There is never a dull moment when I open the mail at work.
Well, all right. That’s not true. There are mostly dull moments. But I am guaranteed that at least one or two pieces of mail a week will make me laugh. This is partly due to my low amusement threshold, and mostly due to the fact that weird stuff comes in the mail.
Monday we got a flyer from a company that sells urine and saliva drug testing equipment. They had little cups laid out on an attractive background and spoke glowingly of fast and reliable results. Mm!
Today I received a mailing from American Express offering us a business credit card. The mailing was addressed to “Menopause Society” at our company’s street address.
For those of you who are not aware, I do NOT work for the Menopause Society, as disappointing as that might be. In fact, the name of my company could not ever remotely be mistaken for the Menopause Society, which, Google tells me, is actually located in Ohio and is called the North American Menopause Society, or NAMS.
Heehee. NAMS.
I made bran muffins this weekend. I was really excited to do so. I even invited friends to come over and have bran muffins with me, which is borderline insane. They passed on the offer. At the grocery store checkout I looked at the items in front of me on the conveyer belt and felt shame. Bran, Honey-flavored Wheat Germ, raisins, applesauce. The excitement!
Then when I made the muffins, I forgot to add baking soda to make them rise. I took them out of the oven looking more or less the same way they’d looked going in.
“At least I didn’t waste any tasty ingredients,” I said to Brian over the phone. “I’m not going, ‘oh no! My expensive chocolate chips and my dried cranberries!’ I’m going, ‘oh, darn. My bran.’ ”
Although their consistency more closely resembles a giant rubber bathtub drain stopper than anything else, all things considered they’re kind of tasty. To me. I will eat them. All I wanted was something to eat in the mornings that would keep me from being hungry for hours, and that’s just what they do.
Yesterday I got a press release “Introducing the Wireless Moose Fence”.
It will instantly train Moose to stay out of my yard and garden.
Each box contains 3 posts and one year scent supply.
There’s a story by Jack London that ends with a man who commits suicide by swimming out and drowning himself in the ocean. I can’t remember what it’s called and google isn’t helping me right now. Wait– it’s called ‘Martin Eden’. Having had asthma since I was a child, I have always been terrified of dying by suffocation. The haunting description of the character’s drowning has always stayed with me, even though I clearly don’t remember much else about the book. I have always remembered the last line, which was, “And at the instant he knew, he ceased to know.”
Man, I used to love Jack London. I remember reading Call of the Wild and White Fang, which were more or less age-appropriate at the time (I was ten or eleven). But then I went on to read The Sea Wolf, which involved murder, attempted rape, horrible wasting diseases and keel-hauling (from what I can recall), and John Barleycorn, which I now know is the story of Jack London’s alcoholism from a very young age; at the time I had absolutely NO idea what it was about. Really. I didn’t even know it involved alcohol. I was a naive kid. In fact I even remember writing a book report on John Barleycorn. It was probably not a very good book report, because I probably thought the book was the story of John Barleycorn’s life, as told to Jack London by John Barleycorn. This is untrue.
I also loved the story “To Build A Fire”, about a man who freezes to death in the fridgid wilderness (of Alaska?) after his matches go out and he can’t make a fire to warm himself. As a desperate last resort, he tries to kill the dog he is traveling with, so he can stick his hands in its insides to warm himself. I remember thinking that was pretty cool. As naive as I was, I was still a ten year old.
From: ‘Molly Schoemann’
Sent: Friday, December 28, 2007 2:04 PM
To: ‘Dave’
Subject: Redwall Books
Hi Dave,
Below are the titles from the NINETEEN Redwall books, by Brian Jacques. I think I read about 3 of them back in the day. For each title, if it’s possible to also know how many copies were produced, and what we billed for the job, that would be great.
Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make the search easier? Thank you!
-Molly
Redwall
Mossflower
Mattimeo
Mariel of Redwall
Salamandastron
Martin the Warrior
The Bellmaker
Outcast of Redwall: A Tale from Redwall
Pearls of Lutra: A Tale from Redwall
The Long Patrol: A Tale from Redwall
Marlfox: A Tale from Redwall
The Legend of Luke
Lord Brocktree: A Tale from Redwall
Taggerung
Triss
Loamhedge: A Tale from Redwall
Rakkety Tam: A Tale from Redwall
High Rhulain
Eulalia
Brian Jacques Needs a New Condo in Bermuda: A Tale from Redwall
(Ok, I made that last one up.)
I have become obsessed with several celebrities lately. ‘Celebrity’ might not be the best term for any of them, but it’s probably the kindest. Since the internet is the internet, there are myriad ways for me to indulge this new fixation. I can find dozens of pictures of them, read interviews with them and find news stories and gossip about their crazy lives. This only fuels the fire!
First Up: Gary Busey.
There is almost nothing about Gary Busey that doesn’t simultaneously fascinate and terrify me. I love his pearls of crackhead wisdom. His face looks like a bowl of angry bread pudding with dentures. He rambles on like a drunken prophet and you can’t help but think that he’s either out of his mind or he’s on a completely different level of consciousness than the rest of us. If I ever reached that level I would be dead in 5 minutes.
I marveled at his interviews from the DVD Extras for ‘Point Break’. While every other interview took place on a sound stage (and I think they interviewed everyone who had anything to do with that movie, from some random surfers who saw it to the guy who stocked the pastry cart), Gary was filmed on the porch of a cabin somewhere in the woods. I think he told the producers, “You want to talk to me? Fine. Come find me.” He is wearing a hunting cap, and even though you only see him from the shoulders down, it’s obvious to me that he is cradling a shotgun in his lap. His answers to questions are completely random and even though they probably tried to edit them into some semblance of a normal, linear conversation, it’s clear they would make the same amount of sense played both forwards and backwards.
As much time as I spend googling him, were I to actually meet Gary Busey on the street I would run the other way. This is a common theme among my internet obsessions.
Next Up: Pete Doherty.
Yesterday Brian replaced our light bulbs with fancy new ‘Daylight’ bulbs. They are allegedly the same wattage as our old bulbs. The first time I walked in the bedroom they seared my delicate retinal membranes like tuna steaks.
“OW!” I said, and at the same time Brian said, “Isn’t it great?”
While it is true I have mourned the absence of daylight for the last few winter months, I do not miss it in my bedroom at 11pm. And this was no ordinary daylight. The aggressive, blazing blue-whiteness of these bulbs seemed to radiate from the very air molecules around me. It was the kind of nuclear glow in which you worry that you are about to see how your bones are looking these days.
I could see Brian’s fair Irish skin beginning to freckle as he lay peacefully reading in bed.
Realizing that his intentions were good, I decided to withhold judgment for a few minutes, at least until my eyes adjusted, or bled, whichever came first. I sat down on the bed and squinted around. The walls, which Brian had painted a cheerful yellow when he’d moved in a year ago, had a sudden manic intensity from the glare. Every crack and painted-over hair stood out in sharp relief.
“Hey Brian,” I mused. “These walls– did you use a base coat? They just look so patchy. I never noticed before….so many imperfections…”
I went into the bathroom, and confronted my own mug shot. I had aged twenty years. The face in the mirror looked like it had two children and three open warrants. That was it.
I got into bed with my sunglasses on. Brian pretended not to notice. Relationships are all about compromise.
I used to think that part of what was great about walking the dog was that it gave me a chance to think, to muse, to mull over my day and ponder life in general.
I have learned that the only thing I ponder while out walking the dog, is walking the dog.
We come from different places, he and I, and we’re into very different things. Reality shows don’t interest him, he doesn’t care about music, and books leave him cold. I am ambivalent about tennis balls and I dislike sleeping on the floor. It’s surprising that we get along as well as we do.
Come to think of it though, we both love to eat my food, and find his food vaguely distasteful.
Below, in alphabetical order, are exact phrases I have searched for in the last few weeks. What can I say? I have a lot to learn.
…What are some of yours? Come on. I bet they’re weird too.
A
A & W Root Beer
Anti-cancer machine
B
Bea Arthur
Beer Can House
C
Cheap flight Iceland
Chola
D
Dark and Stormy
Dumplings and Wine
Dutty wine dance
E
EA-350
Eliza
F
Flexitarian
Free valentine ecard
Fucking Ben Affleck
Furminator
G
Gauche
Green Acres Lyrics
George Romero
H
Health Code Violations Reporting Boston
Honesty
I
Inappropriate Touching
Indigo child
J
John Mayer
Jpeg Bundy
K
Kern
Kitten in a boot
L
Labeler
Loren Wilson
M
Mario Party
Mara Maples
N
Naked cowboy M&M
Nico: These Days
O
Obama’s speech IA
Otherside Café
P
Paneer
Pathos
Paula Abdul Video
Personal assistant for hire
Plastic toy food
Q
R
Redemption song
Roberto Gonzales
Rhythm method
S
Spats
Sprockets Dieter
Straight talk express
T
Tiger attack
Tooth pain
Tom brady left girlfriend
U
V
Verizon schedule
Vitamin C prevent pregnancy
W
Wario
Whatever happened to baby jane
White russian
X
Xbox
Y
Z
Ziploc bags
[Subtitle: Molly Might Need to be on Clozapine]
Sharp Cheddar: Is fun to have around but sometimes hits a little too close to the mark with her jokes. Zesty.
Mild Cheddar: Bland, but dependable. She’s who you’d call if you wanted someone to see 27 Dresses with; if you actually want to see 27 Dresses. I do not.
Monterey Jack: Is that guy you are always trying to set friends up with, but it never pans out. He’s too nice or something. Or he sweats a lot, and tells meandering stories. Either or. Somehow off.
Swiss: This guy’s got a nutty flair, and an exotic European edge. But there’s something you don’t trust. Sometimes you feel like you can see right through him.
I Heard Tell 