LOL People

The Internet is capable of doing strange things, isn't it? I want a cat now.  My feelings re cats used to be just north of dislike, just south of indifference.  Now, I can't stop taking imaginary pictures of my imaginary cats, and captioning them with hilarious lolcat-speak captions.  My Google search history is filled with cat breeds, how to train a cat, how to bathe a cat, and of course, cat videos.  And hypoallergenic cats--because I'm fully allergic to cats, but that apparently isn't any reason at all not to run out and adopt a cat.  I can haz Benadryl.  Whatever.

Bon Appetit

I like Curtis Sittenfeld's novels.  Prep is probably the best of them but I also really liked American Wife and Sisterland.  (Here's what I don't like: Book titles in italics.  Why, MLA?  Why? Did you think that underlined titles would look too much like hyperlinks?  Well, maybe that's a legitimate concern, actually.  I keep lightly swiping my index finger across the paper page of the actual, real, hardcover book that I'm reading now, and expecting a new page to load.)  In Sisterland, 12-year-old twin sisters take over the family cooking after their chronically depressed mother takes permanently to her bed.  The girls find three recipes, and they rotate among them, never varying the recipes, cooking and serving one of the three dishes every day until they leave for college years later.  Hard up for dinner ideas one night, I actually tried one of the recipes (pork chops in orange juice.)  I'm sure that Curtis Sittenfeld didn't intend to write a cookbook, but there you are.  Give me a cautionary tale, and I'll take it as a helpful hint.  I usually prefer the before picture.

So right now, I'm waiting for frozen meat and cheese ravioli to defrost. My 10-year-old has been collecting recipes from a series of books about the states, and the Missouri book's recipe was something called "St. Louis Toasted Ravioli."  Never mind my surprise that any sort of ravioli dish is a St. Louis local favorite.  I'm once again all out of dinner ideas, and a fried ravioli recipe copied onto an index card from a dusty school library book seems like just as good an idea as anything I'd dig up on Cooks.com.  None of us are particularly hungry today, anyway. 

*****

The hardcover book is a used copy of Jean Kerr's Please Don't Eat the Daisies. I like it.  I like the wisecracking snappy mid-century humor, and I love the utter lack of introspection or gritty honesty.  I'm sure that Jean Kerr's life as the wife of a famous and probably demanding drama critic and the mother of his six children was probably harder than she makes it seem, and I'm sure that she had moments of frustration and anger and resentment, but I'm glad that she kept that part to herself.  I'm glad that she occasionally mentions feeding her children, but that she offers no insight whatsoever regarding what exactly she fed them, and why.  Jean Kerr makes me a little nostalgic for a time that I just missed.  

*****

My ravioli are probably thawed now.  I'm going to follow my 10-year-old's instructions, and we'll see what happens.  Maybe I have some pork chops in the freezer.  I always have orange juice. 

Illuminate the main streets and the cinema aisles

Isn't it so much easier and more pleasant to clean your kitchen when you have music to listen to?  I forget this sometimes, but I remembered it tonight, and the nightly dishes and counters routine was much more pleasant as a result.

I skipped around a bit on my husband's old iPod, landing first on The Brothers Johnson's "Strawberry Letter 23", followed by Al Stewart's "Time Passages". Then I found Cornershop's "Brimful of Asha", and listened to it three times.

So many reasons to love "Brimful of Asha". I'm an Indio-Anglophile, if such a thing exists.  Years of working with Indian scientists and software engineers left me with great affection for Indians, who seem to combine razor-sharp wit with kindness like few other cultures can.  Even better than Indian Americans are Indian Brits (or British Indians?)  Because they're BRITISH AND INDIAN.

I like to think that "Brimful of Asha" probably gave at least one record company executive heartburn when he first heard it.  It's a longer-than-five-minutes song about a Bollywood star, and Indian sociopolitics, and life in late-20th-century England, with vaguely Indian melody and instrumentation.  Who would have expected it to be a huge hit? I fell in love with this song the first time I heard it in 1996, and it's held up beautifully.

I'm listening now to Toad the Wet Sprocket's "Nanci".  If only I could bend my words like Uri Geller's spoons.

Or maybe not...

Would the first 1,000 words of 50 different novels work just as well as one 50,000-word novel? By the way, all of the words would be dialogue.