yesteryear category archives
revelatory series of spreadsheet
entries, 11-21 february 2005
Wednesday 25 October 2006 | I like a cookie
deposit | 2/10 | Alt Weekly + $200 parents | 740 debit | 2/12 | Office Depot – new phone | 27.19 850 | 2/15 | Don Diego y La Reina – rent + $275 deposit | 825 debit | 2/16 | Sav-on – allergy tablets | 10.72 deposit | 2/17 | transfer from savings [...]
read ‘revelatory series of spreadsheet
entries, 11-21 february 2005’
speechless (friday refrains to follow)
Friday 20 October 2006 | I like a cookie
There’s genius. And then there’s this. We actually had to blink back the tears that sprang to our eyes, contemplating its mercilessly compressed summation of cultural disintegration, its riotously fragmented captioning of decline. (And remembering our stroke-riddled grandfather struggling to articulate a sentence which eventually emerged as, “The only comic that’s funny anymore is Family [...]
read ‘speechless (friday refrains to follow)’
commentary on comments
Wednesday 18 October 2006 | someone left a cookie
Ah, but dear sourdean, I most certainly do read my glowing encomia—I live for them—not unlike the little Masochist of Amherst, I am consumed with lust for readership. (Take me to your reader!) Ecumenically enough, both your choice morsels of advice seem to me to correspond not only to program concepts but also to dialectical-behavioral [...]
trashcanistan; a tale
Tuesday 3 October 2006 | someone left a cookie
Once, there was no trash can. Late one summer, the Un moved into a furnitureless, empty 2-bedroom house on Watermelon Street, over by Rosario Hill Cemetary; and she had no trash can. She put the things she designated as “trash” into an Albertsons’ carrier bag and she hung it on the doorknob. This was unsustainable, [...]
an unseelie pair
Sunday 1 October 2006 | I like a cookie
Author Block, Francesca Lia. Title Necklace of kisses: a novel. Pub. info New York : HarperCollins, c2005. Edition 1st ed. Descript 227 p. ; 22 cm. Subject Hotels — Fiction. Runaway wives — Fiction. Middle-aged women — Fiction. Psychological fiction. Fantasy fiction. ISBN 0060777516 (acid-free paper) What does this fragment of [...]
ann richards
Thursday 14 September 2006 | I like a cookie
The late former Texas governor spoke at my undergrad graduation (undergraduation?) and was half pungently funny, half hair-raising, as she was today, posthumously, on Democracy Now, which I never listen to and only encountered accidentally whilst resetting my car radio. But there she was, cracking up a bunch of Texas Observer writers by telling the [...]
driving into the sunrise, part I
Tuesday 22 August 2006 | I like a cookie
Because why live here if not to drive into the mountains. Because sometimes a girl has just got the urge for going, for nosing her Daewoo toward the sunrise, from Tet’su-geh Owingeh into the foothills, with a 70¢ maple-glazed doughnut at her side, listening for the first time to the mix CD she made for [...]
read ‘driving into the sunrise, part I’
the mucky duck rules for life
Monday 14 August 2006 | I like a cookie
The strange thing about the so-called “Mucky Duck Rules for Life” is that they were originally named after a pub in Houston where we’ve never been (the pub that is; we have unfortunately been to Houston). At any rate, their discoverers or inventors typed them up and sent them out one year with their Christmas [...]
read ‘the mucky duck rules for life’
unsolicited midnight polemic (to a young acquaintance in some pain)
Wednesday 9 August 2006 | 2 cookies in the jar
To answer your question despite its retraction: No, I certainly do not know him, nor do I wish to…and anyway, dear, I’m sure that at 37 I’m as old as or older than he is, having been an adjunct instructor myself for 4 years. It’s simply that I despise users and heartbreakers and dumpers on [...]
read ‘unsolicited midnight polemic (to a young acquaintance in some pain)’
what happens when they cremate you
Thursday 3 August 2006 | I like a cookie
From good old cremate-me.com, courtesy of our hilarious, learnéd friends at Scribal Terror (it’s not every day a blog discusses Anglo-Saxon kennings, Victorian literature, and, um, cremation, all in a go). You can follow your mortal coil from the moment of conflagration until you vaporize into the air, all leftover water droplets and carbon dioxide. [...]
