July 29, 2003
Jane Austen Blog: Part I
There was once a young lady of middling fortune who, having achieved the lofty age of three-and-twenty, and possessing all the wisdom and sense which the age of three-and-twenty generally bestows, thought she could do no better than to be married at once.
Accordingly, she went to her mother with the news that she would be soon engaged to some gentleman or other, and, without any concern for who might do the honors, both ladies were as delighted as ladies generally are on these occasions. “Oh! My dear,” said her mother, “I am excessively pleased for you. But I hope, however, that you will be nice in your choice, and not pick too hastily, for though I had only known your father a month before we were engaged, I still cannot think anything less than three months is sufficient to know the character of one’s future partner. And I sincerely hope that you will be guided by your father and myself in your choice.”
The young lady was quick to reassure her mother that she meant to be very obliging to every wish of her dear parents in that regard. “Indeed, Mama,” said she, “I think I would be very happy to settle with any gentleman who met with the approbation of yourself and my father, provided that he was tolerably handsome, and in possession of a reasonable fortune which might not prevent our traveling and keeping several town cars. To say the truth, I should never dream of contradicting the wisdom of a parent in such a matter, as long as your choice should prove identical to my own.”
The recent addition to her neighborhood of a young gentleman of leisure by the name of Mr. Wood was by no means unwelcome to the young lady at this time. The gentleman was acknowledged by the neighborhood to be extremely handsome, in addition to having nearly one hundred thousand a year, and added to these charms a pleasing address and a very genteel manner. The young lady naturally fixed on Mr. Wood as the chosen partner of her fate, and began plans at once to subdue his heart. She was not alarmed by any of those jealous or hesitant feelings which often accompany a lady’s foray into matters of the heart. She knew herself to be not unhandsome, and had many of the best habits of a young lady of fortune: she did good works through the neighborhood (by smiling politely on any homeless man who accosted her), was frequently imitating her betters in fashion, and spent more than her income would allow. In addition to these attractions, she knew herself to be one of the few true ladies then residing in the neighborhood -– for, though there were many who attired themselves as ladies, the vast majority of these were, in fact, gentlemen, and not all of them well-born.
Posted by didofoot at 08:18 PM | Comments (13)
Eviction Notice
A year ago I was evicted from my first Castro apartment. Now, at long last, here is my landlady's eviction letter in its entirety. Hope that this brightens your day as much as it did mine.
(The reference to paint on the computer is because I had mentioned to her that her workmen accidentally painted part of my monitor while they were painting the wall next to it. It was so good of her to determine that the monitor would be just fine, especially considering her apparent faithfulness to the age of the typewriter.)
Posted by didofoot at 10:35 AM | Comments (9)
July 28, 2003
Letter From Dan
Those of you interested in the progress of our most fascinating friend Dan will probably enjoy this slightly abridged email from him (and I hope Dan will not mind my sharing it). Once you've read it, kindly put your brain to work in figuring out which organ I ought to sell to raise the money for my upcoming trip to Greece.
Dear Kristen,
Right. That was a good first try. We will go ahead with this communicating thing slowly, without any rapid scary movements.
Hmmm… It is summertime in Greece. That means: heat, beaches, swimming, sun, cicadas buzzing all day long, crickets, siestas, cold beer in the afternoons, cold wine in the evenings, outside rooftop cinema visits, tavernas with live music, and a general hum of activity, for people visit people in summertime, and foreigners come to Greece in summertime, and Greeks are happy in summertime.
I am probably happier in wintertime. But summertime is nice too.
Up the dirt road from Katounia, about twenty minutes walk, is a secluded beach at the end of a narrow valley with a stream trickling down the middle of it. No one is ever on this beach, which means I can go there [...] for many hours on end.
I have a job now. It requires me to spend two weeks out of every month in Athens, and Athens, despite what fantasies the word conjures up in the imaginations of the uninitiated, is a horrible place. But jobs mean money, and money means, well, money means something important, or so it’s been hammered into me. This job is interesting enough: I am the assistant to a woman who works for the Archbishop of Constantinople. She organizes bi-yearly cruises on environmentally endangered seas and oceans. Scientists, philosophers, social activists, and clergy assemble on these cruises and for a week or so travel around whatever sea it is they are saving, visit the cultural centers on its periphery, and talk about ecology and theology while indulging in seven-course meals twice a day. An interesting sort of thing I’ve gotten myself into. A weird mix of idealistic charity and irony-inducing hypocrisy. This is the West. This is our lives.
My monastery ambitions are now on hold for a while. I am thinking of returning to the States at the end of next summer to go back to university. I think I will try to get into Princeton. We’ll see.
[...]
I mentioned outdoor rooftop cinema visits. Limni, the local village, has a rooftop cinema in the summer, and I’ve gone a few times, and have seen so far: The Two Towers, which sucked; the latest James Bond, which sucked; Harry Potter 2, which was dubbed into Greek, but looked good; a movie called Simone with Al Pacino, which was okay; The Hours, which was both good and awful; and maybe another one which I’ve forgotten. All the movies they show here are Hollywood movies from last year. Hollywood movies just seem to get worse. Why do you think that is? Why do you think Greeks don’t seem to want to see movies about their own country in their own language? Why do you think they see movies about Americans made in America one day, and throw tomatoes at the American embassy the next day? Why do you think that is? But rooftop cinemas are wonderful. You can drink beer and smoke at them, the stars are a good way of making a bad movie better, and there are lots of children scampering about being Greeky.
[...]
What is the friend demographic like over there these days? I mean: where do people live, who are people seeing most often, what are people doing, where are they working?
[...]
I love you, Kristen, and remember: you always bring out my quirk. I don’t know why. Imagine what would happen if I started e-mailing Michele.
Dan/Thomas, always on the run.
Posted by didofoot at 09:34 AM | Comments (13)
July 16, 2003
Talking about the Sicilian is like dancing about architecture
Last night I hung out with Frank for a bit, and as always could not resist bringing up the Sicilian. Talking about an old flame is like smoking a guilty cigarette behind the building with the guys in Shipping & Receiving. I get dizzy and I swear a lot, and I try to act aloof and fierce like one of the boys. The only difference is that when I smoked with the Shipping guys, sometimes Martin would bully George into using the hot glue gun on his own hand to prove how tough he was. That kind of thing mostly doesn't happen during a simple discussion about the Sicilian.
Posted by didofoot at 12:25 PM | Comments (8)
July 15, 2003
Today I am tapioca pudding
Today I am tapioca pudding, a creamy taupe, slightly gelatinous, a slide of sugary mucus, a thickening tongue.
I am a big wobbling blurp of tapioca pudding with two watery eyes peering fretfully around folds of squish, and a small blinking red light of a headache dit-dit-dit-ing, the glow just barely visible through the rapidly closing earholes.
I am an unsuccessful mold of tapioca pudding, threatening to lose my shape entirely, my hair divided into coated clumps and limply oozing, my fingers and toes webbed with viscous gak.
Today I am tapioca pudding, frowny and goopy and blobby and wet, but at least I am delicious.
Posted by didofoot at 03:10 PM | Comments (3)
July 10, 2003
I'll be looking at the moon, but...
Yesterday, I got home from work and ate some cheese on toast and fiddled around with my new laptop and magically was turned invisible by an act of God.
Initially, it was pretty neat. I tried taking a shower and watching the water slide off nothing. Then I watched myself drink milk in the mirror. Then I invisibly played spider solitaire and listened to "Revelling" by Ani DiFranco.
So far, invisibility has been pretty great. I mean, the sky is really the limit when you are invisible. For example, today I plan to sneak through any doors I see that are marked "Employees Only." I might also steal some peaches from Safeway, and try to trip people as they are getting off the bus.
So if you don't see me for a while, now you know why. But don't worry. . .I'll be seeing you. . .
Posted by didofoot at 02:25 PM | Comments (0)
July 09, 2003
The Laptop Treaty of 2003
The president is pleased to announce that the long-anticipated agreement between the Nation Of Me and the Nation Of My Cowboy-Boss has finally been signed by both parties. According to this agreement, the Nation Of Me has today received a laptop, in return for which this Nation will continue to provide the Nation Of My Cowboy-Boss with flirtatious smiles, charmingly naive commentary and an open market for any and all Chinese myths.
The direct benefit of this agreement to the citizen of the Nation Of Me is the ability to play spider solitaire anywhere. Subsets of "anywhere" include but are not limited to: in bed, at Ward Street, at the ballpark, in a strip joint, in Rwanda, and on the bathroom floor of Macy's in downtown San Francisco.
The president invites the world to celebrate this exciting moment in history along with the proud citizen of the Nation Of Me.
Posted by didofoot at 02:43 PM | Comments (1)
July 08, 2003
The Press Responds
This was pulled from a column by foreign war correspondent Dad, written in response to the recent hug sanctions:
Dateline: Dad Nation
Once again your correspondent from this peace ravaged nation has seen another attempt by the Nation of Me to usurp the Gawd given rights of the Nations of Them to engage in the art and craft of hugging. Where oh where will this usurpation of mutual affection find it's natural boundaries? If this trend continues, this correspondent wonders if the next thing to go will be the smile, and then the wave, and finally the greeting. We fear that soon to be a thing of the past is the familiar "Hey, how the hell are ya, anyway. You look like sometin's been eatin' at cher face!" and other jaunty and, yes, shall we say it, warm exchanges between nations.
Early word has reached us that the Nation of The Extended Family is (wait for it) up in arms, ar at least arms akimbo. "More hugs! Maybe some smooches" the poor downtrodden masses in Extendoland have been heard to cry. We nervously await the next confrontation between these two great nations. Will they hug? Will they not hug? Those are the questions. Now, back to you Dan.
Posted by didofoot at 08:02 AM | Comments (2)
July 07, 2003
Press Conference in the Nation Of Me
Yesterday, the press secretary of the Nation Of Me revealed that sanctions will be placed on nearly all international hug imports. The president has declared that foreign hugs are bankrupting our reservoirs of personal space and aloofness. From now on we will accept hugs from only a few select nations. These nations include the country of the Lad and all close family nations. As for outlying countries, which include all aunts, cousins, drinking buddies and pals, we will maintain our friendly stance, but the hug sanctions will remain in place.
These sanctions come at a time when the hug market has become flooded, until hugs have nearly lost their value in the eyes of consumers. The president has noticed the trend of hugs being brought in under flimsy pretexts, such as parties, lunch dates and family reunions. In addition, the market has been plagued by cheap imitations which masquerade as hugs but actually carry sinister groping intentions into the Nation Of Me. The president feels that the Nation Of Me needs to return to the original meaning of the hug. All hug imports must therefore fall under the headings of sexual aids or outlets for intense emotion before they will be considered for importation.
The president assures the public that the country of me will remain true to its longtime reputation of indiscriminately importing and exporting hugs in times of crisis, however.
Those who persist in attempting to flaunt hug sanctions will be heavily fined and may face charges of rudeness and invasive behavior.
Posted by didofoot at 03:57 PM | Comments (6)
July 03, 2003
A boring informational post
I was looking for a map of Golden Gate Park and I found this great website. It shows all the gardens and activities and memorials, with photos and a lot of information about everything. I highly recommend it to anyone who, like me, loves the park but has no idea what-all one can do there.
Posted by didofoot at 11:39 AM | Comments (8)
July 01, 2003
Some thoughts on pirates vs. bunnies
From an email to Brian Danny last year:
No lady loves the pirate. Reason is, the pirate will carry her off over his shoulder. A shoulder in the abdomen tends to disturb a lady's breakfast. Then later, seasickness. And then painful deflowering. No lady likes painful deflowering, no lady whatsoever; also disturbing to her breakfast. A lady likes her breakfast to settle before a painful deflowering and a speedy cannon-infested chase over high seas. But this she is never permitted.
So I am voting for the bunny. A bunny is small and soft and unlikely to disturb a breakfast in any way. Bunnies are better than pirates; there's no two ways about it. A lady today does not want a virile figure of manhood; no. She wants a boyfriend she can carry in her handbag and refuse to feed when he is acting up. She wants someone who can sleep on the pillow without covering it in bloody grime and beard hair and doubloons. Nobody likes a doubloon pillow. A lady wants someone who she can kill and eat if necessary.
Posted by didofoot at 02:34 PM | Comments (6)
