Sunday, February 06, 2005

MMMMmmmmmm...tastes like weekend. 

Mounds of laundry. Sleeping in. Piles of dishes. Something forgotten in the crockpot. Lots of bleach, hot water, and soap.

A new foster dog who is Rumpel's opposite in everything but breed.

"Titan" is a young whippersnapper who votes against Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell for this month's KnitOne,ReadToo book selection.

Not the greatest pic, I know, but it is hard to photograph urine on a black book and a blue popcorn tin. I once dropped a copy of Roth's The Ghost Writer into a school toilet minutes before having to write an in-class final essay with it. Thankfully my margin notes are almost always in pencil.

Anyway, bleach and direct sunlight kills most anything.

Titan the pinstriped biblio-pisser has somehing I've never seen on another dog, a striping pattern which continues unimpeded
down his leg to his pad from the center of his back.

Remember when I said that a picture of 336 yards of worsted weight undyed South African Fine Wool wouldn't be very interesting to anyone? Well, it looks a little more interesting after it has been thoroughly "killed" by a rampaging foster dog.

Yes, I am a bad foster mom.

I can't get mad because I should have been watching him so he could learn that we don't pee on books or kill-shake skeins of yarn around here. Or at least we don't do it very often.

I heard him thumping around in the living room having a grand time, I just thought he was having it with one of the bazillion other dog toys which litter our landscape.

Weekends also taste like books...unpeed-on books...I finished
Nickel and Dimed last night. For anyone interested, I'll just warn that while it's an entertaining and quick read, you probably won't learn anything you don't already know about the plight of the working poor.

Well, actually I guess if I say that I'm assuming a lot.

I didn't learn anything new about the plight of the American working poor, because I did two years at Starbucks and tried (and failed) to make it working full-time and going to school full-time without external financial help. (I have worked other service industry jobs but I had roommates to share the rent, and the job was more fun [parking valet--trust me, you'll never be more flushed with the joy of living until you've been hit by a car in front of a crowd of thirty or so half-drunk revelers (I saw the car coming at the last second, leapt up and away from it and managed to do a stunt man roll across the hood, down the driver's side to skim the sideview mirrow, land in pushup position on the asphalt just in time to pushup into a flying roll sideways into the relative safety of a hedge to avoid being rolled over by the rear wheels [damn front wheel drives])]). So I found her little one month sojourns to be (while voyeuristically amusing) self-indulgent--kind of ironic considering the pervasive attitude of self-deprivation. But it definitely turned me off from even thinking about contracting out my house-cleaning.

Nick and I are both reading Birds Without Wings. If you've never read a Louis de BĂ©rnieres book, you really gotta. That's as much as a critical endorsement as I'll go into, despite my mad passion for this man's writings, because I'd hate to make an ass out of myself like Dorothy Gallagher from The New York Times Book Review when she said (of Nickel & Dimed): "Valuable and illuminating...We have Barbara Ehrenreich to thank for bringing us the news of America's working poor so clearly and directly, and conveying with it a deep moral outrage...She is our premier reporter of the underside of capitalism."

Hahahahahahahaha. Ha. "the news[!]"



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