lots over the years. Apparently people have gotten wise to this tactic, because all of the really nice cedar trees that we see are on the wrong sides of barbed wire fences. Including all of the ones on the "cut-your-own" Christmas tree farm, which we decide will be our last resort.
My boyfriend has one more idea before that: his company owns the huge, partially-wooded lot behind his office. It's only partially-wooded because most of the middle of it is a swamp. But it's too cold for snakes, so we trudge through the muck looking for the perfect Christmas tree. And it's there, with one small problem: it's about sixteen feet tall. I, of course, am determined to have this tree, or at least as much of it as we can fit into the house. My boyfriend, of course, thinks I'm out of my mind, and has no intention of cutting down a sixteen foot tall tree and lugging it through the center of town.
Half an hour later, he's dragging the top twelve feet or so of the perfect Christmas tree through the swamp and up the hill to the parking lot. He looks like a pissed-off lumberjack, I look like the cat that ate the canary, and the tree ends up sticking out three feet off the end of the pick-up truck as we drive through town.
I got my five boxes of Christmas stuff and the tree stand out of storage on Sunday, and we set up the tree (minus about another three feet off the bottom) that night. The tree is huge; it's about eight or nine feet tall and looks like it's almost that wide. We trimmed the "back" branches short so that we could put it closer to the wall, but that made it front-heavy, so we weighted the bottom down with bricks and tied it off to the wall so it wouldn't fall over. So far, so good. The only thing that didn't work was my angel; the top of the tree isn't strong enough to hold it up, so we put a bow up there instead.
So far, that tree is my favorite of all the ones I've ever had.
As we wandered around the Christmas tree lot, my fiance hopefully lingering among the seven-foot-tall trees while I carefully inspected the eight- and nine-footers, I fondly recalled the day we got our very first Christmas tree. Because I am an electronic pack rat and can manage to dig up such things, here's how I told the story in an email to my Mom way back then...
So my (then-)boyfriend (now fiance) has this brilliant idea that we're going to cut down a Christmas tree. He doesn't want to buy one from a Christmas tree lot, because he says they don't stay fresh and they get dried out too quickly because it's too warm here for Yankee fir trees. Since it's supposed to be 70 degrees today, I suppose he has a point. (No such problem this year; the Yankee fir trees are feeling right at home. It's the Yankee woman who's doing all the complaining -- I moved here to get away from weather like this.)
So, on Saturday, we drive around out in the country (which starts about ten minutes outside of the town where he lives) for about an hour and a half looking for a Christmas tree. In honor of the occasion, my boyfriend's wearing his red plaid flannel lumberjack shirt. He said that he had found several Christmas trees -- cedar, not fir -- on empty lots over the years. Apparently people have gotten wise to this tactic, because all of the really nice cedar trees that we see are on the wrong sides of barbed wire fences. Including all of the ones on the "cut-your-own" Christmas tree farm, which we decide will be our last resort.
My boyfriend has one more idea before that: his company owns the huge, partially-wooded lot behind his office. It's only partially-wooded because most of the middle of it is a swamp. But it's too cold for snakes, so we trudge through the muck looking for the perfect Christmas tree. And it's there, with one small problem: it's about sixteen feet tall. I, of course, am determined to have this tree, or at least as much of it as we can fit into the house. My boyfriend, of course, thinks I'm out of my mind, and has no intention of cutting down a sixteen foot tall tree and lugging it through the center of town.
Half an hour later, he's dragging the top twelve feet or so of the perfect Christmas tree through the swamp and up the hill to the parking lot. He looks like a pissed-off lumberjack, I look like the cat that ate the canary, and the tree ends up sticking out three feet off the end of the pick-up truck as we drive through town.
I got my five boxes of Christmas stuff and the tree stand out of storage on Sunday, and we set up the tree (minus about another three feet off the bottom) that night. The tree is huge; it's about eight or nine feet tall and looks like it's almost that wide. We trimmed the "back" branches short so that we could put it closer to the wall, but that made it front-heavy, so we weighted the bottom down with bricks and tied it off to the wall so it wouldn't fall over. So far, so good. The only thing that didn't work was my angel; the top of the tree isn't strong enough to hold it up, so we put a bow up there instead.
So far, that tree is my favorite of all the ones I've ever had.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Blogging Creatively
At the moment, I'm blogging from my phone, killing time before dinner and a show with a friend. Ah, technology...
I attended a panel discussion last night on "Working Creatively," which was originally billed as a session on how to bring creativity into jobs (like mine) which are not generally seen as "artistic." It ended up as a rather impassioned discussion on how to keep and advance the efforts of creative people in cities (like Memphis) which are not generally seen as supportive of such efforts. So I didn't come away with any new perspectives on how to make my work more fresh and exciting, but I did get a lot to think about on how to make the city more fresh and exciting. And some great insights on why people here think it already is.
It always inspires me to be around people who love Memphis for what it is and have great hopes for what it can be. Especially people who are willing to step up, in ways big and small, and do their part to achieve those hopes. I'm hoping that all the excitement that was generated last night can be channeled into something bigger.
For my small part, I am off to support local theater at The Glass Menagerie. The last time I saw a production of it was in college, on the tail end of the meltdown I alluded to several posts earlier. I am sure this one will probably resonate for me in different ways.
Last weekend, I saw 1776 for the first time since I worked on a production 10 years ago. I was struck by the references to tyranny and terror and the tradeoff between liberty and comfortable safety. It sounded so much like a commentary on wiretapping and waterboarding. But, of course, neither of those things existed in 1776.
I attended a panel discussion last night on "Working Creatively," which was originally billed as a session on how to bring creativity into jobs (like mine) which are not generally seen as "artistic." It ended up as a rather impassioned discussion on how to keep and advance the efforts of creative people in cities (like Memphis) which are not generally seen as supportive of such efforts. So I didn't come away with any new perspectives on how to make my work more fresh and exciting, but I did get a lot to think about on how to make the city more fresh and exciting. And some great insights on why people here think it already is.
It always inspires me to be around people who love Memphis for what it is and have great hopes for what it can be. Especially people who are willing to step up, in ways big and small, and do their part to achieve those hopes. I'm hoping that all the excitement that was generated last night can be channeled into something bigger.
For my small part, I am off to support local theater at The Glass Menagerie. The last time I saw a production of it was in college, on the tail end of the meltdown I alluded to several posts earlier. I am sure this one will probably resonate for me in different ways.
Last weekend, I saw 1776 for the first time since I worked on a production 10 years ago. I was struck by the references to tyranny and terror and the tradeoff between liberty and comfortable safety. It sounded so much like a commentary on wiretapping and waterboarding. But, of course, neither of those things existed in 1776.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Requiem for a Saloon
I feel like I need to comment, at least briefly, on the passing of Shooters, which apparently burned to the ground this morning some time before I got out of bed. Although the place hadn't been called Shooters for at least four years, that's how most people I know will remember it. Those that are capable of remembering it at all, that is.
My own recollections are pleasantly vague for the most part, but I did make some friends there whom I still enjoy seeing in other places. It's definitely been a landmark of my time here, and one that I have missed and am sorry to now see gone forever.
My own recollections are pleasantly vague for the most part, but I did make some friends there whom I still enjoy seeing in other places. It's definitely been a landmark of my time here, and one that I have missed and am sorry to now see gone forever.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
A Simple Market Analysis
As all of the conflicting reports and general chaos about the current financial crisis swirl around us, I feel like it is my duty to put my economics degree to work and provide some clear, concise, useful information to those lucky few who are smart enough to read my blog. So here, for your enjoyment (or despair, depending on whether your money is in mutual funds or under the mattress), is a Simple Market Analysis:
One share of Starbucks stock is worth approximately the same as one pound of Starbucks coffee. Or two triple venti vanilla lattes (make mine nonfat, please).
One share of GM stock is worth about as much as a quart of moderately-priced synthetic motor oil. Take heart, though, GM
shareholders: you can't even get a quart of cheap motor oil for what Ford is trading at. You can, however, get one of those little pine tree air fresheners to hang from your rearview mirror. Maybe even two if they're on sale.
Last month's cable bill would have bought five shares in Time Warner Cable or seven shares in Comcast.
My cell phone charger cost more than a share of Nokia stock.
One share of Citigroup is worth about 1/3 of the late fee that they charge their credit card holders.
And one share of Bank of America wouldn't cover a bounced check fee in most states.
One share of Coach stock will barely buy you a handbag at Target.
For what it costs to check one suitcase on most airlines, you could buy a share in American, United, AND Northwest. Which is why you should diversify your portfolio. And carry your luggage on the plane.
And one share of MGM Mirage costs less than I'm going to lose in poker tonight. Maybe I should try gambling in the stock market instead.
One share of Starbucks stock is worth approximately the same as one pound of Starbucks coffee. Or two triple venti vanilla lattes (make mine nonfat, please).
One share of GM stock is worth about as much as a quart of moderately-priced synthetic motor oil. Take heart, though, GM
shareholders: you can't even get a quart of cheap motor oil for what Ford is trading at. You can, however, get one of those little pine tree air fresheners to hang from your rearview mirror. Maybe even two if they're on sale.Last month's cable bill would have bought five shares in Time Warner Cable or seven shares in Comcast.
My cell phone charger cost more than a share of Nokia stock.
One share of Citigroup is worth about 1/3 of the late fee that they charge their credit card holders.
And one share of Bank of America wouldn't cover a bounced check fee in most states.One share of Coach stock will barely buy you a handbag at Target.
For what it costs to check one suitcase on most airlines, you could buy a share in American, United, AND Northwest. Which is why you should diversify your portfolio. And carry your luggage on the plane.
And one share of MGM Mirage costs less than I'm going to lose in poker tonight. Maybe I should try gambling in the stock market instead.
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