It’s funny how you meet your other. I don’t mean the one you have babies with. The one you vow to love and adore and never leave. I mean your other other. The person that’s so much like you they could be you if you weren’t around to do it yourself. I met Mallorie when
Monthly Archives: December 2006
“I could read his prose on salary, but not Jane’s. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death. Everytime I read ‘Pride and Prejudice’ I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone.” –Mark Twain
Traditionally made, seasonal, fresh cheese makes me sick – as a dog. I love it and eat it anyway. Slabs of it. Throw in some red, a few grapes and a nice thick finger of fruit cake, and who cares about migraines or Christmas dinner? It made me fat in college. Not real fat, but
Just a quickie, and not really a blog post at all, just a yikes! type thing. Dunno how I missed it – must have been all that quivering and avarice – whatever – but Judith Regan got sacked on Friday. The original story went something like this: HarperCollins let the slugger go none too ceremoniously
Christmas trees and lights, his mother’s ornaments – long, fat and Victorian – wreaths of garland and holly berry winding around door frames and banisters. Wrapping paper and bells jingle belling. Nat King Cole. Warmed mince pies covered in brandy butter – the kind that clears your head. Sparkling wine and sherry in thick little
My aunt will try to have me hung drawn and quartered for this…but I’ve never been a Diana fan. Pity the way she died and all – absolutely – but I’ve just never shared in my country’s obsession with the British Monarchy. I do, however, feel it’s adoration – more celebrity infatuation really – for
This morning I donned shades and neroli oil. Paid a visit to the Christmas markets. I held my nose against the German bratwurst and breathed in the smell of mulled wine. A Dutchman tried to sell me some cheese. A pair of tiny wooden shoes. Then Santa asked “What do you want for Christmas …
“We plunged into the cornucopia quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice.” – A Christmas Story My first crush was a boy named Bobby. He was five and looked just like Bo Duke. My second, Ralphie. I couldn’t have been more than 8 when he first pummeled Scut Farkus, ratted out his buddy
I use to take some degree of pride in never having set foot in the Smokey Mountains. I preferred Paris to Pigeon Forge and Nuremberg to that Gatlin place. I was awful like that. Anyway, a few weeks ago I had to pay a visit to the University of Tennessee’s School of Veterinary Medicine after
The New York Times just released it’s 10 Best Books List – You can check out the top 100 here. I’ll just touch on the fiction selections because there’s bound to be something political on that other ‘non’ one and to be quite honest, I don’t have the stomach for it today – am fighting
Zadie Smith once told me I had to be fearless if I wanted to be a writer. We were talking about television shows we adored and daughters we didn’t have when I said it: “I just quit my job. To finish that novel everyone and their mothers are writing.” I bit my lip because I
