A Need for Seed! January 31, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life.Tags: Food, gardening, plants, Thoughts
7 comments
I love plants. A lot. And I was listeningto Cecilia Nasti’s show this morning, and I got all excited about my not-yet-in-existence vegetable garden. See, last year I wanted a garden, I wanted one REAL bad. I wanted it, and I wanted it, and surprise! I found out that simply wanting a garden doesn’t actually make delicious vegetables come shooting up out of the ground in your backyard. So, I’m trying a different tack this year: I’m going to acutally build a garden and put plants in it. Ms. Nasti said that NOW is the time to get your plants started indoors, so I raced down to the garden center for some seeds and potting soil.
Look how cute they are!
I must have looked confused because about 19 people asked me if I needed some help – and I don’t even know if all of them worked there! I talked to one of the garden specialists, who sized me up in one glance, and decided to begin her interrogation by asking me if I’d ever actually “done this” before. “No,” I admitted, But how hard can it be? I added mentally. I mean, plants grow in the wild (duh!). She suggested I start with some baby plants that had already sprouted, because it was easier. I was hesitant, because I get all corny-excited about the magic of a wee seed becoming a little green thing poking its tender, green, baby head out from under the soil, like a little cellulose fairy awakening from hibernation. It makes me talk in a high-pitched voice when that happens, and I really wanted to experience the “birth” of all my garden babies.
But, when I saw that the seedlings were the same price as the seeds, I opted for the somewhat-less-magical-but-no-less-adorable, pre-born baby plants.
Here’s what I got:
- 2 kinds of lettuce, 1 red and one green.
- a crapload of scallions. They were the “Red Southern Belle” variety – I couldn’t resist the name! As a bonus, when I untied the bunch I discovered they were full of ladybugs. The excitement of this discovery made me shriek like a monkey.
- brussels sprouts
An immunostimulator and butterfly attractor!
I know that doesn’t sound like much, but I also got some seeds (couldn’t resist) for bell peppers and purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) because I’ve decided my front flower bed is going to be my “medicine garden”.
Remember in grade school when you had to do a science fair project? And some kid always did the ol’ Do-plants-grow-better-if-you-play-them-music? experiment? Well, a kid in my class put a twist on that one by actually singing to her plants. The plants she sang to thrived- especially compared to the stunted, yellow weaklings she treated with her older brother’s death metal tapes. I’ve never forgotten that.
My plants will get a lot of singing.
Whether they like it or not!
Things I Hate January 20, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Uncategorized.3 comments
Electricity- Wires
- Coils
- Ions
- Nikola Tesla
- Being Wrong *
- Thinking I’m Smarter Than I Actually Am
- Batteries
- The number nine
- Everything else
*Okay, honey. You were right. I’ll massage your feet now.
My Favorite Writer Hates Me January 16, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Books and Writing, Life, Rants.Tags: books, creepiness, Humor, Life, Thoughts, writers, writing
7 comments
I would never do this to Joshilyn Jackson.
So, I’ve now read TWO books by Joshilyn Jackson, and have also been reading her blog, Faster Than Kudzu, which really cracks me up and also makes me think, “Gee, if I knew Joshilyn Jackson in real life, I’d probably really like her and we’d be friends, and we’d go out for nachos sometimes.” Except for one thing: Joshilyn Jackson apparently hates me. I have made TWO comments on her recent posts and NEITHER one has showed up on her blog! The first time it happened, I thought, oh, maybe she overlooked it by mistake, I’m sure she would never just NOT include my comments. But it happened again, and it can only mean that she has deliberately decided to OMIT my remarks. Which is like, way mean. Especially since the comments I made weren’t creepy. I totally didn’t even say anything about the Joshilyn Jackson voodoo doll that I cradle lovingly in my arms at night before kissing it gently on its brilliant little noggin and drifting off into Dreamland, where I AM Joshilyn Jackson, with best selling novels and groovy phraseology popping out of me. In fact, I absolutely abstatined from even mentioning the fact that I am currently a smidge obsessed with her. I didn’t even try to be clever or cute. I just said, you know, I like your blog, yadda, yadda, thanks for posting the tips for writers. Maybe she read my last post about her and was like, “Woah, that chick is creepin’ me out.” If so, THIS post is probably going to seal the deal. For eternity.
I’m going to go sit in an empty bathtub and drink myself into a puke-tastic stupor now.
REJECTED! By Joshilyn! Ouch, man. Very ouch.
Jesus and the Birds January 14, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Uncategorized.5 comments
Here’s my latest collage. I finished it last night. For those of you that know me well, you know that religious iconography is a longstanding source of inspiration for me. This piece was inspired by this passage from the Bible: Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Matthew 6:25-27.
Jesus said that, y’all.
Jesus and the Birds
The White Flames of Life January 8, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Food, Life.Tags: Entertainment, Food, Life, Love, Wasabi-Oriented-Games
1 comment so far
Do you have the cajones?
Last night, my husband took me out for sushi at Kyoto, one of our favorite sushi restaurants, to celebrate exactly one-and-a-half years of wedded bliss. Several carafes of sake later, we invented a very fun game, the rules of which I will generously post here because I’m a lot of things, but a fun-miser is not one of them. Only three things are required for the bon temps to rouler:
- A sizable mass of wasabi.
- A sizeable volume of sake.
- Cajones.
The game, which we christened “The White Flames of Life” is deceptively simple. One person clips away an intimidating gob of wasabi paste with his/her chopsticks, and tauntingly waggles it in the other person’s face, while challenging him/her to eat it. If the challenge is accepted, then it may be returned with a larger wasabi-gob. Victory is claimed when the wasabi makes the challengee cry, or when a challenge is declined.
It’s called The White Flames of Life because as the wasabi gob is dissolving in your mouth, it feels like white-hot flames are shooting up out of your collar and melting the flesh off your face. And after you swish it down your mostly-anaphylactic throat with a scalding gulp of sake, you feel unexpectedly, exceptionally alive. It’s kind of like eating raw oysters heaped with horseradish, only without the mouthful-of-briny-awesomeness that is the oyster.
In case you’re wondering who won, it was my husband. He ate a gargantuan, gumball-sized blob of wasabi, and the glory is his – but, in defence of my honor, he only did it after I told him I was going to blog about it and announce what a super-tough-wasabi-gulping-badass I am. Not that it makes him any less cool. I could have one-upped him, but my stomach counciled me otherwise.
AND…while we were playing, a man took our picture for an online Austin social column (we’re the second picture, obviously). It’s not exactly Page Six, but I felt totally famous nonetheless! A girl’s gotta start somewhere, after all!
Cats. January 6, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life.Tags: Cats, Life, Mental Illness, Pets, Thoughts
5 comments
George. The look says it all.
Because I have two cats (or do they have me?), the human-cat relationship is one that I think about a lot. It’s a weird phenomenon. As a child, I remember reading that in the culture of ancient Egypt, cats were revered as gods, and, as such, were painstakingly embalmed and mummified. Later I learned that the Egyptians actually “invented” the house-cat to reduce granary-depleting vermin. I often wonder: Were the cats mere mouse-catchers, or were they demi-gods? It seems like a big leap.
Unless, of course, you live with a cat. In which case, you understand. They were both.
Most people’s conduct toward their cats could easily be construed as worshipful. Cats demand your adulation. They wake you up in the middle of the night and insist on being fed. They meow incessantly when you’re trying to write. They sleep on the clean laundry you haven’t folded. They sleep on your bed. On your face. On your black sweater. They puke wherever they please. They yowl at the door and make irritating scratchy-scratchy sounds with their paws until you let them out. Naturally, the choice to bend to their will is ultimately in the hands of each and every human individual. Some people choose not to to serve The Cat. Others do. In modern vernacular, we call these people “Cat People” and if you are a “Cat Person”, you fool yourself into believing you’re a “Cat Person” because you loves yo’self some kitties. But the truth is, you’re a Cat Person because your psychological makeup made you more susceptible to brainwashing by said Cats. In actuality, the cats chose you. You were good Servant Material.
To wit: I have two cats. One is a giant, ornery, grey-stripedy thing named George with discernible facial expressions and an appetite that won’t quit. He survived hurricane Katrina all by himself, and now feels entitled to special treatment. He occasionally dispenses with certain longstanding cat traditions, like using a litter box. If provoked, George has been known to pee on something important to me, like my art supplies or my backpack. When this happens, I dutifully clean up after him because… well, I’m a sucker. George also wakes me up an average of 4 times every night, by sticking his claws in my scalp and meowing loudly. When I reach out to pet him, he darts out of reach. It’s his favorite game. It matters not a bit that I don’t like to play.
The other cat, Juney Moon, is tiny and also grey. She’s so little and dainty, she’s like a little fairy cat, except that she barfs. A lot. About 50% of the floor in my house is tile, but darling Juney Moon always finds something not-tile to barf on. When I pet her, she gives me a dirty look and licks herself indignantly as though I have befouled her with my disgusting monkey-paws. If I so much as pick her up to give her a cuddle, she howls like I’m stepping on her tail.
And if you asked me what that was, I couldn’t tell you.
I need professional help.
Idol Worship January 5, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Food, Life.Tags: blogging, books, Life, Thoughts, writing
2 comments
You know you want it.
So, I haven’t exactly been faithfully churning out the riveting bloggery like I have in months past. I like to blame that on the fact that I am trying to write A Novel. But then I read a book by Joshilyn Jackson, and it was really good- I mean, REALLY good, like if the novel was chocolate mousse, I would not only have eaten it, I would have rubbed it onto my skin and snorted it through a straw in the hopes that it would get all hot and melty in my cranium and soak into my brain cells. I admit: I’m currently a wee bit obsessed with Joshilyn Jackson. It’s teetering on the crumbling cusp of religious mania.
So I did what anyone with a case of I-Wish-I-Were-You-itis does: I Googled the object of my affection obsession. And I discovered that not only does Joshilyn Jackson write brilliant novels, she blogs. Like, prolifically. So, I don’t have any excuses. I mean, if I’m a writer I should just be writing all the time, every minute of the day, words should just be gushing out of my fingertips and oozing out of my pores.
Last night, after I devoured one of her books, I ran out to my husband’s woodshop, all borderline-teary-eyed and overcome. He was like, “Hey, what’s wrong? Was that book sad?” And I wailed, “Noooooooo! It was like, the most perfect novel I ever read, and how, oh how, howthehellamIevergoingtodothat?” And then I buried my face into his machine-oil smelling t-shirt and hoped that the fumes would kill me.
But, of course, they didn’t. And he pulled back and looked down into my eyes and assured me that one day I too would be a brilliant novelist, and that my book was brilliant, and that I am brilliant.
Hmmm. Let’s see. I had a point when I started this post, but it wandered away. I guess I’m confessing the guilt I feel for not blogging better, since there are clearly no excuses, not even Novel excuses, since apparently Joshilyn Jackson can blog and novel and even watch TV and be a wife/mom.
So get ready, y’all. I may start ramming a bunch of blog posts down your throats. I always read that you shouldn’t blog about things like your pets or the minutae of your day-to-day existence because, officially NO ONE CARES. Techinically, however, that is obviously not true since I just frittered away about two hours reading about J.J.’s cats and gerbils and kids and crappy van. So, if Joshilyn Jackson can do it, then so can I.
“Hoppin’” New Year! January 1, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Food.Tags: Culture, Food, Holidays, Life, Thoughts
2 comments
Hoppin' John at Milly's house!
Did you eat your black-eye peas today? I did, and- hot damn!- were they ever good! My husband says it was the best pot of beans I’ve ever made, but he says that every time I make a pot of beans, no matter what kind they are.
Somehow, when I was a kid, I was able to hate black-eyed peas without being disowned at a fire station. My mom, (a woman so Southern she refers to North Austin as “Yankee Territory”) always made me eat a big spoonful of the traditional Hoppin’ John every New Year’s Day for good luck. I never felt lucky to be eating those peas. It was like some kind of hot, mushy, salty luck prescription that I had to choke down with a grimace and a glass of milk. I always thought real luck would be not having to eat black-eye peas ever again for the rest of my life. Funny how things change- I’ve been looking forward to a steaming plate of hoppin’ John for at least two weeks.
Considering the ample leftovers we have (I never heard it called “skippin’ Jenny” by the way, but I’m from Texas which isn’t technically the Deep South), and considering that the entire meal cost me less than $3.00 to make, I think my luck has already started!
Emails to God January 21, 2009
Posted by millyonair in Life, Social Commentary, Uncategorized.Tags: Life, religion, Thoughts, writing
9 comments
So yesterday I was reading the Dear God: website (which, incidentally, I found through the blogroll on Enna’s blog, Kosher Porkchops). Because Enna’s blog is funny, I (mistakenly) thought all her links would lead to hilarity, and some of them do, but Dear God was NOT funny, unless you’re a sociopath (or a robot programmed by a sociopath to delight in human suffering). It was, however, an interesting window into the human condition: Fraught with uncertainty, angst, longing, secret torment, and deviant sexual urges. The idea of the website is that people can write letters to God, and then post them for the voyeuristic indulgences of all who have internet access. And, presumably, The Lord. (Because God loves the internet. After His Son showed him how to use it, of course.) The letters range from angry agnostic tirades, to pleas for miraculous events, to creepy confessionals. As you might imagine, the confessionals were the most intriguing. And there are some truly exceptional, compelling photographs.I dug around on the site looking for photo credits, but found none. So, whoever you are that’s takin’ these photos, good job.
Photo from Dear God: website.
After reading the deep, dark secrets of complete strangers, I felt a little depressed. But that’s the point of the website, I think. Not spreading depression, exactly, but as a method of unburdening oneself, however anonymously. There’s a certain catharsis in dislosure. And this kind of broad, public unbosoming doesn’t just shift some of the heaviness onto the shoulders of one or two others; legions of readers are enlisted to carry little bits away in their pockets, sprinkling it across infinity. After all, keeping a secret is hard work, like constantly leaning against the closet door to keep the skeletons from tumbling out and getting bone dust all over your groovy shag carpeting. I know, because I used to have lots of secrets. Sometimes you just want to leave the closet behind and go have a cocktail in the back yard. But that bone dust is nasty stuff- it just goes right through those microfilter vacuum bags, and before you know it, it’s floating around in the air and sticking to the TV screen and floating on top of the fish tank water.
The website was fascinating, from a psychological, social-science-y kind of perspective, but I don’t think I’ll be spending much time there, because mostly it made me feel sad, and conflicted. Part of me felt a little bad about reading what is essentially a prayer for entertainment, and then I wondered if the site was exploitative. But I can also see how, for the modern,”connected” (yet so totally DISconnected from other people and ourselves and the Really Important stuff) generation, writing an email to God on the internet might make perfect sense and serve as a way to organize your thoughts while interfacing with the Creator. I mean, I think God is so big that anything and everything is a potential tool for spiritual contact.
CNN? NPR? I don't think so.
This is (vaguely) related to a similar conflict I feel about listening to the news on the radio. On the one hand, I feel like I have a civic obligation to be informed about the goings-on in the world, and the deeds perpetrated in my name by my elected (or otherwise) officials. On the other hand, I often find that the news leaves me feeling cynical/pissed-off/bitter/depressed. And I have to wonder if that’s valuable. I mean, do I need to hear about a terrible earthquake in Bangladesh that killed and displaced millions of people if I can’t do anything about it? Do I need to know about the seven-car pile-up that left four people critically wounded? Is my life (or anyone else’s, for that matter) enriched by knowing about all the terrible, tragic things that happen all over the world every day? In the Olden Days (before instant and widepsread media access) people who were not directly affected by such events didn’t suffer the knowledge of them. If you knew about an earthquake, it was because it happened to you. I go back and forth about it. Civic conscience vs. blissful ignorance.
Anyway, I’d love to hear what y’all think about it. But, first a wee caveat: many of the letters to God are not, as you might expect, “family-friendly”, so if you bruise easily, maybe Dear God: isn’t for you.