In the 'chester

Slim had a thing with some place in Yonkers this a.m. so we thought we might as well stay at the old homestead last night, given that the folks are in Missouri doing neocon canvassing and, allegedly, being harassed by "union thugs."

Anyhoo: took the M-N up here bout ten and spent a pleasant evening pantry-foraging and 'Workout'-watching. Also paid the obligatory melancholy visit to my wedding-dress, which hangs Havisham-style in my brother's closet, where I believe my mother was attempting to hide it from me. It's super rad.

Wanted to lay in some nosh as a friend may or may not be going through a nervous breakdown but, in any event, obviously has brain fever and needs fresh air, solitude, and milk. As such, I've offered up Ten Euclid to him for the night (via some very vague directions) and want to make sure all is in readiness for his convalesence. As such, have made a mediocre batch of cookies and some pasta. Should probably warn him that the house is straight-up British-cold, and that the cat is truly surly.

Am v disturbed by the Austrian incest/captivity antics. Buckingham said, 'the worst part of it is, they really don't give enough information. I mean, there are things I need to know. Why were some of the kids brought upstairs and not others? Why this daughter and not the other four? I need to know."

"You do need to know," I said, "in order to draw up your formulations. It's extremely important that you know."


"Me," she agreed, "and only me."

On Asses in Leggings

As regards asses in leggings: I despise them. I don't care if you're coming from the gym; I don't care how toned you are; an ass, separated from the world only by a thin layer of lycra, and uncovered by a shirt, is not appropriate for public consumption. Besides which: that moment when one pulls on tights, pre-dress, is bar-none the least attractive of the day. Why would one voluntarily prolong this? Know this: if I see a meaty, leggings-clad ass on the street, I will stare at it malevolently, like the creepiest sexual predator you've ever met.

The sap is rising

I feel an irresistible need to replace my (stolen) bicycle, grow stuff, and take up the banjo. Already made a rhubarb pie and had a dream I was a wet nurse. Check, check.

Fashion Icon

For various mysterious reasons I just posed for some gal-on-the-street fashion thing for Page Six Magazine. While anything having to do with the New York Post is, obviously, cause for adulation, today's look had all the chic and style of a piece of dryer lint. Still smarting from the wardrobe rationing inflicted by bed buggery and th eensuing dry-cleaning frenzy (to say nothing of sub-40 temps), I was currently sporting 7th-wear-baggy jeans; an old shirt of my dad's, and a pair of really down-at-the-heels black boots. My hair is styled in a fashion resembling a cross between a rat's nest and a middle-school nerd's circa 1986. Sometimes the glasses fool people.

experiment B - specimens 3 & 4

From Maeve:


"Hallo,
Second batch of cinnamon rolls excellent!

Bisquick again, sparse icing of confectioner sugar, milk, vanilla.

Used room temperature butter (instead of melted). Mixed refrigerated syrup (white sugar/cinnamon/evaporated milk) into soft butter and spread over dough, then sprinkled layer of brown sugar/cinnamon/salt.

Variation with and without raisins - no real difference beyond obvious presence/lack of raisin.

The thick layer of butter seems to have fully absorbed into the dough, making it feel like a gooey vein; visual inspection of cross-section yields only a disappointing cinnamony swirl.

Next: I'll try sprinkling dry, applying butter, then sprinkling more dry.

How's your 12-hour dough?

xo


P. S. They were filming a Captain Morgan commercial at the end of the block today. I walked by on my way to Fairway and there was a man in wraparound sunglasses sitting in a high-backed antique chair in the back of a moving van. The director?"

Have discovered that I hate Walter Meego.

Working with Maeve. She feels she did damage to her figure last Labor day by drinking 100 beers in one (long) weekend, and we feel some detoxifying seaweed wrap might be in the cards.

We are also brainstorming ideas for her new web site, from which she will vend her millinery. I suggested she make a list of her inspirations.

"I made the list," she said a bit later. "Centaurs and egg yolks feature prominently." So do Olmec heads.

For my part, have been flirting with making my hair look like a danedelion gone to seed. Or, alternatively, a puff of smoke.

My boss, Sascha, suggested I wait until I'm old to pursue this. "Maybe you shouldn't do that while there's any need at all to look...good." she said, and added that white hair would work better anyway.

I DID see a middle-aged lady this am with hair that looked exactly like a dandelion, so I winked at her. I was at the dermatologist's, like a hypochondriac, having two moles looked at because Slim said they looked "very bad", that one was several colors and that another was bleeding. Obviously there was absolutely nothing wrong with either of them. Did like the derm's office, though, which featured Golf Digest and Conde Nast Portfolio, and had a large bowl of free lotions and sunscreen samples. I took about 12. Then went by the farmer's market and bought one of those Swiss potato peelers that Cockney hawks. Also a cinnamon roll as Maeve and I are perfecting a reecipe, Cook's Illustrated style. (She's brought in two experiments today, both based on Bisquik dough - she's in charge of getting the filling to exactly the right level of sugary graininess, and had experimented with different methods and sugar ratios to good effect.)

Hello, Gorgeous.

Back from an enduring nightmare of bedbugs, famiy strife and the single most painful job app process in the history of the world, which recently ended in a terse email communique (typo'd, no less) informing me that they're continuing to meet with other "dynamic individuals."

In better news: saw The Thomas Crown Affair at Film Forum last night. Also am pursuing various crackpot schemes. My shrink didn't seem to think much of my idea to market baby-sized scrubs.