1. I know I posted this sometime in the past, but its worth repeating:
Karen
Posts by Karen Kaminski:
Congratulations, Altair!
My sister-in-law has been in grad school for the last two years while managing to work full-time, train a dog, maintain her yard, and keep my brother happy. (Kidding…mostly!) Tonight is the MBA ceremony and Saturday is the university-wide graduation, so congratulations to my sister-in-law! You did it!
Talking About Words A Lot
This week I got an office AND a writing intern started, so there’s been lots of talking about words and training going on. I thought of this poem that I found when I posted about the poet’s other featured poem last year.
I was missing English one day, American, really,
with its pill-popping Hungarian goulash of everything
from Anglo-Saxon to Zulu, because British English
is not the same, if the paperback dictionary
I bought at Brentano’s on the Avenue de l’Opera
is any indication, too cultured by half. Oh, the English
know their dahlias, but what about doowop, donuts,
Dick Tracy, Tricky Dick? With their elegant Oxfordian
accents, how could they understand my yearning for the hotrod,
hotdog, hot flash vocabulary of the U. S. of A.,
the fragmented fandango of Dagwood’s everyday flattening
of Mr. Beasley on the sidewalk, fetuses floating
on billboards, drive-by monster hip-hop stereos shaking
the windows of my dining room like a 7.5 earthquake,
Ebonics, Spanglish, “you know” used as comma and period,
the inability of 90% of the population to get the present perfect:
I have went, I have saw, I have tooken Jesus into my heart,
the battle cry of the Bible Belt, but no one uses
the King James anymore, only plain-speak versions,
in which Jesus, raising Lazarus from the dead, says,
“Dude, wake up,” and the L-man bolts up like a B-movie
mummy, “Whoa, I was toasted.” Yes, ma’am,
I miss the mongrel plentitude of American English, its fall-guy,
rat-terrier, dog-pound neologisms, the bomb of it all,
the rushing River Jordan backwoods mutability of it, the low-rider,
boom-box cruise of it, from New Joisey to Ha-wah-ya
with its sly dog, malasada-scarfing beach blanket lingo
to the ubiquitous Valley Girl’s like-like stuttering,
shopaholic rant. I miss its quotidian beauty, its querulous
back-biting righteous indignation, its preening rotgut
flag-waving cowardice. Suffering Succotash, sputters
Sylvester the Cat; sine die, say the pork-bellied legislators
of the swamps and plains. I miss all those guys, their Tweety-bird
resilience, their Doris Day optimism, the candid unguent
of utter unhappiness on every channel, the midnight televangelist
euphoric stew, the junk mail, voice mail vernacular.
On every boulevard and rue I miss the Tarzan cry of Johnny
Weismueller, Johnny Cash, Johnny B. Goode,
and all the smart-talking, gum-snapping hard-girl dialogue,
finger-popping x-rated street talk, sports babble,
Cheetoes, Cheerios, chili dog diatribes. Yeah, I miss them all,
sitting here on my sidewalk throne sipping champagne
verses lined up like hearses, metaphors juking, nouns zipping
in my head like Corvettes on Dexadrine, French verbs
slitting my throat, yearning for James Dean to jump my curb.
Tuesday Project Roundup: More Polka Dots!
Finally, here are some halfway-decent photos of the vintage-style blouse I made a couple of weeks ago. It was fast and fun but I made it in cheap polyester print from JoAnn, so I think that is making me like it less than I would if I had made it in something a little nicer.
I do love the button-back detail, though. I have to thank this sewing blog for telling me how to put on a button-back blouse by yourself (button the middle two buttons and pull it over your head, then reach up and down to get the top and bottom ones). Genius! Who says living alone is inconvenient?
One final note: I debated looking for an actual vintage pattern, rather than paying full price for a new one, but then I read that the pattern manufacturer donates a portion of all sales to Ally Cat Allies. Sold!
Minus The Scotch (For Now)
Today is the first day that I’ll be working from my new office (!). Just like Peggy Olson, I’m moving up as a copywriter. Unlike her, I don’t have booze and paper cups in my desk drawer. Yet.
Friday Unrelated Information
1. On this day in 1932, Amelia Earhart took off for her solo flight across the Atlantic. She was the first woman–and the second person, period–to do so.
2. Toby has been getting more comfortable on his daily jaunts outside, which means he’s getting more adventurous. Last night he discovered that he could run really fast up and down the lawn. He’s still being good 90% of the time, but it’s nerve-wracking. My nerves are wracked.
3. You know how I sometimes link to the Big Picture photoblog? There’s a new blog puts funny captions on pictures from there: The Big Caption.
Stack Those Lions!
I Like These
T-shirts with book covers on them? OK! These are all from Out of Print Clothing (there are men’s styles, too!).
Tuesday Project Roundup: Polka Dots!
I still need to get a picture of the blouse I talked about last week (which is also polka-dotted), but it’s dark AGAIN this morning so here’s a picture of the project after that, a polka dot skirt.
I found this fabric at Yellow Bird Fabrics and used a vintage pattern from my mom’s collection. It’s not a really fitted pattern so I had no problem riding my bike in it.
Toby, as you can see, is unimpressed. He just wants to go back outside. (That’s the story here Chez Meowing at any given time, actually: at 8:00 last night, 9:00 last night, 11:00 last night, 5:00 this morning, right now, etc.)
Toby Says:
“Look at me! I’m OUTSIDE!”
“I’m not in my veranda!”
“I can watch birds!”
“I can roll and do other cute things so my mama won’t suspect that I’m getting ready to chase the birds!”
(Karen says: No birds have been harmed in Toby’s outside adventures. But I feel bad that the quail are so tame after three years and now I have to shoo them off when he’s out. However, Toby > quail.)