Earth orchids

giant fungus

I got nothing to say, I just wanted to share the thing that grew on our stump overnight. That's some big fungus.

Every topic in the universe...

...except chickens.

Take it from Fictional Jimbo Wales himself, nobody wants to end up thinking that Jodie Foster was History's Greatest Villain.

"Aim for the flat-top!"

Sent along by the beeyoutificus Jen, all the way from the frozen wastes of Maine:

Gozer the Traveler! He will come in one of the pre-chosen forms. During the rectification of the Vuldronaii, the Traveler came as a large and moving Torb! Then, during the Third Reconciliation of the Last of the Meketrex Supplicants, they chose a new form for him, that of a giant Sloar! Many Shubs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of a Sloar that day, I can tell you!

Just to remind us all of the genius that is Ghostbusters.

An old friend had this theory that all of Ghostbusters was one big addled, guilty homage to Belushi by Ackroyd. He had all kinds of details that supported his theory, like Ackroyd smoking and looking unkempt, but the principle strut of his argument was the fat, white, angry Stay-Puft marshmallow man. Look:


See the eyebrows? Huh?

Related: NYTimes Mag this weekend was all about the comedy. Writing about comedy, ech, like Lou Reed said, it's like singing about architecture. And Will Ferrell was on the cover. He may be funny but I don't wanna look at him. Anyway, they asked a whole bunch of people (but not me, my phone must have been turned off) what 5 comedy movies they'd take to a desert island. If they'd gotten thru this is what I would have said:

• Raising Arizona
• A Hard Day's Night
  
• Desk Set (ok Katherine Hepburn plays a librarian so sue me)
• Cannonball Run
• Fletch
• Meatballs
• This is Spinal Tap
  

I know that's seven, but what else are editors for?

Only 2 by ex-Saturday Night Live guys. 3 if you count Baron Haden-Guest. Young Frankenstein, Beetlejuice, and Zoolander didn't make it only because I've seen them so many times already. And I love The Royal Tenenbaums but I don't know how often I could watch it.

Each pregnancy lowers your IQ 5 points

Not. Eating. This.

I am full of recommendations, mostly unsolicited. I will tell you:

• kimchi is good for a cold
• sweet peas grow best if sowed in fall
• get your funky shoes at Ma Petite Shoe
• it's better to start your Mail Merge from Excel
• move to Hampden
• freeze chicken in the marinade
• read the user's manual
• pay the movers to do your packing
  
• Bedekar mixed pickle is better than Mother's

There are not too many categories about which I feel totally ill-equipped to provide advice. I am a real pain in the ass. For example, Big Man (above) seems somewhat skeptical about my endorsement of Thai okra. That's ok, I was kidding.

So it's kind of for the best that I work at the public library. People ASK me questions - not just

"Which tax form should I use?" which I answer with an IRS publication: no way am I touching that one

or

"How can you tell if a woman is a lesbian?" which kind of boggled me for a minute but I found a book called like "101 Questions You Might Have About Homosexuality" (I did NOT tell him "look at her shoes" which is outdated advice anyway and which, if you follow it, will give you the wrong idea about most many librarians and all most nuns)

but also

"Can you recommend a book about trucks for my three-year-old?" which I am UNBELIEVABLY qualified to answer, having read every children's book about trucks published since and including Mike Mulligan and his motherfucking Steam Shovel.

What I really enjoy giving advice on is books for 13-year-olds. Seems counter-intuitive, as most kids are getting surly or at least uncommunicative by the age of 13, but I have an in with these kids. I'd like to think it's because I look them in the eye and respect their opinions, but I know better. It's the big tattoo on my forearm. God, I love that tattoo.

I like helping them find books because their books are so great lately! Probably the last "teen" book you read was Forever by Judy Blume. Well, Judy Blume is still out there (and people are still gettin all bent out of shape about the sex in Forever), but there's a recent spate of books - tight, exciting, and sans melodrama - that are so good that I recommend them to adult readers. Readers with short attention spans, like moms with little children. Fantasy readers; or people who like kind of edgy fiction. So I'm taking my act on the road - here's a short list of books I cannot recommend highly enough:

• Kiki Strike in the Shadow City by Kirsten Miller. Fifth grade girls exploring an underground New York City. History, espionage and adventure.
• The Supernaturalist by Eoin Colfer. It's sci-fi, but it's not all magicky. Lots of action and an intricate plot.
• Montmorency: Thief, Liar, Gentleman? by Eleanor Upland. In Victorian London, a thief reinvents himself as a gentleman. Interesting information about the jail system and sewers, and a great story.
• Stowaway by Karen Hesse. Inspired by the true story of a boy who stowed away on Captain Cook's ship Endeavour on its 1768 voyage of discovery. Great gateway to the amazing story of the voyage, written with economy and color.
• His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman. Indescribable. I ripped through these 3 books in about a week. Metaphysics, politics, fantasy, all in a quick-moving, tightly-plotted story.
• The Alex Rider series by Anthony Horowitz. 13-year-old MI6 agent. James Bond, Jr.
• The Weetzie Bat books by Francesca Lia Block. These are lovely. Weetzie and her friends live their dreams in Los Angeles. They fall in love, break up, have babies, and dress like Patricia Field threw up all over them.

I get 'em on audio, that way I can be reading a book and also following a book in the car. And I have to say, my goodness, Tim Curry adds a lot to A Series of Unfortunate Events; Stephen Fry's edible baritone absolutely makes Montmorency; and some guy named David Cale is shivering my timbers reading Stowaway. Mmm! Oh, also that actor Chiwetel Ejiofor, from Dirty Pretty Things, was VERY effective reading The Supernaturalist.

And by "effective" I mean that I kind of wished I had headphones so that he could be whispering in my ear. And for you adults - Campbell Scott reading Oryx & Crake by Margaret Atwood. Dry and haunted. Now all I need is for Clive Owen to start doing recorded books and I swear to god I would crash the car.

"Stay connected to customers, partners and colleagues in today's fast-moving world"

birthday girl (not even drunk yet and I looke like Kid Rock)

Officially over 40 as of yesterday. It was a good birthday even though I spent a disheartening amount of it trying to get my new phone activated and the email set up and figuring out how to download audio books from the library and then upload them onto my phone.

• Note to my workplace: the selection of e-audio books available through Maryland's Digital eLibrary Consortium is pitiful. Free, though - that is a plus.
• Note to Verizon Wireless: just because I'm back doesn't mean I forgive you. I got my eye on you bitches.

Had a great lunch with Juliet and the kids at the Red Canoe, and a swanky dinner out. Mr. Librarian and the kids came through with cute presents, trinkets that I would never buy myself, and terrific cards and pictures.

I missed my annual phone call from Mr. Librarian's best childhood friend, an ex-Marine who calls me on my birthday and sings From the Halls of Montezuma. (My birthday is also the birthday of the Corps.) But he left a message, so I can play it over and over if I want. Third verse:

If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven's scenes,
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines

Why do the streets of Heaven have to be guarded? From whom? And how come Marines don't get to relax even once they get to Heaven?

Nobody coughed up $3500 and bought me this, though - come on people how many hints do I have to drop?

But the best present of all came from Three. He woke up at about ten pm, dictated this note to the babysitter, and fell back asleep:

Dear Mommy,
I just love to see you. Don't run into skeletons. I love [Big Man] only when he's cool. I love drinking apple juice.
Happy birthday.
I love Mommy.
[Mr. Three]

Nine sisters-in-law

Nice shoes, girls!, originally uploaded by pwilnyc.

Now this is only six of 'em, the six that are Bob's actual sisters. The other three came later, when his brothers got married.

• Bottom step: Janie, public radio engineer
• 2nd step: Mary, pediatrician; Bob, public schools executive; Anne, teacher (ret.)
• 3rd step: Joe, practicing puppeteer; Therese, force of nature; Nancy, industrial designer at Fisher-Price (and source of much xmas joy)
• 4th step: Paul, the father-in-law I never met; Patsy (with Ranger), cook and brain; Frances, everyone's mom; and Jim, who works for the diocese counseling kids and playing guitar.
• Peter, the oldest, isn't in the picture. He's either taking it or away from home. This was 1971, Paul and Frances' 25th wedding anniversary.

You might think this would be a lot to marry into, and it is, really, it is. I love the noise though, and the music and laughter of this family. Look at all the smiles here - they're a happy group no matter what they say. (Not to mention, look at the shoes. I'd give a lot for Mary's platform slingbacks in this picture!)

Ever since Frances's health began to decline a few years ago they've been going through a lot. She died last spring and this weekend they got together and divvied up her stuff. I hope it was an occasion for stories and laughter, as always, even though I know it was sad too.

"40-year-old part-time librarian from Lauraville"

So, The Examiner did an article on blogs Monday and mentioned Your Neighborhood Librarian. Even put this blog on their "Best Baltimore Blogs" list! To quote the too-modest Anger Hangover, who was on the same list, "...further proof that standards here in Baltimore really are getting lower."

I'm in the last two paragraphs of the article, quoted saying things that read as utter nonsense, and which may actually offend my co-workers - sad, because I have only two rules about my blog:

1. I don't write anything I wouldn't want my (nine, count 'em, nine) sisters-in-law to hear about, and
2. I don't write about work ever

But it's probably ok that I come off kind of insensitive and boring, because I'm described in the article as a "40-year-old part-time librarian from Lauraville," and, well, shit, who would read a word THAT person wrote? It's true, every word, but ow. I've never realized you could put those words together like that and be talking about me. Why couldn't I be a "freakishly tall multi-degreed mother of two?"

It's pretty neat to be in the paper, though (well, not THE paper, but the new paper, the free one that had everyone confused for a while: Is it the Pennysaver? Is the Reverend Moon involved somehow?).

But to put things into perspective: our friend Aimee had good news to announce on Monday, too - she has had an article accepted for publication in the International Journal of Epidemiology. Now THAT is impressive!

Ammonia perfume

My house is clean.

Deserves an epic delivery: "O! Hear me ye friends and especially hear me o my relations! I say to you, 'MY HOUSE IS CLEAN!'"

Partly because one of the aunties was coming for a short visit, partly because it was time to rotate the summer clothes out and the winter clothes in, partly because I just got up a good head of steam and one thing led to another.

It's lovely, I must say. We have white painted cabinets in the kitchen (not my choice, came with the house) and the least little spatter or drip makes them look like hell, so it's either constant vigilance, or just let them get grimy. You know which route I take here.

So after I cleaned them all Sunday afternoon, the kitchen now has an eerie brilliance. Am I dead? Is that you, Grandma? No, I'm just in the kitchen.

Same thing in the bathroom. I don't get real exercised over the cleanliness of the bathtub because without my glasses I am very nearly blind, and, obviously, I don't wear my glasses in the shower. Come to think of it, if I did, maybe I would have started going to the gym before my stomach had a chance to become an actual second ass.

Now that Mr. Librarian has scoured the walls and tub, well first of all it's a lot slipperier in there, but also, jeez, it's like teeth in a gum commercial. Ting! Like taking a shower inside an iPod.

And opening the closet in the boys' room is breathtaking. It's always been choked to the gills with boxes of once and future hand-me-downs, but I cleared it ALL out. Thinking of putting a lamp in there and making it a study. I could hide out and read my book!

It's not going to stay this clean for long. In fact, if I hold real still and squint, I can see entropy at work, slowly wiggling the puppets out of their basket; cat hair accreting in the corners of the stairs.


(And when I vacuum, I totally secretly see myself as Elastigirl. This is why me not watching much TV is probably a good thing.)

And also he said "fuckers"! (reprise)

And also he said "fuckers"!, originally uploaded by pwilnyc.

You know, it's totally wrong, but I love kids saying bad words.

1.
Mr. Three here went through a two-day phase of modifying every noun with the word "goddamn". We didn't laugh - you mustn't laugh - but it almost killed us.

"Hey dad, can we get some goddamn nuggets at goddamn Ol McDonalds?"

"I love the goddamn Tot Lot!"

"Mommy can we pease have goddamn bubbas in our goddamn baff?"

2.
When his older brother was about a year old he tried out "shit" the same way. Just kept practicing, under his breath. Driving to pick up my husband fromwork, I would hear these whispered curses from the back seat, as if he were trying to, I don't know, thread a needle and kept missing.

3.
I listen to audio books in the car. The current selection is Heat, Bill Buford's book about the restaurant Babbo. I hadn't expected the content to be a problem for the kids to overhear - it's about cooking, right? But I was wrong.

We're tooling along the highway, the kids are jabbering happily to each other. In the book, Joe Bastianich is commenting unfavorably on a restaurant in a village at the base of the Apennines.

All of a sudden the Big Man (almost 5) says, "Stop the tape!"

I stop the tape, and Big Man says, "That man on the radio just said 'Joe'!" (They have an Uncle Joe and aren't aware that it's a fairly common name.)

I say, "Well isn't that something!"

"Yes!" chirps Mr. Three, "And also he said 'fuckers'!"

Wuh-oh, red alert - don't laugh, figure out how to keep this from getting out of hand, we are on our way to my mom's.

"...FUCKersss..." Big Man repeats, really savoring the word. "That's a GOOD word!"

"No it's not," I hurriedly shoot back. "It's, uh, it's really not a word at all." Lie # 2847. When they learn to read they are gonna be pissed.

I pop the tape back in hoping to distract them and hoping Joe Bastianich watches his fucking language for ten more minutes. It's not that my mother will think I'm a bad mom, it's that my father will piss himself laughing when they roll out their new favorite word, and then I'll never be rid of it.

The narrator intones, "This book is continued on Cassette Two".

"Cassette Two..." both boys repeat, rolling the syllables around in their mouths... "Cassette Two!"

Delicious demon

Dawn of the dead, version 1, originally uploaded by pwilnyc.

We trick or treated last night for an hour and a half. My three-year-old son hung in there enthusiastically, walking around the neighborhood til even my feet were sore! That's my boy!

Scientist costume, originally uploaded by pwilnyc.

He ditched both the wig and the glasses though, I mean, wouldn't you? Our group had a witch, a princess, a ghost, a bee, a vampire, Thomas the Tank Engine, a paleontologist (Mr. Three - I didn't tell him that I have known a disproportionate number of paleontologists, and I have very seldom seen them wearing lab coats), and Big Man, who was a walking art table. We saw hundreds of kids, it was a scene, man. The perfect night, too, warm and misty and moonlit.

A lot of grownups dressed up too. I saw a woman in an Afro wig, hoop earrings, and a miniskirt scarecrow outfit - I think she was a cross between Michael Jackson and Diana Ross in The Wiz! Our friend Daphne and her daughter Neighbor Girl both dressed as witches, with big and little brooms. When someone asked Neighbor Girl what she was, she said, "I'm a witch, just like my mama!" Got a big laugh.

"I'm a witch, just like my mom!", originally uploaded by pwilnyc.

And if you think WE decorate OUR house for Halloween, boy you should have seen the next block over! Fog machines, spinning bats, spooky sound effects, adults dressed like zombies and witches handing out candy... there was even a jack o'lantern carved to look like an Imperial stormtrooper - man that takes skill!

But Tom Chalkley's house gets the prize. Tom dressed like a (dead) gravedigger and was actively burying a body in his front yard. He told some yarn about the "dead" guy and was impressively creepy all by himself, but then, after an extra jet of fog, the dead man lurched up out of his grave and flopped around, convincingly zombie-esque. It was a virtuoso performance - you could hear the kids screaming and laughing all the way down the block.

Now... here is the thing.

Is it ok to scare the bejeebers out of little kids like that? Is it, in fact, ok for kids to go door to door demanding candy?

Well I mean you can tell that I would say yes. I love flamboyant; I love spooky. But I'm also a Nazi mom who doesn't have cookies or broadcast television in the house. In fact, it's because I'm so strict about a lot of things (manners, diet, TV, safety) that I think Halloween has an important place.

For one night, you don't have to say thank you for the candy (although I caught myself reflexively reminding the kids to do it). You can EAT candy. You can go out after dark; you don't have to walk on the sidewalk. You can cross the street without a 30-second ritual of looking back and forth and holding a hand (not the big streets obviously).

One night of transgression doesn't develop bad habits or undo even a short lifetime of training. The costume reinforces the concept that We Are Not Ourselves tonight.

Sweet, sweet freedom.

Big Man's school had a "Harvest Festival" in addition to their Halloween parade, for all the sad kids whose parents are Jehovah's Witlesses (yes I said it) or 7th Day Adventists. They're not allowed to "celebrate" Halloween because it is derived from a pagan holiday.

First of all, do we "celebrate" Halloween? Certainly not in the same way that we "celebrate" Mass, or Diwali, or Easter. I think we "observe" Halloween.

And second, who's going to break the bad news to them about the pagan origins of Christmas and Easter?

I don't get this joyless bullshit. What about Halloween is so threatening as to inspire a ban? I just don't buy that it's the scary witches and devils and the implications of violence - if that's so, those people's kids had better not be watching TV or movies. Is it the lapse in discipline that Halloween represents? Or is it that the children are in charge?

I think the latter. After all, kids are the ultimate pagans - until they are instructed in established traditions, they make up their own rituals and superstitions, and draw their own conclusions about the world, which adults, for the most part, are constantly trying to correct, if not thwart entirely.

And I think that's why I am so offended that someone would ban Halloween. It's this one night when we relax and let them follow their instincts. A drop of anarchy in little lives that otherwise should be tightly controlled. One night of the year to taste freedom and power, to learn that it is sweet but also scary.