Yum!

Currently I'm obsessed with Flight of the Conchords. Too bad I don't have HBO. Who's the boom king?

CRABS!

My apartment is turning against me; clearly, it wants me out. The latest violation was the discovery of a LIVE CRAB hanging out near a snoozing Lady Buttercup - inside my apartment. Living near the marshes, I often see small crabs scuttling around the docks and even the parking lot. But, how does a 1 by 1.5 inch* crab get inside? And how much sense does it make to cozy up to a dog when you are but a wee crab?

Also, I’m thinking of mailing this Christmas tree candle to someone. It was what I ended up with at a recent tacky party/gift exchange. It doesn’t make the cut for my move but it’s too good to waste on the charity donation box without first enjoying a bit of mischief. Who will it be?

*Scientifically accurate measurement.

the sound that's made by worms

It can’t be helped. Someone has to tell this story, and it might as well be me. A few weeks ago, Natasha and I were in Florida visiting our parents. Natasha was expecting a most peculiar delivery and had asked her friend to check in on things. He was told what would be in the package, but somehow no amount of preparation could prepare for this arrival.

From what I’ve gathered, he opened the package, reached inside, and immediately his hands touched something moist. Also known as damp and creepy. That was it, he closed it up and backed right out of Natasha’s apartment. The worms would have to wait. Yes, the worms.

The people of Maine, they are progressive and good and are doing things right. They recycle, they love the outdoors, and they host all sorts of awesome creatures like puffins and moose. Naturally this encouraged Natasha to get in step and start composting her vegetable scraps. But – she lives in an apartment and has no yard. So she ordered some worms TO KEEP IN HER HOUSE and throw scraps to. I think they might be internet worms, she bought them and they arrived in their custom caravan, and are now eating her garbage. Awesome.

And also:

I went roller skating the other night for the first time since Reginald gleefully took us in college. I went expecting a bunch of nostalgia coasting thirty-somethings dorking out and laughing to an 80’s soundtrack. What’s all this? Skating is not what it used to be. Now it’s all loud rap music and aggressively fast skaters and tricks. It was too much for me. It was scary and I was afraid I would fall down. And this is the defining moment when you realize you are getting old. I wasn’t afraid of falling down because of the embarrassment. No, my fear was that I’d hurt myself. When those priorities switch places, you know that time is running out for daredevil stunts. So this weekend, it’s parasailing while I still have a chance.

But wait, there's more!

I’m moving to a new apartment at the end of the month. The place I’ve rented for over 5 years has been sold, so I have no choice. I’ve been pretty depressed about it. Until, two nights ago. I’m woken in the middle of the night to the smoke detector screaming – seriously, that is one of the most terrifying things I’ve experienced. There was no fire, just a faulty smoke detector that has always been a sensitive, whiny baby. But instead of fixing it right away, the landlords found the time instead to bring the new owners round without notice. I came home to a still faulty smoke detector and blinds that had inexplicably been adjusted to pervy peeping tom range. So now, even though I’m heading to yet another beige apartment, I can leave behind the building list of aggravations at this one. And the beauty of renting…it’s always someone else’s fault and problem when something goes wrong.

Me and the T

When I'm not performing duties as the Frisky Biscuit adventure correspondant, my real job involves working with students. This is all fun most of the time. Occasionally, students even tell me they appreciate my hard work, which is a real treat. But, when one of my students graduated recently, he gave me and my co-workers original portraits. I'm bottom center in Mr. T's arms. This portrait, which now sits next to my monitor at work, is probably the coolest thing a student has given me.

Meet Cute

Is everyone tired of seeing that sinister jar of figs at the top of this page? Rightly so. Almost daily I’ve thought I should try and post something, but the Creative Inspiration Level is currently running low. I have a lot going on right now, and just the idea of writing wearies me even more. I have to find an apartment and move by June 30^th. I also have to apply for and interview for the job I’ve been doing for the last year, to change my title from “Acting Department Head” to “Department Head”.

Then there is this: my sister just interviewed for a big time job at Cornell. Victoria got engaged, to an incredibly nice and fun guy. Bianca just got back from London. Three of my friends and one cousin are expecting babies this year, and another cousin just had a baby. People are buying houses; intense yearning doesn’t even begin to describe how badly I want that for myself. All the things I want RIGHT NOW are happening to everyone else – vacations in Europe, a new city to live in, a better job, a house. This surplus of other people’s happy news makes me examine where I am in life. I start to wonder, where’s mine? Is anything ever going to happen for me?

But, there is this: Sunday is the Doggie Carnival. One year ago, I escorted Lady Buttercup to this event at Forsyth Park by myself. For a change, there was actually a cute guy there with a dog of his own. So I walked right up to him and asked him his dog’s name. He said, “Natasha” and I said, “That’s my sister’s name!”, and I met Owen exactly how I’d dreamed of meeting someone: Hollywood movie-style, and with the aid of Lady Buttercup. So I’ve got the important thing covered, and the rest is surely on its way.

Mysterioso

Imagine you have this jar lurking in your kitchen cupboard. After the visual shock wears off and you remember they are figs from your uncle, it's time to decide what to do. Here are the options:

1. When moving house in the next couple of months, pack up with other items of questionable need. Continue to store, chiefly with hopes someone will unwittingly discover the jar of figs and think you are a weirdo. If this happens you will be secretly delighted and encouraged.

2. Wrap up as "gag"gift for office party. Enjoy fake expressions of interest and study faces for signs of confusion. Laugh like evil mastermind.

3. Open the jar and try one. With toasted baguette, crumbled gorgonzola, roasted walnuts, and maybe a drizzle of honey....might be pretty good. The downside would be breaking up the strange gang of misfit food, led by that dangerous thug Vegemite.

Is We in England?

Saturday night Owen and I went to another concert at the Savannah Music Festival. But we also did that last Thursday, so that’s where we’ll start.

I’d heard of Guster, but never listened to their music. When Bianca got tickets, I went on her recommendation alone. People who like the same music as you can be trusted. Guster was a fun band; the drummer had crazy arms and looked like Ben Stiller. What I really liked was the opening act: The Format. I fully expect to see them get some recognition for their catchy music. Before and after the concert there was free Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, cinnamon bun flavor (yum-o!). The people-watching was exceptional. There were a few hyper guys doing interpretive dances to the lyrics, some enthusiastic frat types, a pregnant woman rubbing her belly to the music, and old people. That’s always fun.

We got free tickets to see the southeastern premiere of The Namesake on Friday night. I knew that movie had come out a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t playing here. Now I know why – they were waiting to premiere it in the producer’s hometown. The movie was quite good; the actors who played Kal Penn’s parents were especially charming. But twice, twice, the film burned up right in the projector. It blurred and bubbled up crisply and then separated. Harumph!

So Saturday night was our final event for the music festival: a jazz band with John Pizzarelli. I like that guy; he's funny. There was a rather large amount of high school students in attendance, and on the way in I overheard one of them ask, “Is we in England?” Well, the walls of the Lucas Theatre do look like Wedgewood, Ali G. The teens were all there as part of a dopey con: some high school “all stars” were going to open for John Pizzarelli. It made the show too long, especially on the third straight night of sitting in theaters. Or theatres. Anyway. I just got free passes to an advance screening of Grindhouse. I am looking forward to some zombies to cleanse the palate.