Reason Number 21: Beverly Cleary is still alive!!!

This morning I woke up wondering is Beverly Cleary, esteemed American author of countless beloved classics such as Ramona Forever and The Mouse and the Motorcycle--is Beverly Cleary still alive?

The possibility of her death somehow making me extraordinarily anxious and I thought maybe in the J.D. Salinger/Kurt Vonnegut/Bea Arthur/Walter Cronkite/Bob Hope/Estelle Getty/Ronald Reagan/other super old people deaths occurring over the last approximate half-decade that Ms. Cleary had been forgotten, or that I'd neglected to notice her eulogy in Reminisce Magazine, which I obviously read every morning over lightly-sugared oatmeal with a sprinkling of dried cherries.*

Although dazed with motivation-annihilating dehydration from my insufferable radiator, I just HAD to know, so: wikipedia! And holy fucking crusty menstrual Virgin Mary she is still alive and well--or as well as you can be if you were born in 1916, which means she's either stark raving ridiculously crazyface or atrophying in a wheelchair somewhere in Oregon, I presume, because that's where she's from, and I read her biography in third grade and dressed like her for some inane elementary school contest, so, basically, I should know. I remember thinking of Oregon as one of the most exotic places I'd ever heard of, decidedly un-American because of its VOLCANOES (wtf), but yet Cleary is such an "all-American-what-a-pointless-term" person.

*I actually was obsessed with this magazine in junior high school. I especially loved the "Stirring Up Memories" segment, always involving life before proper refrigerators, and pot-bellied stoves, and waiting for a boy to ask you on a date while your dad (whom you call Pop) brines pickles in a hefty barrell. I'm probably the only person born after 1933 ever to read about this, and the only person born after 1933 to buy into the Golden Age of Perfection and Family Values so touted by the elderly. I was always like "why do I eat microwavable popcorn when people in the incredible early 1940's popped theirs on a white enamel STOVE while hand in hand with their multiple sisters singing Greensleeves and maybe listening to a radio broadcast on patriotism? Like, I don't even HAVE a sister and my dad is GAY?"

I still haven't been to Oregon.

People worth doing, soon to appear on my People Worth Doing Other Blog: Beverly Herself, and possibly the Rodarte sisters. Let's see!

Reason Number 20: My cat is better than some

I can't believe it's been like two years, and I've only come up with twenty reasons not to kill my(your)(one)self.

Fuuuuuuck.

Things:
-I accidentally took a three hour long nap and woke up with campfire throat and sweaty feet. I was wearing tights. And a rayon (ew! but no seriously it's awesome) dress. My special needs cat was curled in my fetal-position crook.
-As I noted on my sister-in-law's blog: I actually genuinely like Bud Light. Yet another reason why I'm not a yuppie, or a hipster for that matter. It's only been about two years (maybe even less) that I've enjoyed beer in any capacity, so I suppose you have to start small.
-Sometimes I feel like a horrible person because at every moment I'm looking around wondering how people put their outfits together. This is not always a judgmental thing but sometimes a curiosity thing.
-Default settings. What's yours?

Reason Number 24: There Are Always Cookies Worse Off Than Yours

This is perhaps the most important lesson your mother ever told you before she tucked you in.

Just say no to failure and yes to learning everything better.

At least genuine vanilla was employed, but even the most Madagascan and overpriced extract can't always reverse an over-burnt bottom, a too-thin spread.

How (how (how)) to avoid this kind of spread? How to make them fluff?

BUT: I could be eating Chips Ahoy, or Whoppers, or a subpar cluster of homemade pralines.

Reason Number 23: Reggae is so hilarious, and it doesn't even mean to be

"Gash Dem and Light Dem" by reggae artist Chuck Fenda inspired me to write a homophonic/syllabic translation based on repeatedly listening and watching the video, which wasn't even about weed! WTF. But seriously, the patois is so garbled and rapid I had no idea what the fuck was happening, which made it all the more applicable for an English to English translation simulation explosion.

Before sharing my interpretation of what I think Chuck Fenda's lyrics sound like, I'd like to take a moment to express my warm admiration for what reggae did for my creative process, in spite of my general distaste for this genre.

This poem is best read while listening to the song.

Splash Sperm, Englighten

Old, old lard!

Hmm, a’delivering four ewe, one finer swineherd.

Hmmm, derivative lard friar, hyar! Sexton in lieu

Of compromise, no timid eunuch.

Just give up!

Big manatee rape, pop a sixty year old bayleaf,

A big mangrove ewe papa, young gonad

Pull knight porn, a biddy, old lady.

Abet mange, lick few

moms dung schoolyard, undertaking a Mexican scabie,

But Godhole young, thick, nor nutbutter swell mighty bode, prithee.

Gashing and frightened for the negative version in my brains,

Crash, perm, and quite prim

Plea comfy mash-upward, make up a senseless kenning.

Flash them and fight Dubois, revere, offer—why? teabagging, gumming,

Mashed, dim, indict phlegm,

Ham, Gwar, and come out, dye wagers of skin.

Summer’s Eve, it’s on special o’er at Target.

Off the rocket, signet, call it, whack it, sparkle!

Unlove your leash, see dung and pork it

and “Stop, Carrie, water innards, Basquiat,”

Sung Moammar Kadafi, snuffed, “charmeuse is law.”

Ionic pushpin till bloodspurt drawl

All die wrong, buoy spew half toupee. Fish.

Dunce bat, je ne se qois, not smart

Come and tell me, say you don’t have newt hearth.

A long timid wiki priest, and a caulk.

And until you give Diptychs a stalk,

Utah. They tell me you’re nuts, fried fist-poppet, scoff,

Caw! You love her, tepid dog. A balk.

Reason Number 22: Life is long, maximize analysis

Definitely try Apple Pancakes, courtesy of Smitten Kitchen.

2 eggs, beaten

1.5 cups milk

2 cups flour (I used 1 white, 1 whole wheat pastry flour)

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 cup sugar

3 golden delicious apples, peeled and grated

Mix the eggs and milk in one bowl, the dry ingredients in another bowl. Combine them, but gently. Never overmix pancakes. I've learned this the hard way. Fold in the apples.

I added 1/2 tsp cinnamon and 1 tsp vanilla, as I believe NO baked goods suffer from a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Especially the Madagascar kind they sell at Williams Sonoma.

Oh yes, I'm a yuppie. And it's okay. It's okay to forego life essentials like paper towels in favor of the best vanilla extract available in stores.

I say this as I drink an enormous Dunkin Donuts coffee in lieu of the organic chemex-brewed Costa Rican beans I crave.

Revision: I'm not a yuppie. I ride the bus. And use Cetaphil.

Reasons why I might be a yuppie:

-specialty cupcakes

-Columbia University

-I listen to NWA while perusing balsamic vinegar brands at Dean and Deluca.

-several varieties of gummy vitamins

-lavender essential oils

-i phone

-A.P.C. desires

-bikram yoga

-no less than fifteen pilates DVDs (I don't use them anymore!)

Reasons why I am kind of not a yuppie:

-my apartment

-I've never been to Paris. Or Venice.

-Sunbeam cravings

-An ability to discuss diarrhea with poise and an open heart.

-I don't think Grizzly Bear is all that special.

-I have no idea how to use i phone

-I feel a sense of extreme relief upon entering WalMart, Target, and any drugstore (especially Walgreens)

-my cat is retarded

-I ALWAYS buy generic brand paper towels, toilet paper, garbage bags, CEREAL (!!!), canned goods (I just said CANNED GOODS), and sometimes shampoo.

-I don't enjoy discussing Chekhov with strangers. Or flirting.

This could go either way. I'll leave it to you to decide.

Reason Number 21: There are more words for HATE than despise

I realize I use "despise" so often it kind of does make me want to, you know.

Thank the dear Lord for thesauruses, even poorly-rendered, free online editions.

Dear Alex,

Here are some synonyms. You might become well-acquainted with a better vocabulary:

Love,

Thesaurus.reference.com

abhor, abominate, allergic to, anathematize, be disgusted with, be hostile to, be loath, be reluctant, be repelled by, be sick of, be sorry, bear a grudge against, can't stand, contemn,curse, deprecate, deride, despise, detest,disapprove, disdain, disfavor, disparage, down on, execrate, feel malice to, have an aversion to, have enough of, have no use for, loathe, look down on, nauseate, not care for, object to, recoil from, scorn, shudder at, shun, spit upon,spurn

Reason Number 20: villanelles are less amazing than cupcakes and more amazing than sandwiches

If she didn't look so much like my mom I would totally want to have insouciant yet tender anal with Ina Garten (aka Barefoot Contessa). As it stands, I've made quite a few of her recipes, all of which are so unbelievably delicious I can barely stand it.

Tonight is my second time making Perfect Roast Chicken . I forgot to buy fennel, so I'm using beets* instead.

These days I'm suspiciously happy. So happy it (shhhhhh) almost makes this blog irrelevant. I suppose even the best of us, the most unrelentingly dejected and acrimonious, need respite from that nagging urge to jump into the nearest heavily-trafficked intersection.

Who wants to drag a serrated knife across her throat when a mid-sized fowl carcass is roasting, blazing brown in a golden oven as brilliant yellow leaves fall crisp onto a sidewalk full of children riding bigwheels? (Even though I despise children more than a healthy serving of melted Swiss cheese.)

Who wants to turn the ignition in a carefully-closed garage when kittens the world over are diving into boxes too small to accommodate their soft, plump, adorable bodies?

Life is way too hilarious for these kinds of shenanigans. Life is too short not to use words like shenanigans. Twice!

Fuck you! I have floral doc martins.

*How amazing are these earthy purple wonders? Seriously.