How Excellent! 17 Random Things About Self

Self’s been tagged!  By Fab Kathleen!

Shiver-me-timbers!  (Self, quit with the pirate talk already!)

Okey-dokey, purpose of this tag is for self to list 17 Random Things About Herself.  Since self believes in total, and that means total, absolute spontaneity, here goes, without so much as (self swears) a second of forethought:

1.  Self doesn’t feel her day is complete unless she has read several pages of a book.  Read for pleasure, that is.

2.  Self equates the holidays with watching movies.

3.  Hubby thinks self is impulsive (totally untrue).

4.  Self has butterflies in her stomach every time she remembers that she’s supposed to be going to Manila in three weeks.

5.  Self misses Manila.  Until she gets there.

6.  Self has some very good friends.  None of them know each other.

7.  Self spends most of her day in front of the computer.

8.  Self has a disabled parking placard.

9.  Self used to think she had nice legs (until she saw American girls’ legs —  ha ha ha ha!)

10.  Today was the first time in over a year that self got complimented on her skin (probably because classes are over and she isn’t perpetually frowning)

11.  Self’s Dearest Mum is famous.

12.  Self has a brother who has been in the newspapers.  A lot.

13.  Self liked New York when she lived there (early 80s).

14.  Self’s favorite thing about her house right now is the 6-foot Christmas tree.

15.  Self is currently watching “What Not to Wear.”  Another show she watches frequently is “The View.”

16.  Self has seen “The Matrix” four times.  (She’s seen “Princes Mononoke” five times.  She saw “The Painted Veil” three times, and then she finally bought the DVD)

17.  Self adores going to the Symphony with hubby.

And here are the 17 people self will tag:

1. Kathleen
2. Luisa (Have you tagged her already, Kathleen?)
3. Barb
4. Bob
5. Chancelucky
6. Frances
7. Grace
8. Jean
9. Lavalady
10. Maya
11. Penny
12. Rebecca
13. Stella
14. Tania
15. Tina
16. Ver
17. Vince

Self can’t believe she actually came up with 17 people to tag!  And it didn’t take her very long at all!

Self ‘Fesses Up

Self was going to the library to pick up a book she had placed on hold (Doris Lessing’s The Making of the Representative for Planet 8 — the only copy of the book in the entire Peninsula was in Burlingame, of all places) when she saw people standing at the corner of Jefferson and Middlefield waving signs. The signs said: SHOE PAVILION GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE — 80% OFF, EVERYTHING MUST GO!

Holy moly! Before self could even say “quick-as-a-wink,” she was heading in the opposite direction from the Library, quite forgetting that she had only placed enough coins for 30 minutes of parking.

And when she arrived at the Shoe Pavilion (which was only a few yards away from the Library, after all), she thought a bomb had hit, for the shelves were practically empty, and the few items that had been left behind were strewn across the floor in no discernible pattern, while the last hungry vultures — er, self means: women — pawed at the ground and stuck shoes sized 6 on their size 8 feet and — Self doesn’t know how she could have missed the sale notice, for she lives in Redwood City, and Shoe Pavilion is less than a mile from her house.

Anyhoo, the sight of women grabbing at shoes must have caused adrenaline to kick in, for in short order self, who when she left the house that morning had no idea that she needed shoes, bent down and began digging through piles of Steve Maddens and Tommy Hilfiggers. Most of the stuff that was left were a hideous brown or enormous size 12s. But, in one pile self managed to unearth a pair of pink loafers, and in another she unearthed a true find: gold Aerosole ballet flats!

Then, clutching these precious items to her chest, self made for the check-out lines, which were about 15 people deep. And then, standing in line, she decided she must consult someone on her purchases. So she tried calling first Penny, then other aunt who loves to go shopping, then Sandy, but no one picked up. Self finally reached cuz in Virginia, who said: “Where are you? Why is there a baby crying in the background?”

Funny, self hadn’t been aware of a baby in her immediate vicinity, but after cuz mentioned it, self looked up and discovered that she did indeed happen to be standing behind a woman with a baby stroller, and the stroller was festooned with at least eight pairs of shoes.

Self then inquired of cousin if, given the choice, she would go for a pair of pink shoes or a pair of gold shoes. Cuz said, with absolutely no hesitation, “Gold shoes.”

So, self decided she would ask the cashier how much each of the pairs were, and if she said something like $20, self would surrender the pink shoes.

It was a long time before the line moved, however, and self suddenly remembered the parking meter. But she knew that if she handed the shoes to someone to hold while she left the store to add coins to the meter, that person would make off with self’s precious stash. So, self swore under her breath but decided that, come what may, she would remain steadfast and wait in line.

Eventually, woman with the crying baby got through paying for her purchases (eight pairs of shoes for something like $50??? Self wasn’t sure she heard correctly), and self was now facing the cashier. Alas, cashier had no idea how much self’s two pairs of shoes cost. “Didn’t these come in a box?” cashier asked. “No,” self said, “They were on the floor.” “But, didn’t you see any purple boxes lying nearby?” Self shook her head; she hadn’t. And this was the absolute honest-to-God truth. So, the resourceful cashier produced an empty shoe box from under the register, aimed her little laser at the UPC code, and out came the amount: $3.50. “For both?” self inquired, when she was once again able to speak. “Your total is $7,” the cashier said.

And then self ran with her $7 worth of shoes to the parking lot across the street, and she saw that she had not yet gotten a ticket. Oh happy happy joy joy. How self loves the day after Thanksgiving in a recession-driven America.

A Very Bond Thanksgiving

Finally, hubby got to fulfill his most earnest Thanksgiving wish: to watch the new James Bond movie. And to watch it at a time when it would not interfere with the great football games taking place Thanksgiving Day. And so there we were, hubby, son, and self, seated in the downtown cinema for the 6:30 p.m. show. Seated directly behind us was a whole row of young-ish men, who were having a “boys night out,” obviously, and chuckling at all the previews (They seemed to like Clive Owen’s “The International.” Self adores Clive Owen, but why is Naomi Watts in the preview for all of three seconds?)

Self is here to declare that all those people who derided this version as “not very good Bond” are talking through their hats. For this was indeed a very good Bond.  Perhaps not as good as the Bond/Vesper Lynd installment (Olga Kurylenko doesn’t have quite the acting chops of Eva Green, in self’s humble opinion), but still very good. There were a lot of slap-boxing fight scenes (reminiscent of the Bourne movies); there was a lot of fancy inter-cutting of scenes of local color with scenes of mayhem (a horse thingamajig in Siena, Italy intercut with fancy rooftop chase scenes; Austrian opera intercut with more chase scenes); there were a lot of really atmospheric shots of Haiti; and there was a hotel of surreal modernity (fantastic!) right in the middle of the Bolivian desert. A young woman named Gemma Arterton (22 years old) who was recently featured in Vanity Fair was on-screen for maybe five minutes. Tim Piggot-Smith of “Jewel in the Crown,” which Penny and self were so ga-ga over during our Stanford days, made a brief cameo appearance, and he was sadly fat.

Afterwards, since self was so exceedingly thrilled by the two hours spent ogling Daniel Craig’s biceps, she wanted to bite the bullet and plunk down $5 for a treat at Marble Slab Creamery. Alas, tonight of all nights, when self had girded her loins to plunk down the money, the shop was dark. So self had to settle for Beard Papa. They have a new type of cream puff called “cookie crunch” and, my, it was heavenly! Self could hardly wait to get home to begin noshing on it.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Best of 2008: It’s Time

The worst thing that happened in 2008, self can’t even talk about it, regular readers of this blog know what that was . . .

For now, self’s trying to keep upbeat, to focus on the positive.

Best thing(s) that happened to self in 2008:

• Visiting Tel Aviv for the first time, seeing her
• Penny’s visit (and eating cebiche together at La Mer)
• Brother-in-law’s visit
• Hearing Zack read at Stanford (and dinner afterward at Shiok)
• Teaching freshmen (ID1A, NDNU)
• Attending the reading of Edward P. Jones at Stanford (and getting to tell him — in person — of self’s undying admiration)
• Teaching Jones’ The Known World (twice)
• Getting to know The Kite Runner
• Watching Ed Norton in “Pride and Glory”
• Watching “W”
• Watching “Elegy”
• Watching James Franco and Seth Rogen in “The Pineapple Express”
• Reading A Mighty Heart
• Reading 102 Minutes: The Untold Story of the Fight to Survive In the Twin Towers
• Reading Jonathan Ames’ Wake Up, Sir!
• Reading The Coming of the Third Reich
• Reading Eichmann in Jerusalem
• Adding 13 pages of writing to self-doesn’t-know-yet-what
• Buying a Food Saver vacuum sealer (yet to arrive)
• Getting to follow in son’s footsteps as he traipsed through Spain, France, and Italy this summer
• Ordering Wave Daffodils and Galactic Star Daffodils from Dutch Gardens
• Eating with Dearest Mum in Rumi in San Carlos
• Eating with brother-in-law in Pasta Moon in Half Moon Bay
• Having “Menchit” staged, and meeting the Almario women. Also: Tatiana, Greg, Al, Allan, Josef, Benjie
• Watching Gayle Romasanta’s fab musical, “Love in the Time of Breast Cancer”
• Watching Daniel Craig in previews for the new James Bond movie, “Quantum of Solace” (Be still, self’s beating heart!)
• Writing a review (of three great short story collections) for the Women’s Review of Books — Watch for it in the Jan/Feb issue, dear blog readers.
• Helping Gillian get an internship at Calyx
• Seeing Obama win

The Day After

This is the second post-election post (What? Two “posts” in one sentence? Self, you are really losing it!) that self has written today.

The first one was written at 4 a.m. Self had crashed on the couch, before Obama’s speech (Thank you, Luisa Igloria, for being kind enough to forward the text). When she woke up, she was on the bed, with no memory of how she had gotten from Point A to Point B on her own — presumably hubby had not lifted her, so she had somehow perambulated to the bedroom without once opening her eyes. Or maybe she had opened her eyes, but was so exhausted she didn’t know her eyes were open.

She does know this: she woke at least twice before 4 a.m., and each time, the first thought that came to her was: “He’s the President.” And then this thought was immediately followed by such a feeling of ease and contentment that self was able to fall back asleep with no trouble whatsoever. And self wrote all this, oh so much more eloquently, in her first post. But after a few hours she decided to delete it (as she often does — oh, those itchy fingers of self! So ready to press the “Delete” key at all times!)

Early yesterday evening, self called son in Cal Poly: she wanted to make sure he had mailed in his ballot. He said he had, by priority mail. Last week.

Some time later, but before the polls in California had closed, self got an e-mail from Penny in New York, sent from her Blackberry. Penny asked: “Do you think California’s going to go for him? Go, Obama!”

Self replied: “California’s blue, blue, blue all the way!”

After Pelosi went live from Washington, D.C. to announce Obama as our 44th President, self got another e-mail from Penny: “THANK YOU CALIFORNIA!”

Today was one of those days that start off nice and then build and build to a fever pitch of tension, all having to do with there not being enough hours in the day to do prep for self’s three classes on the morrow. In the middle of an afternoon errand run, self found herself in the Safeway parking lot. And someone in some car was playing some mellow sixties tune at full blast. And the sun was shining (or trying to). And self thought how different the world seems today, and how happy she is to hear that sort of music.

WordPress had its own virtual election, and here’s how the votes broke down:

Barack Obama and Joe Biden: 69%
John McCain and Sarah Palin: 24%
Ralph Nader and Matt Gonzalez: 3%
Robert Barr and Wayne Root: 2%
Cynthia McKinney and Rosa Clemente: 1%
Charles Baldwin and Darrell Castle: 1%

About the results, self has only one query: Who is Charles Baldwin???

To the Ferry Building, After the Play

Self had such a good time on Sunday. First of all, the actors and actresses and the scripts were high-octane. And it was so good to see Stella, Tina, Jay, Kerry, and Penny. Penny flew in all the way from New York! Afterwards, we went to the Ferry Building. The day was gorgeous, just gorgeous! We walked around the wharf, and a Dutch woman was kind enough to take our picture. We chatted with her and her boyfriend for a bit. They came from the city of Utrecht. The man had a thick guidebook that said USA on the cover. They were at the start of a three-week vacation. Self told them they must not leave California without driving south on the Coast Highway.

Inside the Ferry Building, there was a gala fundraiser so, disappointingly, all the shops (except for Book Passage) were closed. We tried to get into The Slanted Door and were told it would be impossible to get in without a reservation. We ended up at the building next door, Pier 1, where there was a new Peruvian restaurant, La Mer.

The decor was chrome and blue glass. People were huddled around coffee tables in the lobby, sampling drinks and appetizers. Penny and self tried the cebiche sampler, and Peruvian beer (mellower than San Miguel), and a beef dish that the young Asian couple at the next table assured us was a very authentically Peruvian dish, and afterwards we tried the creme brulee sampler (four different kinds: vanilla, chocolate, mocha, hazelnut).

Self was going to drop Penny off at her hotel on Nob Hill, but at the sight of a series of ascending hills, her courage quite failed her. No worries, Penny said, and hopped out. Last self saw of her, she was energetically hailing a cab, which pulled over immediately. There’s no one who can hail a cab like a real New Yorker. Even when self is in New York and there are gazillions of cabs zooming by on the street, none of them stop for self.

Then, self turned right and found herself in Chinatown. It’s a different place from the Chinatown she’s used to seeing: the daytown Chinatown of crowds and smells and produce spilling over onto the sidewalk. Now, everything was tucked neatly inside the storefronts, the streets were empty of traffic, and self was so tempted to park and just nose around a bit. But the thought of her classes prevailed, and she found Fourth Street and headed home.

Eavesdropping: Poeta en San Francisco

Barb has food on her mind lately. Which is so gratifying to self, as self has food on her mind pretty much all the time (as witness previous post, on Halloween candy, which of course self posts two weeks too late).

Dear mentor Doreen Fernandez passed away five years ago: incredible. Self knows it is because of this teacher that she had the tenacity to stick it out as a writer. Because if someone like Doreen believed in self, then self couldn’t be all that bad.

Another thing that is making self feel validated is the fact that she has just read ex-classmate Jeffrey E’s bio on the book flap of Middlesex, and it says he published his first story in 1988. And it is very gratifying to know that self had her first story published, in Story Quarterly, in 1985. So it turns out she beat Jeffrey by three years (But who cares, because now Jeffrey has been featured in People Magazine, and self is still wallowing here in obscurity in Redwood City. But there are some advantages to obscurity. Such as: no one comments on how thin your hair is getting, or how much weight one is gaining)

The Story Quarterly where self’s first published story appears also happened to feature others who have gone on to greatness, such as Lee K. Abbott. Self treasures it not only because it was the first to publish self (It even beat out self’s first published story in the Philippines, which honor goes to Philippine Studies, at the time edited by Dear Departed Alfredo Navarra Salanga), but because another Stanford classmate, Penny Brandt, is in it. And we — Jeffrey, Penny, and I — were all at Stanford at the same time. Again, self is moved to say: incredible. Incredible to imagine Jeffrey back then, with a full head of curly black hair, and that dog that he used to keep shut up in his car all day.

And now, because of Barb, self is also thinking about Doreen, and about the many books Doreen wrote, one of which self is holding at this instant: LASA, A Guide to Dining in the Provinces. Doreen was not only an indefatigable teacher and writer, she apparently crossed the length and breadth of the Philippines, finding culinary gems in Laoag, Narvacan, Baguio, San Fernando, Dagupan, Angeles, Guagua, Calumpit, Malolos, Malabon, Taytay, Angono, Bacoor, Calamba, Los Baños, San Pablo, Lipa etc etc etc

In Lipa, Doreen discovered a place billed “as both restaurant and motorworks.” A sign touted: “Car fixed while you dine” (Self thinks this is an absolutely brilliant idea). It was “right on the main highway” and faced the Floral Garden Memorial Park (though self would not like to be reminded of her eventual demise while she is eating — !) There, Doreen feasted on sinigang na maliputo, for 20 pesos (Incredible! At today’s exchange rate, would that be something like 50 US cents???). The bagoong was home-made (self salivating as she writes) and served in little saucers with a squeeze of calamansi. Doreen complained that the menu was short on vegetables, as there were only two choices: ampalaya and chopsuey (!!) When Doreen tried to order pu-el, which she describes as “a pulutan of pig’s tail,” the kitchen informed her that it had run out. The restaurant was screened but not air-conditioned, and the tables were covered with red-checked tablecloths. The name of the restaurant, which self sincerely hopes is still there (though it’s 17 years later): Batangueño Restaurant.

Today, Sunday, 4 November: A Reading, A Concert, a Prosciutto Panini, a Calendar, and Finally, a Dog

Spent long, long day with hubby in the City. Creeping into the dark and silent house at 10:30 PM this evening, realized we half expected to see Bella stiff, lifeless. For the past week, she has not responded when we call her for her normal feeding times. Self has to go right up to her and yell, “Food, Bella, food!” Sometimes not even that will rouse her: Bella will remain lying on her pillow, seemingly lifeless. Once, looking down at her, self’s heart constricted and she thought Bella was actually dead. But eventually she did stir. Yesterday, she seemed normal when we took her for her usual walk. But today it took a long long time and much coaxing before she would get up from her pillow.

Self’s friend Sandy had a dog named Rocket, who was as frisky as could be, even at 13 years of age. Then, one day, Sandy went to the backyard and found Rocket stretched out on the ground, lifeless. She had to cart Rocket’s stiff body to work with her, as she was already late. And then she decided not to have Rocket cremated, as the vet was going to charge her $80. Self doesn’t know what eventually happened to poor Rocket’s corpse, she is afraid to ask.

Anyhoo, today was an extremely busy day. First we went to the San Francisco Jewish Community Center to hear Ehud Havazelet read. What a beautiful center that is! Self had no idea it was there, even though she’s come within a few blocks of it many times, when she used to teach at USF. Inside, there was hustle and bustle, lots of tables filled with books, and even a coffee and pastry stand. Self filled out two raffle tickets and, aside from purchasing Ehud’s book (and having him sign it, of course), she also picked up a really neat calendar that shows, month by month, all the events happening in the San Francisco Bay Area well into 2008 (Calendar ends at August 08). For instance, on December 16, 5 PM, there’s a Cooking Class: How To Make Israeli Appetizers.

Then, on Christmas Day, there’s a double feature of Israeli films: Three Mothers (“the saga of triplets born in Egypt, their offspring, music and secrets”); and Souvenirs (“a documentary about a young filmmaker who takes his Yemenite father on a journey in the footsteps of his service in World War II in Europe”). Film showings to be followed by Chinese dinner.

On Friday, January 11, there’s something called an Ethiopian Shabbat, which is described in the calendar as “a celebration of the contribution of Ethiopian Jews to the life and culture of Israel, including a Shabbat meal.”

On Thursday, February 21, there’s a lecture on “Botanical Sensations From Israel,” described as “a journey through Israel’s flora, including basic botany, tasting, literature, legends and art.”

And so forth and so on.

Self had not seen Ehud for perhaps 10 years. He was his same gracious and self-deprecating self. He pointed out his wife to self and revealed that he has two sons: one 19 and the other just 6. Then self brought up a couple of old Stanford classmates and Ehud said to tell them he said hello. Which self most definitely will do. In fact, shortly after leaving the Center, self called old friend Penny in New York and told her she had just seen Ehud, and Penny was disbelieving and said it was simply amazing.

After Ehud’s reading, hubby and self headed to the Hayes Valley to walk around and kill time before the 7 PM concert at Davies of the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra from Venezuela. Naturally, we did not intend to spend much money, so we skipped Absinthe; Sauce; Jardiniere; and Citizen Cake. Instead, we ended up at Arlequin, a wine merchant and coffee shop. And that turned out to be an inspired choice, for hubby thought of ordering a sandwich, which we ended up sharing: prosciutto, sliced pear, and Swiss cheese on panini. God, that was heavenly. And afterwards self decided to chase it down with a glass of Chardonnay and a cream puff and also a bag of Arlequin’s “home-made” potato chips.

Then, it was off to Davies, which literally rocked this evening. The orchestra consisted of youngsters between the ages of 12 and 26, they played Shostakovich and Bernstein flawlessly, and their conductor was a 26-year-old who, according to the programme notes, has just been named the next musical director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Self had never, ever experienced the like of such a concert, anywhere in America or the Philippines or in Europe. The students played with wicked speed, the conductor reminded self of the drum major for the Stanford Band, the many Venezuelans in the audience whistled and clapped and stamped their feet, and there were three encores. Finally, someone shut the hall lights, and in the complete darkness people began to boo. “Llanera, llanera!” people called. And when the lights went up again, the entire orchestra was wearing the jersies of the Venezuelan soccer team. The crowd went absolutely wild, and the orchestra played for half an hour more. Self thinks only an orchestra this young would have stretched themselves to the absolute limit that way.

So, it’s been quite a successful day, and now self has to settle down and finish grading papers. Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Yesterday, Random Thoughts and Images

The funeral parlor engaged by the Velascos was on Park Street in Burlingame. Self showed up late because she was trying to fulfill promise to hubby to water the front lawn (though self’s being late cannot be blamed entirely on hubby, for self had a hard time deciding what to wear, as she does whenever she has to attend a gathering of Filipinos: first she was going to wear a black dress and then changed her mind and then kept changing her mind until finally she threw on an old pair of black pants and an old black blouse and then had to floor it to Burlingame)

Upon arriving at funeral parlor, self found that a mass was in progress. Which was actually good as self hadn’t gone to mass in ages. And the priest was Filipino and for his sermon he apparently took his inspiration from the last lines of a poem by T. S. Eliot, constructing a sermon which seemed to revolve around the value of “sitting still.”

Self learned from speaking to some people she knew that Tito Ronnie and his entire family had just arrived a few days earlier from Manila : the whole family, including children and grandchildren, were going to take a cruise to Greece. They discovered him in the steam room the day after their arrival, already expired. And he had not been diagnosed with heart symptoms of any kind! Morevoer, self learned that Dearest Mum, with her unerring instinct for tragedy, had already spoken to Tita Erlinda, in fact on the very day of Tito Ronnie’s demise. And everyone was amazed that she had not told self, that self had to find out from sister-in-law, during dinner in San Francisco.

After the service, self spoke to the Velasco daughters, Penny and Marissa, who she had not seen in ages, and Marissa told self she now lived in Sonora, Mexico, and even though self has nascent plans to visit Oaxaca (sometime in the next few years), Marissa says it is clear across on the other side of the country from where she lives.

Then, self tells Marissa it is so good to see her, and Marissa tells self she is worried about her mother, and when self looks at Tita Erlinda she sees a woman who has not changed one bit, in either personality or appearance, since the day self first met her, almost 30 years ago.

Then self goes home, and in the interval hubby has arrived from his long and arduous trip to ferry son to Paso Robles, and self has nothing to offer him except beef franks and rice, and hubby grumbles quite a bit, and utters sentiments on the order of “Here I have driven 400 miles and all I get is a dinner of hot dogs and rice,” and self tells him that the reason she had no time to cook was that she was so busy trying to locate sister-in-law (who seems to have vanished since self’s dinner with her, Saturday night), and taking calls from aunt in New York who arose from a coma after 15 days, and catching up with niece G who wanted to see a movie, and watering all the plants with sprinkler hose (per hubby’s instructions, in perfect quadrants), not to mention writing, which after all is what self is supposed to be doing, and whatever hubby may have wanted to say he did not say it (thank goodness), and all he said next was that he had seen the house son is sharing with three other Cal Poly students, and it is an absolute “dump”, all his room-mates are pigs, and self conjures an image from the movie National Lampoon’s Animal House, and forthwith picks up the phone and calls son (who answers after seven rings) to tell him that she has just learned his house is a pigsty and to please clean it up, and then son says he has to go and study, and then hubby tells self that we are supposed to meet Fulton and his family in a hotel in Burlingame at 10 PM.

So.

After returning rental car (cute little red rabbit, which self is sorry for having made fun of), hubby then takes self on a very long and circuitous trip around Comfort Suites (the purpose of these endless circles? To check out a curious building that hubby had noticed yesterday, which was simply a restaurant called Hungry Hunter: self was practically dizzy by the time hubby parked in front of Fulton’s hotel), and we sat and chatted with Fulton, his wife Mae, their son Robert, and Robert’s cousin Edward in the hotel lobby for the next two hours, which was quite a feat since only a few minutes before both hubby and self had exclaimed about how “wiped out” we were, and self learned that Mae’s mother had passed away from cervical cancer, in 1996, and that Mae had fought with her two sisters because they had not pushed their mother to go for more regular check-ups with her Chinese doctor.

Self and hubby stumbled home and self doesn’t remember how she got into bed but when she next opens her eyes it is this morning.

Stay tuned, dear blog reader, stay tuned.

Week After Fourth of July: Mid-Week Status Report

Let’s see, what did self do today?

Self hung up on solicitors, twice!

In contrast to last night, when all self offered hubby for dinner was two slices of leftover pizza, tonight self was able to prepare dinner! Which consisted of instant egg drop soup, macaroni with tomato sauce and chunks of Spam!

Self watched last half of a spooky Japanese film, Premonition!

Self dragged sprinklers around front yard! (Couldn’t quite get sprinklers to cover all quadrants, but, paraphrasing Hillary’s “I am not a cook!” line: “I am not a gardener!”)

Self got the latest Vanity Fair in the mail! With exceedingly un-appetizing actor Shia LaBeouf on front cover, touted as “next Tom Hanks” !! In addition, letter from reader says Bruce Willis looks like dad of Demi and boy/husband Ashton Kutcher! Which judgement self finds extremely unkind to dear Bruce!

E-mail from cousin in San Jose informs self that barbecue cuz was trying to put together for this Saturday is canceled! (Just as well, for it’s self’s birthday! And self would rather spend it in the city! Specifically, in the zoo to look at grizzly bears! To be followed by dinner at the Cliff House!)

Self looked up ticket prices for California “Mid-State” Fair in Paso Robles: Only $7 per person! What a bargain! Self must find way to convince hubby to cough up funds for hotel, right now there’s nothing below $240!

Self got her umpteenth rejection from The Threepenny Review! Which depressed her exceedingly, for 10 years ago anything she wrote was quickly snapped up by aforementioned esteemed mag! Self suspects she is now permanently grouped in the pile of the “not-hot!” (At least esteemed editor Wendy L had the grace to write, in her signature red marker, “Thanks for staying in touch!”)

Self ran half a load of laundry!

Self ate one-half of a chocolate cream pie from Baker’s Square!

Self drove to Costco but drove home again without buying anything because the lines were too long!

Self dropped by Mediterranean Deli in San Carlos and ordered fresh mango shake! Man handed her a glass of frothy pink liquid and she said nothing! Self thought it was good and not mango, was probably guava! But by the time self discovered this, she was already halfway home!

Self called doctor’s office and inquired if doctor could sign a DMV petition for self to be issued a Handicapped Parking placard! Because of self’s stiff neck! (Moreover, self has enough foresight to realize that this fall, all her classes at xxxx community college start at 10! Which means she will not be able to find parking and consequently will always be late for class! Which is sure to result in self losing all credibility with her students. Under such circumstances, self considers handicapped placard absolutely essential!)

Self thinks she must be truly addicted to blogging! Because, in spite of extremely painful neck, she still blogs!