busted August 31, 2009
The right-wing Chairwoman of the South Carolina Board of Edumacation is resigning to spend more time with her family, right before the news gets out that she writes hardcore porn on the internet under a pseudonym.
Why do I find stuff like this so funny? Who will think of the children? Apparently not me, I am laughing like a loon.
From Pharyngula, of course.
red letter day
First time I have ever enjoyed reading NOLA.com comments.
stove up
Craig Giesecke said he likes the term “stove up.” I always say “I’m stove up” when I’m sick. I got the term from my Mississippi grandparents.
Here is what the word detective says:
We’re not talking Betty Crocker stoves here: “stove” is an archaic form of the past tense of the verb “stave” (and a participle, or adjective, based on that verb). To “stave” something is to break up or puncture it, originally in the sense of smashing a wine cask by breaking the “staves,” or wooden slats, from which the cask was constructed. Thus something which is “stove” has been punctured or damaged, often a “stove boat” which has had a hole poked in it by running aground on rocks or other impediments.
A boat that has been “stove in” or “stove up” has been rendered utterly useless, and this same sense is carried over to the more general landlocked use of “stove up” as a synonym for “worn out” or “run down.” As I said, I’m sure this phrase is used often in Maine, but since it’s also heard in rural settings all over the country, it’s classified as a general American colloquialism. The first written citation for “stove up” listed in the Oxford English Dictionary comes only from 1901, but since the literal sense of “stove” applied to boats has been traced back to 1850 (in a work by Herman Melville, not surprisingly), the metaphorical phrase has probably been in use in seafaring communities a good deal longer than that 1901 citation would indicate.
So, there you have it. I’m worn out, run down, and utterly useless.
reading assignment August 30, 2009
New York Times Magazine story about the tragedy at Memorial Hospital during the flood.
hair notes
When we were watching Ted Kennedy’s funeral yesterday, I noticed that Barack Obama’s hair is turning much more gray. It really doesn’t take long being president to start aging someone, does it?
On a completely different note, my hair is not blond any more. I’m dangerbrunette. I’ve let my natural color grow out and it’s kinda dishwatery-brown. I used to love playing with my hair, but these days I just can’t stand the thought of high-maintenance hair.
Who knows, though? My mother loves to do hair, so I might come back from Jackson one of these days with another set of golden high-lights.
sick and tired of being sick and tired
Boy, I hate it when I have a houseful of company and then everyone leaves. Leicester flew back to New York this morning, and my mother and grandmother left shortly afterward to drive back to Jackson. I miss everyone already.
I feel like I am trying to come down with something. I woke up yesterday with fever and chills. Leicester went to the pharmacy and got a bag of medicine for me. I slept almost all day yesterday. I’m feeling better today, but still tired and run down. Next week is going to be pretty busy, so I hope I can head this off.
Georgina is so tired from all the attention, she is zonked out. Last night, Leicester took her to a parade on Oak Street.
The Katrina anniversary is so depressing. I just feel like we have made so little progress.
There is a crane, though. On the corner of O’Keefe and Poydras, there is a large building going up. Don’t know much about it, but I was walking past there last week and someone dropped a very long drill-bit off the top level and it landed two feet from me.
purple gaze August 28, 2009
I just ran down to Langenstein’s for some dinner stuff. As I was backing out of my driveway, I noticed a lady parked in my neighbor’s driveway, looking in the direction of my house. She looked very concerned.
down home, or purple power
My mother and my grandmother are here visiting. Leicester is here, too. I came home yesterday and my mother and Leicester had totally revamped my yard. It looks great.
My mother and grandmother have no interest in trying New Orleans’ fine restaurants. My grandmother doesn’t like to go out at all, so I am honored that she decided to come and see me.
We have been cooking at home. Tonight, it’s meatloaf and potatoes.
I’m in the middle of getting the trim painted on the house. It’s going to be a dark, blackish-eggplant color. David is doing it on weekends. Last weekend, he painted four window frames with the primer, which is purple. Mardi Gras purple. I’m sure my neighbors are horrified.
I saw one lady outside and told her that it was just the primer. She said, “oh, I thought it, uh, looked great!”
Heh. I guess any color is better than the peeling paint of the last few years, even purple.
i didn’t really mean to stop blogging… August 23, 2009
…but life got in the way. Here’s what’s been going on:
Kids: Leicester has been in town for a week shooting a movie, “Snatched.” He’s been staying with me and we are having a blast. Laurence came into town a few weeks back and we had dinner. He’s supposed to be coming into town again tomorrow to see Leicester.
Grandson: Jackson came to spend a week with me in July. My friend, Allison, gave us passes to the zoo, the aquarium and the IMAX theater. We had a wonderful time together. Also in July, he turned five. He just started kindergarten at the same school where he went to pre-K. I might be seeing him tomorrow, also.
Family: My mother’s house is like a combination nursing home/funny farm. My step-dad, who was put on home hospice in February, still has liver cancer, but he was prescribed an amazing drug, Nexavar. He feels better instead of worse. He is off the oxygen, gaining weight and getting around with a walker. My 87-year-old grandmother, the acknowledged sanest of all of us, has had to move in with my mother and she also gets around with a walker because she has a very bad hip. My brother lives there also. He is a paraplegic and takes very powerful drugs. A conversation with him resembles what imagine a conversation with Dennis Hopper in the 60s would have been like.
I go up there as often as I can to help my mother out. My family being my family, whenever I am up there we constantly joke about how sick everyone is. With almost the entire household getting around on walkers and wheelchairs, no joke is too lame. Heh, heh, I’ll be here all week, folks.
Rising Tide IV was this weekend and I had Sophmom, Greg Peters and his wife, as well as Leicester, staying here. It was kind of a camp-out and a good time was had by all.
Harry Shearer gave a good talk and was very personable. I enjoyed the morning panels, but was worn out and had to miss the afternoon ones in favor of a nap. Probably that huge lunch from Cafe Reconcile.
Friday evening at the Avenue Pub was great fun, so much that we all went back there on Saturday night.
