Nattering

Note to the deodorant industry: You have gone insane.

Since the last time I bought deodorant, apparently, things have gotten a little crazy. On the crazy scale, we’re talking the same level as when someone comes in and pitches "Alf" or "The A-Team" and everyone says, "Brilliant! Let’s do it!"* It’s difficult for me to believe that there’s been a precipitous drop in deodorant sales, economic downturn aside. So I simply cannot understand what would possess a company like, oh, Secret to launch a line with scents like Vanilla Chai, Jasmine Orient, Asian Pear, Arctic Apple, Brazilian Cherry, etc. (And, oh yes, there are more.) And might I add that the company has created "exotic" COMPUTER WALLPAPER for each scent?

If you want your armpits to smell like a vanilla chai latte, please slam your head into the mirror in your bathroom until you Stop Wanting That.

Not to mention that everything has been redesigned to appeal to either my grandmother or a 13-year-old.

My tried and true Soft & Dri conditioning silk hint of aloe (itself a bit crazy with the name) has been replaced with black and fuschia packaging that "pulses" on their site and makes me think of Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo.

*Except, of course, that without "The A-Team" our world would shine a little less brightly. Also, without the Breakin’ series. But jacked-up deodorant? We can live without.

This week has been pretty incredible on the busy scale (somewhat unexpectedly) and I’ve missed the last two days of the daily photo challenge. Woe! I’ll attempt to make up for it later on this evening, with a three picture post.

I might mention, though, that Emma the Dog Girl has been doing some very odd things this week. And I’m not talking about the bug-eating (Emma "leaping" into the air to chomp a bug never fails to crack me up). For instance, last night after I kicked her out of the bed, she managed to wedge herself under the bed. I discovered this at 3 when she started to whine because she was trapped. Don’t worry, she’s free now, if still not down with random neighborhood fireworks. Or somehow having intuited the fact that I’m leaving for Vermont in a few days.

And, in other news, as I’m sure you’ve noticed (tumbleweeds!), I haven’t felt much like blogging for the last few weeks. I mostly chalk this up to revision (so close!), but also to needing a break. I’m also worlds behind on e-mail and that sort of thing, and I’ll be attempting to catch up this weekend before I take off. Blogging will continue apace from the residency.

Late, but I’m making it. One thing I love about Lexington is the downtown’s great old firehouses. We vote in a big red one, which I didn’t manage to take a picture of yesterday (I’ll add it to this post when and if I do). Here’s another example from a few streets over the other direction.

Cynthia Lord has started a photo challenge, which involves posting a shot of the area where you live each day for a week. Since I always get maudlin when I’m about to have to leave town for a bit–the residency starts next week–and like showing off Lexington, I decided to participate.

Today’s shot comes from a brief bike ride Christopher and I took around town. I needed a break from revision madness for a few, but the conditions appear to be pre-thunderstorm, so brevity was called for. (Don’t worry. I’m taking the rest of the night off, probably to finish rewatching the first season of Veronica Mars. Oh, such a good show.)

That’s Gratz Park–a block and a half from our house or so, and which the dogs get traipsed through a couple of times a day. The sculpture is called "The Fountain of Youth" and dedicated to a Kentucky writer, James Lane Allen. I’m guessing these days frolicking nude children would be voted down as a memorial, but no one is picketing these guys yet. To the left is the carriage house, the site of many court-ordered AA meetings.

Mrs. Peacock and a Professor
Originally uploaded by gwenda

1. The "Who Done It?" Alleycat race was last night, and we were checkpoint workers at Barbara Ann’s School of Dance. Tasked with eliminating Miss Scarlet in the ballroom from the list of possibilities, we mostly enjoyed checking out the costumes and chatting with interested passersby. (Only one of whom was disapproving, I might add.) I’m very, very sad that I was too out of it to come up with costumes of our own in time, especially since I realized this morning that my new hat would have been PERFECT. More photos on the Flickr.

2. Our first trip to the farmer’s market this year yielded a revolutionary new food that might just save the world: red velvet swirl ice cream. It’s what’s for breakfast.

This morning I had to go in and pick up our mail because we had a "too much to fit in box" thingie, AND an express mail thingie (and the P.O. lady had even left a message about the express mail while we were traveling). We get a sizeable amount of mail–mostly books–and while a chunk comes to the house, quite a lot of it goes to the P.O. Box.

Anyway, it turns out that this has not gone unnoticed by the postal workers and that they refer to our mail as: "James Bond’s mail." The woman asked me about the name of my blog, and when she called to a co-worker to bring out our box’s accumulated box she added, "It’s James Bond!" and he came out to see me. "You guys get a lot of mail," she said, clearly wanting to know what precisely we were getting.

But I was coy and just said, "I know," because do you really think they’d keep calling it "James Bond’s mail" if they knew it was mostly books?

Me neither.

And so far no sign of stomach flu aka winter vomiting disease for either of us, and, anyway, here we are well-stocked with anti-nausea medication (which I usually travel with, so it’s a miracle we didn’t come down with it in Madison). Here’s hoping the coming multi-state outbreak limits itself in severity and those of you that are laid low rise up again soon. We should all have begun taking large quantities of tequila as soon as the word began to circulate.

More tomorrow after sleeping, but here’s to another great Wiscon that zipped by far too quickly. Also, Indiana Jones? So terrible you really must see it.

I’m not even going to BEA this year (though I’ve been doing a lot of freelance assignments related to it, which makes it feel as though I am) and, yet, I had a BEA dream. Let me tell you, the BEA of my dreams is a lot more interesting than the real thing. Also, more dimly lit. Kelly was there, and had purchased a tiny cologne bottle shaped like E.T., of which she was very proud. I wish I could remember the nonexistent books I was dead set on procuring–instead, I only remember the covers of a couple of them and the fact that one of their titles included Franz Kafka’s name. Mark kept assuring us that one was excellent, and Carolyn agreed. (I know why Carolyn was in the dream, because we were just lucky enough to entertain her over the weekend. Good times.)

I shared some of this with Christopher when Emma woke us up in the middle of the night (as she does) to let her out to pee. He informed me that in his dream, he’d just scored 108 points on an advanced mathematics exam. An impressive accomplishment, I think you’ll agree. The night before was a Wiscon dream, and none of it remains.

Two fun things from this week: the first progressive bike dinner (yum) and Iron Man at the the Kentucky Theater (where they now serve wine! and where the Mighty Wurlitzer was being played!). Now if only the weather would straighten up.

Unrelated: I just ordered these shoes to go with the closet-languishing fuschia and black Betsy Johnson number I plan to wear* to the Sunday night Wiscon doings. Comfort is queen. I’m hoping they 1)fit and 2)don’t look stupid. I haven’t bought a pair of Docs since college, and doing so fills me with glee.

*Um, once again I missed the window to get it to an alteration shop, so I may actually have to prevail upon the kindness of one of you who can sew to do a teensy bit of stitching to remove a flower from one side and afix it in place of a missing one. Or C will have to do it. ::cue ominous music and sound of thunder::