Kids who collect weird things

We were driving by a random antique and junk shop with old pieces of china and odd pink vases piled high in the window.  Threadbare knitting bags. Brass candle sticks. Handwritten sign on the door. Looked like it might be open 11-4, three days a week. We were stopped at a red light right next to it. Oliver was rapt.

Oliver: Mommy, that's my favorite store.

Me: Oh.  Really?

Oliver: Yes. It's my favorite.  Will you take me there someday, mommy?

Me: You want to go there?

Oliver: Yes, mommy. Take me to that beautiful store.

Me: Um, Okay.

I think he might be trying to complete his discontinued silver set or something.

A thing I like

Mark Fiore's new political cartoon.  Yes, I am that stunning female announcer voice.  But let's forget about my talent for a minute. Don't you think this is funny?  The starving monkey part?  I had a hard time with that line.  It's funny stuff. Here's the last one I did.  And here's Mark, in a documentary about him.  Cool, huh?

Why weddings are a good thing and red wine is not

That's us, lo those eight years ago

Last weekend the Mister and I went to a wedding. Two hipster types getting hitched.  Lots of women in vintage, fur-trimmed dresses, men in porkpie hats.  Boiled peanuts as appetizers, conversations about Burning Man.  Not exactly my scene, but it was fun just the same. 

I especially liked the vows. One of the main benefits of going to weddings as an old married couple is the little bit of love water that rains down on your own union when you witness all that fresh, gushing talk of love and commitment. (And yes, I realize "love water" has about a hundred unseemly connotations. Heads out of the gutter, people; I'm being heartfelt here).  Plus they read this poem by Richard Brautigan, which was just great. A lovely time was had, right down to the masquerade ball masks we got as favors and the pulled pork we ate for dinner.

But then there is the issue of red wine.

I am a terrible drinker.  Maybe it's my Jewish genes, maybe it's my thick blood. Whatever the reason, drinking never works out for me.  First of all, I'm a total lightweight. Secondly, sipping is just not part of my makeup.  Low tolerance coupled with an innate tendency toward gulping is an unfortunate burden.  It's not that I'm particularly badly behaved. I can get pretty maudlin but there's no sloppy karaoke or sobbing declarations of love. It's just that the aftermath of any drinking is fraught with so much cringing self-recrimination (you idiot!), it completely cancels out any of the previous night's fun. It's this self-inflicted cycle of pain with a really good party and occasional disco dancing in between. 

The dangers of old sperm and a pox on Tina Fey

Today just a quick link to an article about old sperm from the NYT.  I think she goes a bit far, but I'm all for leveling the playing field.  What do you think?

Okay, now I have to get back to watching episode after episode after episode of 30 Rock on Netflix. And this, my friends, is why the great American novel languishes.

A thing I like

These amazing 3D paper cutouts by Helen Musselwhite that I saw on Design Sponge. They are at once completely old fashioned (remember the silhouettes your grandma had?) and modern.  I love people with weird, esoteric skills that take a lot of patience.  Probably because they fill a void left by my careening impatience and lack of spatial skills.  Also, she likes birds and I like birds.