Happy Blogiversary to me.

Yes, today is the one-year anniversary of the creation of this blog. Did I change the world? No. Did I change opinions? Nope, don't think so. Was I ground-breaking? Not at all. Oh well. I'll try harder in the coming year.


Thanks for reading,

Agatestone

My morning.

So,

The wisdom tooth is gone. Extracted. It had been giving me problems (I won't go into them as they are gross problems), so it's for the better. My jaw is sore from all the pushing and pulling. She said the other three need to come out as well. I am not looking forward to that. I will definitely ask for painkillers. None of this extra strength Tylenol that I'm on right now.

Am I in pain? Really, just my jaw hurts. I took the Tylenol right away and will take some more in a couple of hours.

Agatestone

Auuuugggghhhhh.

Three words about the tragedy I'm dealing with today:



BAD WISDOM TOOTH



Wish me luck. That is all.

Anatomy of my day.

9:10 a.m. Shoveling snow

9:40 a.m. Breakfast

10:15 a.m. After breakfast, I took something...I am not to familiar with it, but I think it is called a nop, nep...no, I think it's a nap. What a wonderful invention. You lay on the sofa under a couple of blankets and do absolutely nothing. I could get used to things like this.

12:00 lunch

1:00 Ran across the street to the Italian market for some dried fruit for the cookies I had just decided to make.

2:00 Mixing up the filling and letting it chill for a few hours.

4:00 I took another one of those things...what are they called? Oh yes, a nap. This one was good, but not as good as the first one. This one came with bizarro dreams. The Breakfast Czar and I were at the Rock and Roll Museum, except that it was a large park, with monuments to each of the bands. She was being way to reverent at each monument. She wanted a moment of silence at each monument...and this was even at bands whose members weren't even dead. The BC was aggravating me to no end.

7:00 Woke up from nap and watched a silly movie: 50 First Dates. I keep meaning to watch more Adam Sandler movies but I just never get around to it.

9:00 Dinner.

It's now 9:31. What a wonderful day. After this latest week of reading, reading, reading various ads for work, as well as Hebrew for my Hebrew class, as well as trying to memorize sanskrit words for my yoga teacher training, the only things I read to day were cookbooks.

Blizzard

Yes, we're having a blizzard today and this is serious business. But heck, why can't we have Thundersnow? Apparently, cities near Port Huron (east of Agatestone Central) are experiencing Thundersnow. I want Thundersnow.

Tea, anyone?

Thought for the day (or rather the middle of the night): If you make a cup of tea, and then put a cinnamon stick in to give it a little flavor, don't let the cinnamon stick steep in the cup of tea too long, as I just did. My cup of tea now tastes like Christmas potpourri! It tastes kind of forbidden, as it is against our nature to eat potpourri, yet, here I am drinking a piping hot cup of potpourri-flavoured tea.

Good night dear reader.

Winter

Cashews.

Dear reader, especially the Breakfast Czar,

I learned a new word today: Cashew.

Apparently, Cashew is the word coined for those of us with one Catholic parent and one Jewish parent. Cath=Ca and Jew=Shew, hence the term Cashew. I like it. What do you think BC? I found out that a friend of mine is a Cashew. She explained to me what the word meant and said that I too was a Cashew.

This week

In no order in particular, these are some happenings of the week:

1) I saw a man with reindeer antlers on his head, casually walking down the street. Was he a some sort of man-reindeer or perhaps it was just a hat.

2) I was just sent a Hanukkah poinsettia, dyed blue, of course.

3) I eschewed cake yesterday as free work desserts offered after lunch have a tendancy to upset my Karma. It's happened before; it will happen again.

4) Odd dream last night starring cousin; rabbis; cousin's imaginary boyfriend who was actually a junkie from last nights Law and Order CI, whose hair, in my dream, kept changing colors; museum gift shops; and dogs.

Yawn.

It's early.

I am tired. I am already in bed.

I cannot sleep. I am so tired that my eyeballs hurt, yet I cannot sleep.

Dream journal time.

So, in my latest dream, I'm visiting my cousin in New York. I had gone out for a walk and was returning to his apartment building. I didn't have a key so a man let me in. In the lobby was a security guard. It was Tim Meadows, who used to be on Saturday Night Live. He wanted to charge me 20 bucks to go back to my cousin's apartment. I refused. Then, I turned around and there was a shipping pallet with a flock of monkeys sitting on it. They were very sad monkeys. According to Tim, the USPS had created a new mailing system and to test it, they were mailing monkeys around the country. Apparently, this was happening all over. I was very disturbed at this turn of events. I asked Tim to let the monkeys go free and he refused. He was worried about monkey germs. So, I was planning the monkeys' escape, but then Tim said it was ok for me to go into my cousin's apartment without paying the 20 bucks; I forgot about the monkeys and went about my business. The end.

To autopsychoanalyze this dream:

1) First of all, the man playing my cousin is not in real life my cousin and does not live in New York.

2) I just read a story about "famous space monkeys" who were used to test various NASA missions.

3) Tim Meadows....well I don't know why I was dreaming about him. I bet I read his name somewhere this week.

I'm sure there's a deeper meaning to this dream. I just have to ponder it for a while.

Illumination.

Dear reader,

I keep seeing an advertisement for a "Battery Powered Candle." Well, wouldn't the correct term be "Lamp"? Didn't Mr. Edison invent a similar device many years ago? The advertisement is trying to make me excited over these new-fangled "Battery Powered Candles." But, I just can't rustle up enough excitement. Forgive me.

Again...

Again I have nothing to say. My mind is blank. Or rather, it is full. Full to the brim. Want to know about Agatestone's current life: work and more work, reading for Yoga Teacher Training (yes, I'm becoming a yoga teacher), reading for Hebrew class (yes, I'm taking a Hebrew class), ushering at temple, ushering at the DIA (please, for the love of Allah, keep your hands off the artwork. Why oh why do people think touching works of art is acceptable?), watching as much Hugh Laurie as I can find on youtube, and trying to squeeze in a social life but frequently double and triple booking (my calendar is my constant companion.)

A dear friend of mine asked me, "When does Agatestone have time to be Agatestone?" The answer is quite clear - I have no time to be Agatestone. After December 29, I will be done with Hebrew and after March 23, I will be finished with Yoga Teacher Training. After my classes are over, I think I will have a full enough life just youtubing Hugh Laurie and ushering at my two ushering jobs (oh, and please stop chewing gum, running, and acting like you're at the mall, when in actuality, you're in a fine art museum.)

Tea anyone?

Granted, I am not British. But, I have one question: Who meets for a tea at 8:30 at night? That's like having a bruncheon at 4:00 p.m, or eating omelets at midnight. It's just kooky. When I say "meets for a tea," I don't mean meeting for tea, like calling up the Amnesiac Concert Flautist and saying, "Hey ACF, let's meet for a cup of tea at Starbucks at 8:30 tonight." I mean actually having a tea party, with sweets and cakes and well, tea. Of course, there is no law against having a bruncheon in the afternoon, omelets at midnight or a tea party at 8:30. I guess I should try to be more openminded about time-displaced meals. I'll work on it. I'm sure the ladies who attended this evening tea party had a charming time. If not, at least they had cupcakes.

Odd conversation

You haven't lived until you've heard an Orthodox rabbi leave the modest topics one would expect an Orthodox rabbi to speak of and then veer off into a discussion on necrophilia and stealing clothes from dead guys. Granted, he "confessed" that he thought necrophilia was the act of stealing clothes from dead guys, but I can't say that I'm completely convinced.

I'm still cringing.

Finally.

I've been wanting a new mobile telephone. I found the one I wanted, the one I needed, the one I longed for, a while back, but it was much too expensive. Happily, today, they began offering a ginormous rebate. My phone is now bought. It will arrive in a couple days, I will activate it with my new carrier and all will be well with the world. Now if I could only get you to call me on each of your telephonic lines so I could capture your phone numbers instead of having to thumb them all in. You go first, Breakfast Czar! You've got the most phone numbers of anyone I know! Just call me from each of them! I'll let you know when my magical phone comes in.

Oh, by the way, I am no Pollyanna. I realize that the reason for the huge price drop is that a new model is arriving. That's ok. This is the one I want, even though it only has November 2007 technology. I think the next model makes tea and separates laundry. It may frost cupcakes as well. I'm not sure. Cupcake frosting technology may not arrive until February.

...And I'm a little bit rock and roll.

Dear Reader,

I need to share with you my latest dream before it flits away into the ether.

Our scene begins on a beach. A giant green turtle is ambling along, ignoring the beachgoers who are splashing and tanning around him. I get closer to the turtle and I realize it is my friend Donny Osmond, dressed in a turtle suit. Donny sees me, squeezes out of his shell, takes off a kind of green leotard that covers his entire body, including his head and his feet, and explains to me that he wants to live his life out as a turtle. He turns and begins to trudge down the beach, hauling his turtle suit, planning to a find a new spot where he can live life anonymously as a turtle.

The end.

Questions:

Why Donny Osmond?
Why a turtle?

Obviously, Donny has been in the press lately. But not turtles. This is quite confounding.

Deep insight into my psyche.

Hello Readers,

I've been known to share with you some of my deepests thoughts, but I thought that today, I will unpeel even another layer, uncovering an even deeper thought than ever before:

I know some people live their lives with a "What would Jesus do?" philosophy. Well, my philosophy is a tad different. As long as I can remember, I have lived my life with a "What would Laura Ingalls Wilder do?" philosophy. Strange, eh? Not if you realize that I spent great chunks of my childhood reading, rereading and soaking in Laura Ingalls Wilder's novels. I also sometimes wonder how Laura would relate to certain situations if she were around today. Of course, if she were still alive, she'd be 140 years old, but then again, she was a very spry woman.

Some folks dream of embarking on a pilgrimage to Jeruselem, Mecca, or Tibet. Not me. I dream of making pilgrimages to Pepin, Wisconsin, where it all began; Walnut Grove, Minnesota, where Laura grew up; and Rocky Ridge Farm in Missouri, where Laura and Almanzo lived out their lives.

Anyway that's it for this latest installment of "Let's Examine Agatestone's Psyche."

Into the Wild

Go see the movie Into the Wild. Great movie. Probably the best I've seen all year. Three thumbs up!

Pudding.

So, apparently today was "Take Your Pudding To Work Day," as we had an employee rolling a cart with two crockpots, and, along with a helper, spooning out pudding to unsuspecting coworkers. She dished out the pudding and he put the toppings on. Yes, toppings. It sounded wonderous. Yet, I was unable to enjoy the miracle of the pudding cart, as she ran out of pudding directly in front of me. She gifted the last of the pudding to three people who were milling about in the hallway nearby. Then, when she reached me, she realized that the pudding was no more. Both crockpots were empty. I feel sad and a bit lonely now.

Thought for the day.

To paraphrase a recent sermon:

Don't let your iPod own you. Own your iPod.

Really says a lot about overconsumption and consumerism in America, don't you think?

Hello

Hi,

We haven't chatted in a while. I have nothing to say in paragraph form, but I do have a list of items to offer.

Thinks I like:

Youtube
Wintergreen Altoids
....I can't think of anything else that I like (currently). This post is turning into a failure.
Oh, brownies! I love brownies.
Decaf chai tea with coconut
Blueberry tea
Dictionaries

Things I don't like:
Thesaurii
The realization that my car's windshield is full of ice and my brand-new ice scraper is still at work, the place where I was given it.
My alarm clock

Things to ponder:
The dream I had last night where I was in a running race. I was doing great, even though I was wearing jeans and my Dr. Martens boots. I wasn't winning, but I was holding my own. What a weird dream. These are really clunky boots that I wear when trodding through the trees on a photography adventure. I don't think it's even possible to run in them. They are my favorite boots, however. That must be why I dreamt about them.

Names people. Names.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I am entering the National Novel Writing Month contest in November as I have done for the past few years. The goal is to write a 50,000-word novel in one month. I have failed each time I have tried, but my failure hasn't discouraged me from trying again.

Currently, I am creating an outline. And for my story, I will need names. So, here is your task if you chose to accept. I need names for a female protagonist, a male antagonist, and a male hero, all from Michigan. Various townspeople from Northern Michigan. An elderly female character from Poland. And, various people in Germany and Poland. I would appreciate some submissions for names if you are so apt. I know at least one of my readers has a connection to Poland.

Thank you for your time,

Agatestone

My nerd rating.

Billy.

This is my new friend Billy. I met him at an apple orchard. You should have seen him. An older, bigger goat head-butted Billy, trying to knock him off his rock. But Billy prevailed and in my eyes, is king of the orchards.

Day 2.

Self portrait of me taken sometime during the day, which was spent at the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes. I climbed one dune and a dunelet.




By the way, the swans in the last message had their big meeting this morning. As they arrived for work in the morning, they all gathered in a circle, facing each other. I assume they were discussing their agenda for the day. Honking, pecking, honking, eating wet grass (I know that sounds icky, but I walked down closer and that's what they were doing).

The view out my window.

As some of you may know, I abandoned my sickbed for a trip to Northern Michigan. Yes, I am still ill. I was much too optimistic on my last post. But, I decided to go anyway, and I'm glad I did. Here is a photo of what I see from my balcony.



And here is a self portrait of me at the Potter's.

Better.

I just wanted to let you know that I feel much better. What a difference mere hours make. Heaves in the morning, but an unexpected very thoughful present in the afternoon. I think the scales turned toward it being a good day around 4 pm or so.

Breakfast Czar...I miss you. We've got to get together soon.

Amnesiac Concert Flautist...I can't wait until our dinner. I haven't had Filipino food in forever. Yay Pansit!

Chocolate Whisperer...I can't wait until our lunch, be it Japanese or Irish!

Willow...thanks for the illegible chicken site or whatever it was called, with the funny kittens. It brightened my day.


Agate

Can we be honest?

You may be wondering how your friend/cousin/sister is doing this warm, balmy sunday afternoon. Well, I have just two words for you:

dry heaves


Thank you. That is all.

Diagram of the mini-demic at my place of work.

This how I was infected by this nasty strain of yuckiness, causing me great discomfort as well as causing me to have to cancel all of my familial and social obligations.

speaking of old TV shows...

I really miss Buffy the Vampire Slayer. What a great show. Sarcastic, thoughtul. I still talked kind of Buffy-esque, such as when I say someone is "bendy" instead of saying someone is "quite flexible." I wondering if the shows are on iTunes. I doubt it. I assume there would have been buzz around the news.

editor's note: yes, I have found out that BTVS is on iTunes and I am currently downloading some episodes.

question:

This is for my healthcare professional friends and family (and for anyone else who feels like answering). How the heck do you work around sick people all the time and not be sick all the time? It was inevitable that I would get sick. I was in the direct line of all of these coughing people. I wash my hands a lot. I take echinacea (yes I believe in it so please don't burst my bubble). And, still, I succumbed to their germs. I am even thinking about drawing up a diagram so you can see what I mean about beins surrounded by sick people.

Grumpily,

Agate

confessions of an invalid

Actually, I'm not an invalid, but I can't get rid of this cold. I think it has something to do with the fact that I have three people (two within 7-10 feet and one within 20 feet), who are coughing in my direction, 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. I had a cold last weekend, during the week I felt find, and now I have a fever, cough and general yuckiness. I had to cancel out on an excursion to the wilds of Detroit with cousins today and I will probably have to cancel out on a brunch with other cousins tomorrow.

So, what is there to talk about? Really, not a whole heck of a lot.

1) I am enamoured by a BBC quiz show that one can see on youtube.com, called QI. It is hosted by Stephen Fry, who I've been a fan of since Peter's Friends, one of my favourite movies. Check it out. Just search "Stephen Fry and QI."

2) I am sad about being sick.

3) When I do have a cold where I still feel like being mobile, I run over to the vegetarian Indian restaurant on the west side that serves a delightful, very hot (spicy hot) tomato soup called Rasam. It always clears out what ails me, and it is quite tasty. Well, last night, I was not in the mood to drive to the west side, so I visited our local Indian restaurant for Rasam. It was certainly not delightful and practically inedible. The soup was sour or bitter tasting. Or maybe my tastebuds are goofy. But, I took two spoonfuls, and put the rest in the fridge. I'll try some more today.

4) Even though now is the perfect time for me to finish this book I am reading, I just don't have enough eager or willing brain cells to want to read.

5) I realize that this is a negative post with no payoff in sarcastic humour. My humble apologies.

6) I believe that Willow has mentioned this before, but I am addicted to blogs that have opinions that are the exact opposite of mine. I don't know why I bother, but I can't help myself. It's a terrible habit. I know I'll get angry or offended after reading these blogs, but I can't get enough.

7) I think I'll have to continue later on. I really have nothing else to say. No thoughts or issues swirling around in my head, eager to get out. No real complaints (besides the cold and the icky Rasam). No praise for any foodstuffs as I am wont to do. Just blah. I guess, if you have anything funny to say or read, please e-mail or call me. Because feeling blah is very blah feeling.

Philosophical question

Although one might ponder, "Agatestone. How in the world did you cause that Butternut Squash to catch on fire?", I think a better question would be, "Agatestone, how have you gone so long without catching a Butternut Squash on fire?"

Dear Reader...

If you happen to find yourself in Tel Aviv, Jeruselem, or really anywhere in Israel, I would be eternally grateful if you were to run into a grocery store and pick up some, yes, Israeli Nesquik. It's a sad day in Agatestoneland, as I have finished my last canister of Israeli Nesquik. And I need more. No, I don't need more, I NEED more. Desperately. Longingly. Excrutiatingly. Israeli Nesquik is like crack to me.

Remember the Starsky and Hutch episode where the bad guys got Hutch addicted to Heroin and Starsky had to get him clean. Hutch was all sweaty and shaky and moaning, and Starsky kept feeding him candy bars, as they hid out in the local friendly pimp's hotel. Well, that's how I feel. Except, well, I am not sweaty or shaky, I'm not moaning, I haven't eaten any candy bars, and I'm not hiding out in the local friendly pimp's hotel. But otherwise, I feel just like poor Hutch.

Good or Not So Good

Good: mint chocolate chip ice cream topped with hot fudge

Not so good: vegan mint chocolate mousse

They're both filled with chocolatey and minty goodness, yet, the mousse was unpleasant.

Morris Dancing.

I recently saw an outdoor practice exhibition of the ancient art of Morris Dancing. And I have one question to post at you, dear reader. What is is about Morris Dancing that causes at least one barefoot Morris Dancer to abandon her practice mid-frolic and begin running madly in the street, chasing cars and bicyclists? All this while wearing kneepads with bells on them.

Are they being sarcastic?

I just purchased a CD from an independent online store. One where you can get obscure music unavailable to mainstream music sellers such as Amazon or iTunes. I want to share with you the confirmation letter I received after placing my order:

Your CD has been gently taken from our CD Baby shelves with
sterilized contamination-free gloves and placed onto a satin pillow.

A team of 50 employees inspected your CD and polished it to make sure
it was in the best possible condition before mailing.

Our packing specialist from Japan lit a candle and a hush fell over
the crowd as he put your CD into the finest gold-lined box that money
can buy.

We all had a wonderful celebration afterwards and the whole party
marched down the street to the post office where the entire town of
Portland waved "Bon Voyage!" to your package, on its way to you, in
our private CD Baby jet on this day, Sunday, September 9th.

I hope you had a wonderful time shopping at CD Baby. We sure did. Your picture is on our wall as "Customer of the Year." We're all
exhausted but can't wait for you to come back to CDBABY.COM!!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Sigh...

--
Derek Sivers, president, CD Baby
the little store with the best new independent music

As I know next to nothing about this turtle, besides his name, Diego, I really have nothing to say about him. We met last weekend. Here's a photo of his wife/husband/offspring/cousin, Gordon, admiring a waterlily.


Here's a closeup of Gordon, posing for the camera:


It's a little-known fact, but my cousin the Chocolate Whisperer is a closet turtleologist who could help us further explain who these turtles are. Although, after consulting wikipedia, I have learned, hopefully correctly, that turtles who live in brackish water are called terrapins. As the water surrounding Gordon's manhole cover and Diego's log was exceptionally brackish, perhaps Gordon and Diego are terrapins. Who knows? Actually, I know someone who may know, the Chocolate Whisperer.

I kinda sinned tonight.

So, it was 10:30 pm and I've decided on a whim to go to the local all night Meijer's. I had borrowed my father's van as my car is going through some work thanks to a mishap that I still can't write about yet. So, anyway, my father has a handicapped parking sticker that he got after some injury. I can't remember what. Well, it hasn't expired and it was in his car, so I used it. I think the Meijer parking lot is creepy at night and I don't like walking through it, especially at 10:30 at night. So, I took a handicapped spot, ran in, bought my items and left. I really don't feel guilty as I didn't do it out of laziness. You know me. You've gone shopping with me and know I don't mind a long walk in a parking lot. But, this was different. I did it because I felt safer parking closer. What do you think? Big transgression?

Mellow.

So, there I am, relaxing, listening to, well, relaxation music. Can't remember the name of the song but for this purpose, we'll call it Chakra Healing Chant Number 6. So, the song is going along quite well. I'm relaxing more and more. All of a sudden, I hear the croaking of frogs. Whoever arranged Chakra Healing Chant Number 6 for some reason thought that the croaking of frogs would be relaxing. Well, they were wrong. I don't find frogs relaxing and I certainly don't find the unmelodious croaking of frogs relaxing. Next time I feel the need to listen to relaxation music, I believe I will fast-forward over Chakra Healing Chant Number 6.

It's almost as bad Chakra Healing Chant Number 11, which, right when one is at one's most relaxed, one is jolted out of said relaxation by the loud peal of a gong.

Whoever is arranging the current choices of relaxation music needs to realize that the pealing of a gong is quite startling, especially to the person to who uses relaxation music to help them fall asleep.

I have nothing more to say on this subject. It's just an observation.

Tomayto, Tomahto

One word of advice to those of you who plan to pickle or "put up" as the traditionalists say green tomatoes. Green tomatoes are not a breed unto themselves. They are red tomatoes that have not yet gained their color. So, if someone, let's say their name was Zagetstone, were to buy a bag of green tomatoes during the week to pickle on the weekend, think of the shock Zagestone felt when she opened the bag of green tomatoes, eager to pickle them, but only to realize they had turned red. I...I mean Zagetstone was thoroughly disappointed. So, the word of advice is: When you get the bright idea to pickle green tomatoes, time is of the essence. Don't wait. Make haste and pickle the moment you get home from the market with your glorious bounty of green tomatoes. Don't put yourself through the anguish that Zagetstone faced.

Star

Pictorial essay.

I should have worn my lucky necklace.

Before I left for work this morning, it crossed my mind to wear my lucky necklace, the one I used to wear when I had to take a test in school, and the one I try to remember to wear when I have to drive long distances on the freeway. The thought to wear my lucky necklace wasn't strong enough and I decided against it. Here's what happened because of my inability to listen to my intuition:

1) I was denied coffee at a coffee shop and forced to drink espresso instead. They said that's the way they make their Cafe Americano drinks and they wouldn't budge, even though I told them I'd rather have coffee. How hard would have it been to put coffee in my cup instead of espresso? Why did I want coffee instead of espresso, you may ask. Well, dear reader, the espresso's bitterness forces me to add sugar to my drink, while I drink coffee without sugar. I was trying to be healthy by avoiding the sugar in my drink, to no avail.

2) I did the stupidest of stupid things. I can't say what I did yet, because we've yet to figure out if I'm upset or not. Three of you already know what I did including one of you who was witness to my stupidity (you now need a nickname Aimee.) Let's just say that no one was was injured and although it's 1:24 in the am, I just employed some duct tape to correct the problem until I consult with a professional.

See, what should be understood is that as a whole, today was great. I had lunch with a friend. Went to a concert with another friend. Bumped into the Breakfast Czar and was able to hang with her this evening. All in all, balancing everything out, more things went right today than wrong.

It's been a long time.

Sorry it's been so long since I posted. Things I'm thinking about:

1) Why do I keep seeing the bendy girl from yoga class around town? I see her at Whole Foods. I see her at the movies. She's everywhere. I wonder when she finds time to practice being as bendy as Gumby.

2) Pumpkin gnocchi is easy to make and it tastes good too...

3) So is/does gazpacho.

4) Why is restaurant Greek salad dressing better than the dressing recipe I have tried to make from an authentic Greek cookbook? I've never been satisfied with homemade Greek dressing. What kind of magic do Greek chefs put in their salad dressing. It irks me to no end.

5) Do you think the neighbors thought I was weird as I was lying on the ground this morning on an old purple towel, taking photos of all of the mushrooms that have sprung up in the lawn?

6) How do you stuff a cocker spaniel in a purse to sneak him into the movie theatre? The woman at the movies today did. I guess her dog is very Gumbyish, just like Bendy Yoga Girl. I mean, we're not talking about a chihuahua here. We're talking about a cocker spaniel.

7) Let's talk for a minute about our olfactory systems. I pass a garden shop every day, walking to the omelet shop for an omelet. Walking to the omelet shop for a cup of coffee. Walking to the omelet shop in hopes that they'll stop selling "healthy" desserts like fruit juice-sweetened brownies and start selling something decadent. Anyway, as I said, I pass the garden shop on these trips. I always detect the scent of...something. I'm not sure what. It's not boxwood, but it's similar. It's not an herb, but it's similar. No one else walking with me to the omelet shop has every detected this aroma. And, I even went in the garden shop and asked them what smells so good in front of their store. They thought I was crazy. They said there is nothing special in front giving off a pleasing aroma. But, I smell it every time I pass the place. I guess I will never know. But why am I the only one who detects this scent???????

8) I have a problem that I wonder if the Chocolate Whisperer can solve. I wonder if perhaps she can detect different tones of chocolate just by looking a piece. I have acquired an abundance of these Special Snooty Hershey Chocolate squares. They have individual names like Aruba Chocolate or Flanders Chocolate. But knowing that doesn't help me figure out if the piece I select is bitter chocolate, milk chocolate or my favorite: semi-sweet dark. Help, Chocolate Whisperer. Save the day.

Sicilio-Judaic

So, I was watching some stupid legal drama a couple morning ago and I realized that the lawyer was Jewish and the cop was Italian. And they were both very stereotypical. Why couldn't the lawyer be the Italian the the cop be Jewish? My inner Siciliana and my inner Jewish woman were both offended.

Employment opportunity.

I went shooting (cameras, not guns) last night in the City of Detroit at a new park. It was lovely. There were two of us. Even though we knew better, we were both shooting at the same time. In the city, I've been warned by photography professionals that one should shoot (cameras, not guns) while the other keeps an eye on said shooter. Well, our evening ended without incident, although we both commented that next time, we will bring a third and one of us will spot the others.

So, today, not heeding my own warning, I went out shooting again at lunchtime, without a spotter. A commotion occurred due to my lack of vigilance: I was run over by a kid riding a two-wheeler with training wheels. He had careened out of control and was far ahead of his German au pair. He aimed his lethal Shwinn right towards me. I didn't see him as I was shooting a photo of a pretty flower. All of a sudden, my ankle felt like someone had stepped on it. I said "ouch!" I turned, and an almost toothless six-year-old looked up at me and said "thorry." I said I was ok, but the German au pair began to apologize as well.

The kid on the Shwinn of doom careened away, undoubtedly aiming for another innocent soul in his bike ride of horror. I dragged myself back to work, looking forward to telling people that I got run over...by a kid on training wheels. I'm trying to milk it for all it's worth. I'm fine actually. I have a welt on my ankle and my skin is scraped, but otherwise, I am fine.

So, if you'd like to be a photographer's spotter, please let me know.

Agatestone

Hip hop music.

So, I was asleep. Sound asleep. Suddenly, a weird sound woke me up. It sounded like hip hop music and I was scared. Where was it coming from? Then, it happened again. I realized that the hip hop sound was coming from my stomach. I had gone to bed hungry and my stomach was growling. And the growling sounded like hip hop music.

I'm tired. I'm hungry. I don't want to get up to eat. I don't want to negate the effects of my evening's workout.

I supposed I could get a bowl of cereal. But, it's 1:46 am and I just don't feel like eating. Maybe I'll just try sleeping again.

Nubs.

I love the word "nub." It's so useful.

For example:

I have nubby fingernails.

I think the Mini Cooper is a nubby looking car.

Baby carrots are nubby (and as a carrot disliker, I must say that they are also unpleasant, but less unpleasant than regular sized carrots due to their nubbiness.)

It was more fun than a barrel of monkeys!

I can't imagine that a barrel of monkeys would be fun at all...especially for the monkeys. I think that it would be horrific. If one were to fill a barrel of monkeys, I believe that mayhem, including fighting and biting, would ensue.

Please think before you exclaim that your picnic, the raquetball tournament, the competitive pizza tossing toss-off, whatever you're interested in, was more fun than a barrel of monkeys. It's unfair to the monkeys.

I wish...

that I had something of interest to talk about. I do not. So, I will talk about more of my favorite things in the world:

1) The pint of raspberries I bought last night at Whole Foods.

2) Whole Foods

3) The scent of the morning air.

4) The Chocolate Pudding Cake I made on July 4th.

5) My new flowy scarf that my sister helped me pick out one day while we were shopping and my shoulders got cold.

6) Chocolate Sorbet.

7) My new socks.

8) Buttered noodles

9) Grapes.

10) Butterflies.

11) Lime Sorbet.

12) The Mourning Dove in the backyard with the extra beat to his coo. Just when you think he's done with his current two-beat coo, he sneaks in another quick one beat. I think there is a possibility that he likes jazz.

13) Biographies.

Wonder.

I just witnessed this beauty of nature:

Fairies

Here's one of Ann Arbor's famous Fairy Doors. My sister spotted me whilst I lay on the ground taking this photo. There are supposedly quite a few around town. I believe we've only seen two so far.

See this link here for more on Fairy Doors.

Seriously, do you really think I'm that stupid?

The scene:

An outdoor table earlier today at at cafe in Arbor.

The characters

Agatestone and The Breakfast Czar.

Scene 1

Agatestone

"So Breakfast Czar, how many of my Cranbrook photos do you think I could get on one DVD?"

Breakfast Czar

"I am sure you could get an entire Cranbrook trip, which you said was roughly 60 photos, on a DVD."

Agatestone

"But what if I don't go to Cranbrook? What if I go to Meadowbrook instead? How many of those photos will I be able to get on a disk?"

This is when all hell breaks loose. The Breakfast Czar actually begins to explain that regardless of what I photograph or where I go to take photographs, I will still be able to get over 60 photos on a disk. My dear sister honestly thought I was that stupid and didn't realize I was joking!

I would love to take this skit on the road and perform it for unsuspecting relatives and friends. We talked about it but realized that there is no way we'd be able to keep straight faces. Yes, I would play the fool, but I think we could get a lot of laughs out of it.

After grilling her about her motivation, she pointed out that as a computer consultant, she gets countless stupid questions and she is desensitized enough that she just answers them without making any sort of verbal judgment, like "Gee Agatestone, you are a complete moron."

Friday confession.

Is it weird that I own 18 lip glosses, including 9 that are not even yet open? Speaking of that, if you'd like a mango, vanilla or cotton candy flavored lip gloss, please let me know. I recently purchased an eight-pack, but I only like five of the flavors. I haven't even opened the packaging yet, but I can assure you that I will not even try the mango, vanilla or cotton candy. But you, dear reader, are more than welcome to them.

I really have nothing else to confess. My conscience is clear, for now. I'm sure I'll think of something and of course I will let you know, dear reader.

Oh wait, there is one other thing, but it's not a confession, just an anecdote:

I am dog-sitting for a friendly oversized miniature schnauzer who I discovered does not know how to spoon accurately when sleeping. I woke up in the middle of the night. The dog was plastered to me, indicated proper dog spooning. Yet, her butt was in my face and her head was propped on my legs. I turned her rightways, with her head near my head, but when I awoke this morning, she had obviously turned herself around whilst I slept, as her butt was again in my face. Actually, as my eyesight is not the greatest, it took me a moment to focus as I wasn't sure what was in my face, her head or her butt. But, as my eyes became acclimated to the morning, I realized the horror of the situation.

Tonight, her training her begins.

Edited to add:

In my previous post, I lauded the cuteness of the green-dyed Poodle puppy. I want to add that I just came face to face with a pink-dyed Pomeranian and I must say: Dyed Poodle=Cute. Dyed Pomeranian=Not so cute.

Jumble of stuff.

Things I learned today:

The existence of Pomegranatinis. I really want to try one.

Poodle puppies looks kinda cute when their owner dyes their ears and their puffy Poodle tail green. Yes, I know deep down that dying your dog is cruel, but seriously, the doggie looked really cute.

Apparently, people talk on their cell phone even while jogging.

There's nothing like laying out in the sun listening to the coo of a mourning dove.

The existence of Hummingbird Cake. No, it's not a cake made up of hummingbirds. That would be gross. It is instead, carrot cake with pineapple.

Baby geese are cute, adolescent geese, not so much.

To any and all furry woodland creatures.

I request that you cease and desist this instant! I have waited all winter for my crop of grapes to come in. They came in. They would have been bountiful. Yes, "would have been."

I want to know which of you woodland creatures ate my grapes down to the nubs. That's right. I have a crop of nubs growing now. How would you like it if I stole into your den in the middle of the night and ate your acorns out of their hats? You wouldn't be smiling then, would you?

I toiled all spring to cultivate my grapes and you ruined it, you rodent you.

I think we need to meet. Rodent to Woman. We can negotiate. Maybe there's something I have that you want. Is it twigs? Do you need some twigs for your nest? I'll give you some of mine. I'm not using them.

I'm an understanding woman. Maybe it's hard to make ends meet for you, and you strolled past my grapes one night, and ate them, just trying to quench your hunger and not thinking of the consequences.

But, enough is enough. I'm willing to offer you six bunches of grapes if you leave the rest alone. You think it over and get back to me. This offer isn't going to last long.

Things you may not know about me:

I love blooper shows. The ones that feature TV show bloopers. Not the America’s Stupidest Idiot variety.

I am not a connoisseur of bread. Bread is great, don’t get me wrong. But, basically, its main job is to keep my fingers from getting dirty while I’m eating my sandwich. Anything else is a bonus.

Apple cider = yum.

Over the past two months, I have met two Australians, including one yesterday evening. The number of Australians I have met previously, in my entire existence? Zero.

Mind control.

Does anyone know of a good hypnotist? Seriously.

See, one of the symptoms of my allergies is ear ringing. The first time it happened, I rushed to the doctor, sure I was losing my hearing.

I was not going deaf, he assured me. He asked me what I had done the night before. I informed him I had been sitting outside all evening near freshly mown grass. He believed that the ear ringing was due to my obvious allergies.

So, the ringing eventually stopped but came back full force last year while I was going through an allergic period. It left yet again, but has come back this week, as I've been doing various outdoor activities and have been experiencing other allergy symptoms, including watering eyes, stuffy nose, etc.

So, here's the deal. I discoverd that my ears only ring when I think of the fact that my ears ring. So, if I could get hypnotized to never think of my ears ringing, well, I wouldn't notice that my ears were ringing. It's a sticky wicket for sure. But, it's going to be a long sneezy summer, so I have to do something proactive.

Evangelically.

At the market at lunch today, I was in line behind a TV evangelist. You know, one of those guys with the shiny hard hair and an over-makeuped wife. Well, his hair looked much softer in person, and without her makeup, she looked 20 years younger.

There's no moral to this story. No message. Just an observation.

First dream of note in a while

I haven't had any dreams to report in quite a few weeks. But in the middle of the night, I awoke from a horrible dream. The side drive, where we keep the trashcans, was covered with cubed turkey meat. And as it was summer, the meat was rotting and flies were gathering. I woke up before the conclusion, but it was a very negative dream.

Hopefully, I'll win an Emmy

Here's my TV show pitch, geniusly created thanks to theTV Show Pitch Generator.

A detective with a stutter reviews bad theater with a taste tester who hunts other people for sport. Stars Lindsey Lohan and Mary Tyler Moore. Genre: Action

Try it out.

Affirmation or why I haven't bought a digital camera yet:

"Nikon FM3A (my camera) hard to find; Nikon came out with this all-metal manual focus body in 2001. It is a beautifully balanced camera and, with a 50/1.4 lens, will take much better pictures than what 99 percent of digital camera owners capture with their cheap kit zoom lenses."

Only thing is, I don't have the 50mm lens. I have the 45mm lens. I wonder if the reviewer feels the same way. I hope so. It's a spectacular lens.

See, I want a new camera. But, what I want and what I need are two different stories. Do I really need a professional digital camera? Probably not. Maybe some day I will buy one.

More on the Dancing Chicken

Here's an actual video of the Dancing Chicken from a couple posts ago. Apparently, her name is Venus. Sadly, the signage looks pretty large. I guess I couldn't read it because I was speeding down the street. It has nothing to do with my eyesight. No, nothing at all. Anyway, here's the video.

The Famous Dancing Chicken

I am a dork.

After services at Temple, there is punch, coffee, cookies, fruit, etc. As I partook in some fresh fruit, the Rabbi came up to say hi. Instead of talking about something important, some great issue, I spent five freaking minutes talking about my hair.

I felt really dorky afterward.

"Agatestone," you may be pondering, "Why did you spend five minutes acting like an idiot talking about your hair with the Rabbi?"

Well, because I chopped all my hair off, dear reader. My long mane of black hair is now gone. I am short-haired again and it's such a shock.

You may also be asking, "Is 'partook' a real word, Agatestone?"

Dear reader, I have no freaking idea if partook is a word or not. But, that's the best I can do right now. So be it.

Thank goodness.

Thank goodness that although the Rabbi's wife (our childhood rabbi, not current rabbi) again was working in our office, she didn't disturb my fragile existence by tempting me with the chocolate goodness that she normally shares with our department. For once, my karma stayed in balance.

Her glorious brownies, though wonderous, tend to cause havoc, and throw my karma out of whack. I'm not sure if its the hint of hazelnut or the pinch of holiness, but seriously, havoc is invariably wreaked when I acquire one of her brownies.

I think what I need to do is tip the scale in my favor. Do extra karmic credit. Then, when I'm tempted by baked goods baked by the Rabbi's wife, my karma will stay balanced. My life will not swirl out of control. I won't break, spill or bump into anything. Disasters will not ruin my day. I will be able to eat said brownies with a light heart.

Chicken Dancing.

Oh man wearing a Detroit Red Wings jersey over a Chicken suit, standing on the side of the road. As you danced your seductive dance, waving that placard up in the air, let it be known that I would have bought whatever you were selling, except for the fact that the lettering on your placard was too small. As I sped down the road, ensorceled by your captivating dance, I pitied the fact that all I could read was $6.99. What were you selling, dear Dancing Chicken, for only $6.99?

Oh how I wish that you had printed your sign in a large, more bold font, with better kerning and leading. If only you had, I would have stopped. Yes, I would have interrupted my trip to talk with you, to share with you, to hand you $6.99 to purchase whatever magic item you were advertising.

Alas. I sped again by that corner today. You were not there. Did you sell out whatever it was you were selling? Did you take your glorious dance to another corner? Maybe one day, one day soon, I will see you again, Dancing Chicken.

Words I don't care for. And one that I do care for.

Wordsmith.

Jewess.

Newbie.

One of my favorite words, however, is chiaroscuro . I love saying chiaroscuro and I like paintings that exhibit chiaroscuro.

Thinking cap.

Ok readers. Please put on your thinking caps. I need some direction. I expect to have a bumper crop of grapes this year. I grow very very (I cannot stress this enough) very sweet Concord grapes. Obviously, the bunches are still small, but when they mature over the coming months, I will be swimming in grapes.

I am not a jam or jelly person. So, what else can I do with said grapes? Just to give you an idea of what they are like, they taste exactly like Sweet Tarts. I need some ideas, please.

Or, would you like some grapes to make jam for yourself. Of course, it might be kind of far to send you, the Violet Diva, grapes without them turning to raisins, but my local readers, the Amnesiac Concert Flautist, the Breakfast Czar, the Chocolate Whisperer, Willow, and Edna (gosh Edna, you've got to get yourself a nickname), well, you are more than welcome to have some to preserve.

I actually made grape preserves two years ago and never really ate them, because, as I stated before, I'm not really a jam/jelly type person.

Catastrophe.

So, Sunday, I was on the go from 8:30 in the morning until evening. I had a gazillion errands and then I needed to attend a Mother’s Day mid-afternoon meal with my family. In the midst of my travels, I stopped at Starbucks for a icy cold drink to soothe my soul after the miles upon miles I had driven already.

I continued onward to my next stop, heartily enjoying the the refreshing treat...that is, until I reached the end of the beverage. You see, even though I had sipped the last drop, I still wanted more, and would even settle for the melted remnants of the drink. Sadly, however, the ice left over in the cup had frozen into a hard chunk. My straw was trapped, crushed and no more beverage was available.

So, while driving, I attempted to break up the ice and free my straw by squeezing the cup. This was not a good idea. I squeezed quite hard, causing the ice to break up, as I wanted it to. But, unfortunately, I squeezed so hard that the ice didn’t just break up. It exploded up. And up.

My powerful squeezing caused the cup lid to fly off. Now free from any barrier, the ice kept flying upward until it came in contact with my person. Then, it began a slow plummet. Down my shirt. I ended up driving down the road with a cup of chocolately ice down my shirt, melting. The moral of the story is for one not to be greedy when one reaches the natural end of one's beverage.

Last Passover story of the year

1) Desperation has forced me to secret my one last tub of Israeli Nestle's Quik out of town. My cousin the Chocolate Whisperer is holding on to it for me. I requested that she not give in to my pleadings and wait a few months before returning it to me.

2) I have two boxes of leftover Passover matzo just gathering dust at Casa del Agatestone. And I just discovered an artform that I never knew existed. This will be the perfect way for me to dispose of the leftover matzo and could cause me to embark upon a new artistic path.

Forever and a day.

Does anyone understand the new Forever stamps? I don't get it. Won't they be losing money in a few years with this endeavor. Anyone?

Capricious.

I don't like capri pants on me. I think they look lovely on other folks. But not on me. I look stubby. I threw my faded black pair of capri pants away recently. I hated them as they made me look stubby, but I wore them anyway. I found another pair on sale and I am currently wearing them. And, I look stubby. I am wearing high heels to no avail. I look stubby.

I am just not a person who can wear short pants. My pant legs have to go past my ankles. There is nothing I can do about it. It's the only way that I don't feel stubby.

Although, tomorrow, when I am galavanting around town in the hot weather, I could potentially be wearing these capri pants again. But it would only be to combat the hot weather. I would still think I look stubby in them. Is there a way not to look stubby in short pants? What is the secret. Anyone?

Bad karma.

It's friday again and what should appear on my desk, another brownie baked by the Rabbi's wife. Not my current Rabbi, but our childhood Rabbi. His wife bakes brownies. It's pretty random that I should be receiving brownies baked by our former Rabbi's wife, but said brownie baker does work in a non-baking capacity for our company. She just happens to bake brownies and brings them to us when she is here doing work.

My problem with her brownies is that I think they upset, no not my stomach, but my karma. Besides chocolaty goodness, I believe that her brownies are dusted with a pinch of holiness.

I'm afraid that if I eat this brownie, my karma will be shot to hell. It's happened before, and I cannot afford it to happen again today. I'm working on a photography project that will be completed, knock on wood, by Sunday. If my karma isn't balanced, something horrible could happen to my project. And if that happens, well, it won't be the end of the world, but it will be disappointing.

So, I'm going to work on my project at lunch today. We'll see how it goes. If things turn out smoothly, I will think about eating this brownie. It can't hurt my karma to just have it sit on my desk today. Oh, the temptation.

OK. It's a couple hours later now. The photography project isn't going well. There are problems. Those problems occured even though I shunned the brownie. So, I decided there was no harm in eating the brownie after all. And I must say it was a wonderful brownie. I'm not sure if it was the extra pinch of holiness or possibly a hint of hazelnut, but my it was a welcome and fulfilling treat. And, if you look at it another way, the marvelous brownie could help me drown my sorrows in the problems I'm facing with the project. It's karma coming around from the other side, basically.

I like socks.

I like buying shoes, but I don't like wearing shoes. Is it too old-ladyish to admit that every pair of shoes I own hurt my feet, except for my brown flip flops? Even my black flip flops hurt, and they are the same model as the brown flip flops. The only difference is that they are black, not brown.

I like socks. But, what causes them to magically disappear? I purchased a three-pair pack of socks one day at lunch in hopes of staving off the pain of my shoes. I put one pair of socks on my feet and the two other pairs, I put in my purse. When I got home from work that night, I reached into my purse for the two pairs of socks. There were only three individual socks in there. What happened to the fourth sock? It is gone. Disappeared! Is there a chemical in socks that cause them to occassionally dissolve? Are invisible aliens stealing our socks? Is there a cabal of sock stock owners that’s sending stealthlike sock stealers into peoples’ homes to steal their socks so as to drive up sales of socks?

I like pie crust, but I can’t say I’m a huge pie fan.

I don’t like the fact that my favorite coffee shop closed.

I like the Brady Bunch and any media associated with the Brady Bunch. I have seen all the tv series (the Brady Brunch, the Brady Brides, etc.). I’ve seen all the movies, including the cheesy made for tv movies, like the one where Bobby was a race car driver, as well as the big screen movies with Shelly Long. I’ve even, believe it or not, seen a stage version of Brady Bunch. Instead of chairs, the audience sat on cushions and beanbag chairs to watch a recreation of that famous “Mom said don’t play ball in the house” episode. The memorable “Oh my nose!” flashback scene was recreated by throwing numerous Nerf footballs slowly at Marsha’s nose. Ah, the sweet, sweet memories of a glorious theatrical masterpiece.

I really like the sandwiches at my local “Snubflay” shop. Why oh why do the sandwich engineers at Snubflay have to be so un-hygienic? If they’re not draping their dirty shirts over my sandwich, they’re cracking their gum, open-mouthed, while they are engineering said sandwich.

I like the egg white omelets created by our local health food emporium, Beyond Juice. I wonder how healthy it is to eat numerous egg white omelets weekly? They are just so yummy.

I like doing pottery. But, should I have opened my eyes and cheated, even though the teacher told us to close our eyes, while we sculpted our masterpieces at the class I took recently at the Detroit Institute of Arts? I will try to post a photo of said “masterpieces,” but all I can say is that boy did they do a good job glazing them. Because, due to the fact that we were instructed to keep our eyes closed while sculpting, my bowls look like they were fashioned by a monkey. Not your average monkey, but a one-eyed left-handed monkey just getting over a heroin problem, who, while sculpting the bowls right-handed, was also painting a self-portrait with his feet and opening and eating a plantain with his dominant and more artistic left hand. That’s how bad these bowls appear. But, on the bright side, as I said before, the glaze looks marvelous.

To conclude, as this post is getting long and a tad tedious, I like the color green.

weird observation

So, while eating hors d'oevres with my relatives today, I noticed that since my uncle rejected the offer of a napkin, he only had two choices for proper disposal of his cracker crumbs. He could either brush them on the floor or collect said crumbs and put them in his pocket.

He chose the second option. I wonder if this is a one-time thing or he does this frequently.

Another weird dream.

I know ACF that you like more observational humor stories, but this dream has been nagging at me all day, so I have to put it out there for everyone to see. So, I'm giving a classical concert on saxophone. The only problem is that when I reach the stage, I realize I don't know how to play the saxophone. So, I hum the concert. I was not a success.

Why did I dream this? I have no clue. I have been listening to quite a bit of classical music lately. A song that I greatly love, Spem in alium, by Thomas Tallis, composed around 1570, is awe-inspiring. My recording, published by National Public Radio, sounds like angels are singing. It's in heavy rotation on my CD player so maybe that is why I am dreaming of music concerts.

Fluffy.

I think my imagination is broken. Generally, when I stare up at the fluffy clouds, all I see are mundane images of puppies, kittens and bunnies in varied situations. Some people see great wonders in the clouds: tall ships, a map of the British Isles, majestic sequoias. I never see anything interesting. Just puppies, kittens and bunnies.

Oh, besides today. Today I saw something interesting in the clouds. I saw a 15th century Spanish monk wearing a pointy hat. But, that is the exception, not the rule.

Tomorrow, well tomorrow, I’m sure when I look up at the clouds, I’ll see the usual: a cuddly puppy, a kitten wearing a beret, or a tap dancing bunny.

Muskrat love.

Dear reader, I want to speak to a specific subset of the population, so if you are not part of that population, feel free to skip this blog entry. I want to speak to any of you who may be rodents. Especially those of you who live in the fields or forests abutting a high-speed highway.

I had a delightful ice cream outing afternoon with the Chocolate Whisperer and the Breakfast Czar. We chatted and ate ice cream, enjoying the early summer weather.

On my way back from our outing, as I drove my normal way home. I viewed some horrific sights. Mile after mile I saw rodent after rodent lying still on the side of the road. This has got to stop. Dear reader, if you are a raccoon, opossum, squirrel or even a capybera , you must learn how to safely cross the road. Or, better yet, instead of crossing the road, stay where you are.

Is this a status thing? Do you feel that your dam, sand hill or acorn-filled nest is inadequate? Have you by any chance talked to a flying squirrel who soared in with wild stories of gold-lined nests, servants delivering mixed nuts on silver platters and dams made from the finest teak? Remember, flying squirrels have a propensity for gossip. Rest assured, the grass isn’t greener on the other side of the freeway. Trust me on this. And stop trying to keep up with the Joneses. Your maple and elm twig dam is fine, mighty fine. Your acorn stash is remarkable. And that sand mound, well, I’ve never seen a sand mound so sandy…or moundy. Good job.

So please, please, stay home and stop crossing the highway. But, if you really have a need to cross the highway, be careful and look both ways or better yet, take a traffic safety class from your local police department.

humor

Dear Reader,

I hope you don't mind if I get a bit personal here and let you in to Agatestone's psyche. OK. As I've said before, I really value humor. I am always attempting, sometimes unsuccessfully, to make my e-mails and other correspondence as humorous as possibly. But this week, that has not been the case. Let me give you an example. In the past, an e-mail from Agatestone might look like this:

Dear Breakfast Czar, Joke. Joke. Joke. Issue I’m writing about. Joke. Funny observation. Sign off.

But now, my e-mails are starting to resemble this pattern:

Dear Chocolate Whisperer, Potato. Potato. Potato. Issue I’m writing about, peppered with many grammar errors. Potato. Unfunny observation. Sign off.

I don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe I need to take vitamins or something. How does one activate one’s humor gene? If this keeps up, I may have to think about becoming a dramatist. Don’t get me wrong, I respect drama and writers of drama. I just don’t know how I could go on, writing about the wind on the Moors. Orphans dealing with chiding and unfriendly headmistresses. Famines, floods, and then another famine, family discord, and one’s wife getting pissed at you because you gave her jewelry to your concubine in early 1900’s China.

All those situations I like to read about, but not necessarily do I like to write about them. But, perhaps this is my fate dear reader.

True confessions Friday.

Here’s my deep dark secret. When I’m eating alone, salad becomes a finger food. I only use a fork and knife to devour salad when I’m in the company of others, or out in public. As is well known, the Breakfast Czar and I are not admirers of salad dressing. So, when I am alone and eating a salad with my fingers, rest assured there is no dressing on it. My dream salad is a dry salad. Not dry like an arid desert, but dry as in not covered with oily residue. Kind of like a sea lion that has escaped unscathed from an oil spill in some faroff Alaskan bay.

Why am I bringing this up? Because today I carried out a salad for lunch. It was a fine salad, but I had this incredible urge to eat it with my fingers. I didn’t. I resisted that urge, as I was at work and anyone could have witnessed my bad manners. But, I had that urge nonetheless.

Paschal lamb.

Somebody needs to explain to me Easter iconography. I decided to decorate Easter eggs today. It was on a whim. I figured my mother would enjoy doing an Easter craft, as the family Agatestone wasn’t doing anything else to commemorate the holiday. So, I went through the page of stickers with which we could decorate the eggs. I understand the spring picture-endowed stickers, such as a little lamb, a butterfly and two smiling daisies. What I don’t understand is the sticker depicting a turtle bedecked a red hat and licking a tulip. A mouse wearing red polka dotted bandana, being carried aloft by three balloons. A smiling snail wearing a red and blue hat, and lastly, a bird shod in black and white saddle shoes and also adorned with a hat, this time red. What does a mouse, snail and a turtle signify in the Christian tradition? And why are all the animals wearing various colored hats? Anyone?

Maple cream.

I observed an extraordinary feat recently. I was lucky enough to witness a cousin exhibiting her fluency in assorted filled chocolates. Without availing herself of the map or legend usually provided on the box, she can look at a piece of chocolate and describe what delightful surprise awaits you. How wondrous and enviable it is to have such powers.

One of the four questions.

Although we’re in the thick of Passover, the Seders are now behind us. The Seders went smoothly…for the most part. Confusion did arise as to whether our ancestors were wandering Arameans or perhaps, wandering Armenians. And I’m not quite sure that the debate over Aramean vs. Armenian was sufficiently cleared up to everyone's satisfaction.

Things I like.

There are many things I like. Unfortunately, I usually tend to like obscure things. This means that I have no one to talk about the things that I like. So, maybe I will be talking to myself here, but here are the things that I like in no particular order:

CSPAN

David Mamet

Eric Bogosian

purple flowers

the movie The Color Purple, but not the book

squid

the movie Homicide and the completely unrelated TV show Homicide: Life on the Street

commas

polar bears

panda bears

koala bears

dachshunds

figs

Ira Glass

toast so dark that that if you toasted it any longer it would crumble in your hand

real creamery butter

eucalyptus

A horse named Dr. Pebbles.

So, the radio waves from a Canadian bell bottom-jeaned rock station wafted across the river and into my car's receiver one crisp, yet sunny early spring day. At first, I didn't listen closely to the song now playing. But, then, I began to ruminate on the poetic lyrics emerging from the speakers.

So, you went through the desert on a horse with no name. Ok, I can see that. If you and let's say, a rent-a-horse were striding through the desert for maybe a couple of hours or so, I wouldn't think it would be prudent to name the horse.

You go on to say that after nine days, you let this nameless horse run free. First of all, I don't know how wise it was to let the horse run free, seeing as since you didn't know its name, you probably borrowed or rented it from someone. It wasn't yours to let run free and was quite irresponsible of you.

Furthermore, you were riding this nameless horse for nine days? Nine days? As I previously stated, if you only rode him for a couple of hours, I didn't think it was your responsibility to name him. But, really, after a couple of days, you couldn't get off your ass and think of a name for the horse. I'm sorry but that's seriously lazy.

Lastly, you described your desert sojurn as feeling good to be out of the rain. You had to go to a freaking desert to get out of the rain? You couldn't just buy a raincoat, galoshes and an umbrella? You had to drag this poor, nameless horse out in the hot desert for nine G-dawful days because you needed to be out of the rain. Ever hear of going inside? Even if you didn't have a permanent place to live, something tells me that your pot dealer would've probably let you crash in his VW bus until the rain stopped.

Thanks for listening. It felt good to get that off my chest.

Is this a Metro Detroit thing?

In my travels around town, I frequently pass a Foreign Car Repair Shop/Bakery and Café, a Car Wash/Italian Restaurant, and an Art Gallery/Dentist’s office.

What made these entrepreneurs envision these business mash-ups? Did a car wash owner and a restaurateur pool their money, thinking it would be innovative to run a car wash/Italian restaurant? After the excitement from a buff and a wax, did they think customers would want to kick back and dine on a plate of gnocchi?

Did the dentist have a burning interest in the arts, driving him to open a gallery in the same building as his office? Maybe he thought it would calm his patients to look at pretty pictures before he drilled into their rotted teeth.

And what about the car repair/café? I would think that the smells of the car repair side of the business would not be appetizing to café-goers. Or possibly the sweet, sweet smell of a double shot caramel macchiato and a chocolate dipped biscotti straight from the oven would tormet the mechanics, engrossed in fixing VWs and Yugos, unable to partake in the lucious goodness of the café?

One can only wonder.

Tis the season

Karma Kameleon

So, my day started off innocently enough. Until lunchtime. I lied to a homeless person. I know, I know. I was just trying to get out of an awkward situation. But, I felt very guilty afterward.

Subsequently and deservingly, I got hit with the Karma stick. Back at work I poured myself a cup of coffee and tried to squirt some chocolate syrup in it. Unfortunately, the chocolate syrup bottle was clogged, and when I tried to forcibly squirt the chocolate out, instead of landing in my coffee, the syrup sprayed all over me and the coffee bar.

Ok. So, even thought I still felt guilty about the lie, I assumed I was absolved, due to the bad Karma I had just received. I was hoping that my life now had an equal balance of good and bad Karma. I was feeling more confident about my day. Until, something alarming happened. Someone innocently brought me a brownie. A freshly baked brownie. A freshly baked brownie baked by the wife of a Rabbi. I knew no good would come from this brownie. This Rabbinical spouse-baked brownie wasn’t your average brownie. It was chewy and warm and was most likely more holy than a run of the mill brownie since it was baked by a Rabbi's wife. The brownie, although delightful, would lead to despair. This I knew. And, finally, I was right.

It was the end of the day. I had plans in just a few minutes. Even thought I was covered in chocolate syrup, I had decided not to change my plans, as I was wearing dark colored clothes that masked the stains from the chocolate. No one would be able to tell. I walked to my car, carrying a cup of soy milk that I had brought to work earlier that day. I approached my car and all of a sudden, the soy milk leapt from the cup and splashed itself down my pants. So, now I was literally covered by all of the ingredients for a soy mocha latte. I gave up. I surrendered to the Karmic forces that were toying with me and I decided to forgo my plans, go home, and get out of my soiled outfit.

Knut

I want a baby polar bear!

Destination fees

This something that has bothered me for a long time, so I feel like I should share it with you, dear reader. Destinations fees for vehicles. I have been pricing cars. No, I'm not buying one today. But, I am starting to see what is out there. I found one that I like. But, the destination fee is $660 dollars. I just can't bring myself to pay $660 for a car that was built three miles from Casa Del Agatestone. They charge $660 to deliver the car to the dealership, which is directly across the street from the plant. I could ride my bike over to the plant and pick it up. Yes, this is a really cute car. But, I just don't know if I can justify spending $660 to have a car delivered probably a total of one block. I don't agree with destinations fees as a rule, but I could understand if you were in Nome, Alaska, and were having the car delivered to you. But, again, I'm three freaking miles from the plant, and the dealership is directly across the street from the plant. This is a bit of a scam, dear reader, which is why I have never been able to bring myself to purchase this particular brand of automobile.

OUCH!

Dear reader. I’m need to get personal with you today. We need to talk about a painful scourge in our society. Waxing. Due to a series of circumstances, I foolishly agreed to allow my esthetician, we’ll call her “Anya,” to conduct a waxing regime on my underarms. I have never felt anything more painful in my life…and this is from a person who has had a broken elbow and various gaping wounds that needed to be stitched up.

This tragic chain of events unfolded thusly: I noticed last Wednesday that I had run out of disposable razors. So, I charged up the electric razor. But, even after a night’s charge, the electric razor was not working, and obviously needed to be replaced. So, on Thursday, I had to make a choice. Run to the corner drugstore and buy more disposable razors or run to K-Mart and purchase a new electric razor. I decided on the electric razor. But, alas, I found a coupon for K-Mart. The coupon did not take effect until this Sunday. I had a problem that needed to be corrected as soon as possible, but I didn’t want to buy a pack of disposable razors that would be wasted, as I was determined to buy a new electric razor. So, I called up “Anya” and made an appointment for Thursday evening.

I won’t go into details, but I will say that I think I made a mistake. By the end of the horrific ordeal, I was practically curled up in a ball. She said to me in her Ukrainian accent “Beautiful,” (she calls everyone beautiful, by the way) “Come back in three weeks. It won’t hurt like this again. I promise.” Should I believe her? The results were amazing, but the process was horrific.

The worst job interview ever.

Headquarters of famous, nationwide company that I don’t want to name because I still want to get a job there. So, I’d been writing technical articles for 8 years at Ford and wanted to write lighter pieces. The job entailed feature writing, which is basically news writing with more adverbs and adjectives. It was a smouldering hot day. The interviewer kept me waiting. And waiting. He finally arrived and took me into a dusty room with dirty furniture and without air conditioning.

I was wearing my summer interview suit. Grey, hip. I had a good bob going on and was wearing my hip glasses.

The interview began. The interview dived right in, bombarding me with questions concerning why I thought I could switch from tech/news writing to features. I showed him some samples. They weren’t featurey enough for him. He kept asking and asking me that same question. I explained that I was a go-getter, driven, etc. I kept up with his bombardment. I answered his question in a variety of different ways, but each answer was as wrong as the one before it...to him. The encounter was like a tennis match. I felt like I was answering his serves…but barely.

Since it was so hot, he was thirsty and poured himself a cold drink. He did not offer me one.

And, to top it off, he did something that angered me: He kept speaking Yiddish to me. "Why?" I wondered. It felt out of place for him to speak Yiddish to me. There was no reason for this familiarity or casualness. I didn’t sense that he was part of the tribe. And, when I say tribe, I mean people who are Jewish or people who I like. Of course, to follow that logic, I guess I wouldn’t want people who are Jewish who I don’t like to speak Yiddish either. Anyway, nice Jewish people and people who I like are allowed to speak Yiddish…at least in Agatestoneland. But everyone else is not. And why did he keep speaking Yiddish to me? I didn’t have any religious jewelry on and although I have a Semitic look, he had no proof of my heritage or religious leanings. Was he making fun of me? Being snide? I don’t know. I do know that it bothered me.

After this horrible interview, which, as I said before, was not a traditional interview, but consisted of this man asking me over and over and over again why I thought I could change from tech/news writing to features, another woman gave me an exit interview. What I wanted to tell her was that I wasn’t hopeful that I was going to get the job. That the interviewer was a nasty pr*ck and that if he didn’t think I was the woman for the job, he should have stopped attacking me and ended the interview. But, instead, I said that the interview went well, left, went to my car, closed the doors, and burst out in tears.

Why? Because I discovered that my hip, grey suit was dirty from coming in contact with his dirty furniture. Because I was so thirsty and he didn’t offer me a cold beverage. Because he infuriated me by speaking Yiddish. And because he didn't really interview me. He didn’t get to know me. But, I got over it. I went to other interviews at other companies and got the job that I have now.

Oink?

Another dream, but I’m not even in it. It’s the 1970s. There’s a guy grocery shopping in the Royal Oak/Ferndale area. He asks the butcher for bacon. There isn’t enough. So, he starts screaming “More Bacon! More Bacon!” But, there is no more bacon to sell him. So, he angrily storms to his car and drives away, on streets that are littered with raw bacon. He is so enraged that the grocery store had no bacon for him that he almost runs over an old woman.

Intervention

Ok, I've been waiting all year to revel in Israeli Nestle's Quik (click the link and scroll down for an explanation). But now, I have a chocolate monkey on my back! Since I purchased the Quik on Sunday afternoon, I've been drinking it non-stop. You need to do something, dear reader. Stop me before this gets out of control.

Elvis

Ah yes, we wait all year for a day like this, when we see our first Elvis impersonator of the year. Spring must be just around the corner.

I saw him delivering the mail, btw. He was wearing a mailman's uniform, but his hair and sideburns (muttonchops), were all Elvis. And just to clarify, for the first time in this blog's history, when I mention "Elvis," I mean Presley, not the lovely, charming and brilliant Costello.

Sunday

1) Matzo is a very disappointing food. It never fails. You have a nice bowl of soup in front of you and when you look in the pantry for saltines, all you have is matzo. Matzo may look similar to saltines, but it's just not the same.

2) I'm fully stocked up on Israeli Nestle's Quik. Life is good again.

3) I bought a new hat today. But now, I want to get my hair cut to complement my new hat.

4) I don't understand corned beef and cabbage. I just don't feel comfortable eating corned beef without rye bread. It doesn't make sense.

5) I really like lions and tigers, but I wish someone would produce a documentary illustrating a day in the life of a lion or tiger without the wild cats ripping apart a llama or a hyena or whatever they like to eat. Couldn't we just see them hanging out at the watering hole or cuddling with baby lions and tigers?

6) What would make someone steal a peace bumper sticker off one's car? I understand why they stole my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker. But why did they also rip the peace sign off of my car? What kind of a bastard doesn't like peace?

Overzealous paper shredding techniques

So, I bought this sweater a couple of weeks ago. It fit. But, I realized, upon putting it on yesterday for the first time, that the seam digs in to my back. So, I decided to exchange it for one size up. I went yesterday to exchange it. They didn't have the size in stock but they found one in Lansing, Michigan. I said, "great, can you have them send it over." They said yes, but for 8 bucks. That is unfair, I think. So, I said, could I have store credit instead. She said, sure. She offered me 14 bucks. But, I spent 29 bucks on the sweater. I asked her why I couldn't have 29 bucks, and she said because they just marked the sweater down this morning. You may ask why I didn't show her my receipt. Well, that is because I just bought a new paper shredder. And, of course, I already shredded the receipt. So, I took the sweater home and I guess I'm going to try to stretch it in the back, so that the seam won't dig in.

Second story. After the horrible sweater incident, I crossed the street and entered my local sandwich shop. I won't tell you the name, but it rhymes with Snubflay. So, I ordered my usual...a turkey sub with extra yellow peppers. The sandwich technician was in the process of constructing my sandwich and as such, leaned forward to get the peppers I had ordered. When he did, his shirt landed on my sandwich. So, I asked him for another sandwich, because that just was disgusting. He was dragging his heels and didn't want to give me a new sandwich. I don't know what his problem was. I said, at least throw everything on the sandwich away and give me new stuff, but I should have pressed him for new bread. He just seemed so reluctant to give me new bread. So,I caved. Possibly, my bread was dirty, but the insides of the sandwich were clean.

That was a sucky day in terms of people being mean and me being spineless.
I'll do better today. I promise.

Update

Without elucidating, I'll give you a brief overview of life with Agatestone:

1) For some reason, my Netflix only gives me recommendations for Bollywood and John Wayne movies.

2) I made a fatal error by involving the Breakfast Czar in my goal of obtaining and keeping around enough Israeli Nestle's Quik to last a year. The plan was that I would buy the Quik in bulk and she would dole it out to me. Otherwise, I'd be done with the Nestle's Quik by May. Well, doling out the Nestle's Quik, apparently, isn't what the Breakfast Czar is planning to do. I would say the correct word for the plan she has hatched against her sister is "blackmail." She is engaging in a nefarious plot that involves me doing her bidding in exchange for her allowing me to have my Israeli Nestle's Quik. Something's just not right here.

3) I am really tempted to cut my hair. I have been growing it since May. Hence, its length is considerable. But, I am tired of it and need a good reason to keep it.

That is basically it. I'm going back to reading and needlepointing and thinking about the fact that I need to vacuum my car except for the fact that it's freaking 15 degrees out there!

pseudo-intellectual or dilettante?

Just a helpful hint from Agatestone:

When you're in a conversation with someone who is way smarter than you, especially in the arts, and you're feeling ignorant, drop Claes Oldenburg on them. It works every time. He is famous enough that you can gain respectability by knowing who is is, but obscure enough that the person who you thought was smarter than you may actually have never heard of him. It's a win-win situation.

I've pulled Claes out of my pocket (figuratively) a couple of times. I've mentioned his prints. I've mentioned the large sculpture of his at the Detroit Institute of Arts: the carved wooden electrical plug hanging from the ceiling.

He has helped me get out of uncomfortable situations and restored balance to my life. Check him out. Learn about him. Use him, but use him sparingly.

Esther

Casa Del Agatestone has never had a Purim celebration. But, this year, I've decided to commemorate the holiday, and to whit, I baked hamantaschen for the first time. These triangular cookies represent the three-sided hat that the evil Haman wore in the book of Esther.

Of course I put a spin on these cookies. I tried the traditional poppyseed filling, and sadly, didn't care for it. So, I prepared a fig filling traditionally used in Italian cuccidati cookies. I enjoyed these fig-filled hamantaschen greatly.

Musings

Just a lot of gibberish that is going through my head:

1) Yeah, when I'm working at the museum, I want to touch the art work too, but I don't, and you shouldn't either. Please.



2) To the guy from work who told me I am antisocial because I picked the lox out of the cream cheese: I wasn't being antisocial. I calculated in my head the number of people at work who would be apt to eat lox, and I calculated the amount of cream cheese with lox (two containers) and I assumed that the people who I expected to eat the cream cheese with lox wouldn't mind if I picked out some of the lox to eat without the cheese. I was very calculating, but obviously, I calculated wrong, because you were quite adament that I was the scum of the earth for doing this. But, I found one of the men who I am positive eat the cream cheese with lox and told him what I had done and he was behind me on this. He didn't mind that I picked the lox out of the cream cheese. In fact, he told me that next time, I should just take one of the tubs of cream cheese with lox for myself.



3) Do I have what it takes to make an argyle sweater work? I don't want to look nerdy. I want to look smartsy (smart and artsy). I can pull this look off sometimes, but I'm not sure if I'll be going too far with an argyle sweater.




4) I'm really looking forward to Passover, but for all the wrong reasons. Yeah, there's religion, food, culture, tradition on Passover, which I love, but there is something else about Passover that I adore. It's Israeli Nestle's Quik. Sounds weird, eh? Stores that sell Jewish food around here only sell Israeli Nestle's Quik on Passover, and it's the only time during the year that I can revel in Nestle's Quik, unlike the millions of people who drink it all year around. You see, American Nestle's Quik has powdered milk in it, which I am unable to drink due to my annoying milk allergy. But, Israeli Nestle's Quik contains no milk products and I am able to partake in it. I can mix it with water, and drink it either hot or cold. No, Quik mixed with water isn't gross if you're desperate enough, trust me. So, Passover is almost upon us and soon, I will be stocking up on Israeli Nestle's Quik. I try to ration enough for the entire year, but sadly, I generally am finished with all of the tubs of Israeli Nestle's Quik that I purchase by May.