Saturday, April 30, 2005

David Sedaris

Tonight, yes, tonight is the night I've been awaiting since February. I am going to see my boyfriend hero, David Sedaris, live in Tucson.

Matt and I were going to make a weekend of it; meet my former college roommate and her friend in Tucson and go all together, stay at Roommate's house overnight, have a blast. Alas, Matt's dad had a triple bypass yesterday and Matt is needed in Detroit to help calm the troops over there, so I am going on a date with myself (that's not code for anything) and will meet up with Roommate for dinner and the show. Matt was very reluctant to miss fact, he considered leaving his parents today so he wouldn't miss this most sacred of events. But the guilt would eat away at him. So I guess we'll have to go next year too...for Matt, of course.

As Roommate's friend has cancelled as well, we have two extra tickets if anyone from Tucson (Jim?) is interested. The show starts at 8pm.

I *doubt* any of my friends who read this blog have never read anything by could they be so cruel to me? But, just in case their books were lost in the mail, I believe one can listen to a story here. There is a prologue by Ira Glass which is about 4 minutes long, then Sedaris comes on to read.

Yay! I am so excited. I'm thinking the babysitter will want to help my kids make their corn pillows goods, no? After all, she's an elementary school teacher. They love that stuff.


Thursday, April 28, 2005

The Anti-Christ?

Senator Salazar from Colorado has found himself in a naughty little name-calling situation. What this FotF article doesn't mention, though, is that Dr. Dobson started it by calling Salazar anti-Christian.

Boys, boys, boys.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Around here...

...people are somewhat conservative. But it's different from Michigan. I estimate 75% of people in the greater Phoenix area moved here from another state or country, so there's not the strict traditional thing going on from generation to generation like there is in West Michigan.

Still, it's a Red State. My Senators and Representative are Republicans. And I'm gun-shy (ha ha, a little AZ humor there, now that the state congress has passed a law saying we can carry guns in bars...but our Dem Governor Janet vetoed it, can you believe it?). I'm still careful about discussing my political views with pretty much anyone if I don't know where they stand, though I'm getting better at that.

So I went for a massage today. It's my second time going to Donna, and I absolutely adored her from the beginning. I'm so glad I found her. Last week she asked me why we moved to the area--typical ice breaker. I hate this question. Usually I just say, "My husband took a job here. How about you?"

But then most folks ask, "Oh really? What kind of job?"

Sometimes I say, "He's a musician." But it always leads to further questions.

So more often I just come out with it. "He's a pastor."

At this point there is always a moment of silence.

Anyway, last week Donna asked the question and I just decided to say it. She asked a bit about the church, and eventually the topic changed. She was a former Realtor, like me, and we had a nice chat about that. She gave me a hug when I left--it was a great time.

Today, while we were chatting, she mentioned that she prayed a lot about her decision to go into massage therapy. I asked her about her faith. She's Catholic, but said that though she was very involved in the church growing up, she hasn't found a church she feels comfortable in around here yet. Our conversation drifted to the Pope, and to a few political issues. Though I got the feeling she was quite devout in her faith, I ventured into some of the latest antics of the Republican Party and the Religious Right. I didn't want to offend her--after all, she had a death grip on me and I was naked on a table. I also didn't want to get all riled up since I was there to relax. But I mentioned Justice Sunday and my disgust shone through, apparently. She grew silent, and I shut up.

After the massage was over, I dressed and went to her desk to pay her. Rather abruptly, she said, "I don't know if this matters to you, but I'm gay."

And I said, "You ARE?! I love you!" (Yes, I know, stick to writing, Lisa. Writing allows you to think before you 'speak'.)

But I guess that was an okay thing to say, because she said, "You do? I'm so afraid to tell people--I've lost many Christian customers by telling them."

Pow. Damn it. I know this is the case everywhere. I just feel so shitty about it.

Why do Christians do this?? I just don't understand it, and it makes me so sad.


Tuesday, April 26, 2005


Is my favorite some days. Today is one of them.

Go visit him.

Thank you, that is all.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Rain On the Mesa

The first few raindrops skate like tiny bugs on the surface of the pool -- 42 days of sunshine and the sky remains a solid royal blue; cloudless. Yet there it is, moist on skin and skittering across the water. Sun shower.

By dusk, the clouds build themselves up like foamy grey castles, and the setting sun spits flames in oranges and mulberries against them 'til they burn. Wild wind picks up the corner of a rug, rolls it neatly before the slider and the rain comes surely now; hot, fat missiles strike random targets. The pool becomes a boiling cauldron. The charcoal grill, still hot and glowing, is the last to succumb amidst angry clouds of steam and dust. The steady patter on the tile roof above lulls families into deep sleep.

Sunrise invites fighting birds and the sun, weak and battered, pulls itself up over the Superstition Mountains again. Musky Bougainvillea reigns, its scent a heavy syrup so thick it's stifling, its raspberry petals scattered wedding-like along paths and driveways. At ten, earth bakes, and the only proof of storm is found in the split green trunks of young mesquite, and in the potholes along the winding dirt backroad behind the church.


Thursday, April 21, 2005

The Neighborhood Part 2

My daughter first started talking about Tiffany some time in February. Tiffany goes to my kids' school, also a third grader.

The name 'Tiffany' conjures up a stereotype to some. One might picture a young pop star, or relate the name to the "Breakfast at Tiffany's" movie, or perhaps the jewelry store. It's a wealthy name, a name chosen for uppity poodles or other condecending, small fluffy animals. I won't deny it--I had a preconceived idea of what Tiffany might be like because I know the general type of girl my daughter identifies with: outgoing, giggly, future soccer stars, cheerleaders. Sure, it's ridiculous to think that a name describes a person. I admit my own stereotypical tendencies, and I'm not proud of them.

So we found out Tiffany lives on the cul-de-sac, only 10 houses away or so. We were thrilled--our neighborhood in Michigan was overflowing with little boys, but nary a girl to be found. Kennedy invited her to come over on several occasions, but for a while she didn't show up. When Tiffany finally came to play the first time, I realized I had indeed seen her before. Tiffany often roamed the street, occasionally sitting down in people's driveways for a rest. I'd thought she was probably about 12 or so, but I didn't think much else about her. She always looked like she was waiting for someone.

We welcomed her inside and within seconds, the two girls had disappeared into Kennedy's bedroom to play, and I sat alone, musing over my daughter who continues to surprise, and inspire me.

A little about Tiffany: She is the largest third grader I have ever seen. She's probably about 5' tall, and is extremely obese...perhaps 180 pounds or more. She walks slowly and carefully. She has a terrible case of rosacea--her cheeks and chin covered with a red, inflamed rash. Her voice is eerie and almost sounds like her voice is coming from a tomb.

A little about my daughter: Mousy brown hair, 4'2", 60 pounds, overbite. She looks like many of the kids around here. Sometimes I have a hard time finding her in a crowd--every mousy brown haired girl looks like the next. Her voice is loud, and occasionally bossy.

I tell you these descriptions because I want you to picture these two standing next to each other, playing Barbies together. Barbies. I had a sudden urge to trash them all.

So Tiffany started coming over every day, and eventually she breaks her shyness and begins to talk to me, a little bit. The first thing she ever said to me was, "Can Kennedy come to my birthday party on Sunday? Maybe she could bring me a birthday present." Which, coming from many kids, could be obnoxious. But I was delighted--Tiffany talked to me. And that was a damn clever thing to say. I grinned. "Maybe," I nodded. "Is it okay with your mom or dad for you to invite someone?"

"Tiffany's dad is dead," Kennedy pipes.

"Yeah, he died last year," echos Tiffany.

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, sweetie. How did he die?"

"He had cancer. So we had to move in with my uncle."

"Wow, that's a lot of changes."

"Yeah." She nods matter-of-factly.

" it okay with your mom for you to invite someone? Would you like to check with her, and let us know?"

"She's not home."

"Later, maybe?"

"Okay. She usually gets home at 5:30."

"Is your uncle home when you get home from school?"


"You are home alone every day from 3 until 5:30?"

She nods.

Okaaaay....this is a third-grader (even though she *looks* 12, her brain is only nine), and crime happens occasionally in this neighborhood. And this is a girl that simply cannot run. I'm trying hard to walk a mile in Tiffany's mom's shoes. And whaddya know, that changes everything.

"Tiff, you know you can come here after school anytime, if you want."

So Tiffany hangs out. I really like this girl. She's polite and thoughtful.

Out of the blue the other day, Tiffany sits down next to me (I'm working on email, listening to Air America).

"My mom never calls me the things you call Kennedy," she says.

I'm puzzled, thinking quickly, feeling guilty. Did I say something mean to Kennedy? I rarely call her names, and if I do it's in jest. "What sort of things," I ask.

"Like 'sweetie', and things like that. And she doesn't ever have time to play with me like you play with your kids." Her already red face burns scarlett now.

I'm floored. Who is this kid? I met her mom briefly. She seemed unwilling to chat at the time, but was nice enough. Again, I picture myself in this woman's shoes, and I wonder if I would call my kids affectionate names, or if I'd feel like playing, after my world has fallen apart.

"I'm sure your mom is really busy, trying to work and keep the house clean and take care of you," I say.

"I know." Of course she knows.

"Well, would it be okay if I called you 'sweetie'?"

Tiffany is uncomfortably embarrassed now. It's all she can do to shrug, pretend like it's no big deal, and whisper, "Sure."

I give her shoulders a quick hug--she's stiff as a board. "Okay," I whisper, like it's our little secret.

She struggles her way off the couch to find my daughter. And I go outside for a cigarette, and start bawling.


Tuesday, April 19, 2005

The Neighborhood -- Part One

Our house has become the center activity in the neighborhood. Casey and Mosby were the first to arrive at our door, in January sometime. Cute, sweet brothers, in 3rd and 1st grades, respectively. Casey is in my daughter's class in school. The first time I met Casey was on the walk home from school. He talked non-stop about his aunt's boyfriend who hits her, and he shook his head and said, 'she just doesn't learn'. He talked about his dad's horse farm up in Payson, and about his new puppies, and that he lives with his grandparents and his mom. By mid-February he had 'given' my daughter a pony. She named her Daisy, and was very happy, 'even though I might never meet her, I still like having a pony,' she said. Casey and Mo made valentines for Matt and me and stopped over once just to deliver them. Mo doesn't say much, but he has a very sweet smile. The kids all play X-Box and basketball and now, they are in the pool.

I happened to be at school one afternoon for an assembly--I occasionally write school related articles for my local freebie newspaper--and I had my camera. I didn't have much room on my memory card, and I didn't want to waste any space, but when Casey's name was called for Student of the Month, I snapped a photo. I saw him after the assembly and congratulated him, and he just smiled a little. I asked him, "Aren't you excited? You're Student of the Month!"
Parents usually come to these events when their kid is SotM, often bearing balloons and gifts. I looked around, no sign of his mom or grandparents. "Did mom have to work today?"
"Yeah, grandma too."
"Well, don't worry, I took a picture of you so you can show them how good you looked up there."

This was met with the normal Casey grin I'm used to seeing. So often it's the little things that mean so much to kids.

The other day the boys were over, and Casey, my daughter and I were sitting by the pool. (Mo has taken a liking to my 5th grade son, who tolerates him. Probably because Mo is quiet, and will pretty much do whatever my son tells him to do. Well, that, and it gives my son the excuse to play Legos, even though he thinks he's too old now that he wears deodorant.) But back to Casey.

"Mr. soandso says you're stupid, mom," my daughter said.

Then Casey, "Yeah, it's because you smoke, and smoking's stupid."

"Well, smoking is stupid. He's right," I said. (do as I say, not as I do? I really should quit now)

"But I want to beat him up for calling you stupid, and my step-mom," Casey said. My knight in shining armor.

"I'm glad you want to stick up for me and your step-mom. But do you think that will change his mind, if you beat him up?"

"No, I guess not."

"Fighting like that doesn't really help, does it."

"No, that's why my dad's in time? My dad hit my mom so hard her whole side of her face was purple. But that's not why he's in jail--That was for beating up his brother."

(Casey's dad is in jail?? I thought he lived on a farm in Payson, taking care of my daughter's horse, Daisy. Time to step carefully...)

"Is he supposed to get out soon?"

"Yeah, I haven't seen him in, like, two years."

"I bet you miss him."

"Yeah. I miss him a lot. We drove up there on spring break to see him (a 2-hr drive), but my stepmom wasn't home, so we couldn't go."

"That sounds disappointing."

Casey nods, then steps back a few steps, turns and looks for Kennedy who was likely bored with the conversation and had moved to a different part of the patio. I took this as my signal that the conversation was over.

I learn a helluva lot about life from kids.


Saturday, April 16, 2005

Living in AZ

We've been here five months. I still feel like I'm on vacation and that we're going to have to go home eventually.

The other day I went to see "Fever Pitch" at the theater. I recommend it as a light romantic drama as well as a pseudo-documentary on the history of the Red Sox. I don't watch much baseball, but I really enjoyed this movie. You know when you go to a movie and you get engrossed in the location? I've been to Boston a few times, so I recognized several buildings, parks, street names, etc. The problem was when I walked out of that theater (which I've only been to once before, so it seemed new) in my mind I was sort of still in Boston, like I was on vacation or something. Then I thought, silly me. I'm home. Which is Michigan, right? No. Where the hell am I? And how do I get home? Oh yeah... (commence with the blonde jokes now while I show you the weather.)

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Does this make me unpopular or just a commodity? An ode to Mr. Dave Warnock.

4-14-05 Edited to say: Mr Warnock has repurchased me, and my share price is up to $98 a share! And I owe it all to you guys. Thank you.

Buy me.

Dave Warnock did. He owned 80% of me yesterday. That was frightening, but you know what's worse?

Today he sold all shares of me and my price plummeted.

Of course on April 7, I was merely a penny stock. $0.42 a share. 5000 shares. What is that, $2100b? Pathetic. The day before that I didn't even exist.

But then Dave Warnock came along, and I tasted fame. Hi Dave! *waves* My price peaked at a remarkable $86.48 per share. WOW! If I had a calculator, I'd tell you that's $432,400b !! But *Dave* owned most of it. Until 1:23pm today, when he DUMPED ME.

What did I do, Dave?
Was it something Sasha said?
It was her Christian bashing, wasn't it.

Perhaps you don't like spiders. Or cheese. Or...GAY PEOPLE. Is that it? You little...

Now I'm only worth a measly $51b plus change.

Everyone, please post a comment to Dave. It doesn't have to be nice. After all, he dumped me. Maybe he will realize his grave mistake and buy me again. And then? I'll do the dumping. Hmph.

Unless YOU want to Buy Me...

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


So this morning the "new" pool boy, Topher, comes again. He's not nearly as cute as Nelson. He's about 5'9", 240 pounds, and has shiny fake black hair, cut in the very trendy bowl/mullet style. Despite that, he's a decent kid and I usually go out to say hello and offer him a Mountain Dew. But today I was busy inside. When I heard him shriek, "Ewww, gross!" through the open window, I felt a need to see how things were going out there. Apparently he is afraid of spiders, especially when they are in the filter basket. When I strolled outside, he was tossing the contents of the basket in my recycling bin.

"Giant water spider," he explained.

Which gave me the oogies. "Water spider? How big?" I didn't really want to know but was unable to stop myself.

He made a circle with his thumb and middle finger, indicating a size approximately between a half dollar and the circumference of a golf ball. But then, this...

"It was in there last week, but it was still alive so I left it in there. I thought it would be dead by this week."

Gah gah gah!


So, Tom Delay. What else can be said? Apparently his supporters, the conservative Christians, are okay with gambling now. *yawn*


On another morbid note, did they really chop up the pope so that they could bury parts of his body in other places? Nevermind--that reminds me of the spider again.


Things are going great with the war in Iraq, did you hear?
$9 billion is missing/unaccounted for. We're building embassy (or is it a temple to W?). Was it $500 million? Sounds like we'll be out of there any day now. That money could surely help a handful of homeless folks. Or pay teachers a reasonable salary. Or hey...take care of some hardworking folks right here in the good ol' US of A who are without health insurance and have to choose between going to the E.R. and oh, I dunno...eating. All I know is that I'm thinking about heading east to see if that $9 billion is buried in Mr. DeLay's back yard.


And an informal, completely unscientific and probably ridiculously worded poll for y'all, if you feel inclined to answer:

If you were a Christian pastor/priest/church leader, what would you do to help change the negative image of the the church?

Sunday, April 10, 2005

For Sasha, the Journey from Republican to not-Republican

Well it all started in 7th grade when I got a C- in Civics. I decided politics was not for me. And though I campaigned for Reagan one Saturday with the Civics teacher (to get extra credit, of course, because I couldn't stand it that I got a C- and I never wanted anyone to be disappointed in me), I really didn't give a shit.

I also didn't really give a shit when my church youth group marched on Right to Life day, especially since January in Michigan is freaking frigid. Yes, it was 10 degrees and snowing hard that day, but we were saving babies' lives around the world, you know. Of course I pretended to be willing to have my hands freeze and fall off if only to save one life.

The only Democrats I knew growing up were my Catholic neighbors, aka the Fudds, whose daughter was my friend and who had the unfortunate nickname 'Paulette Toilet'. But the Catholics weren't going to heaven anyway, so I guessed it didn't matter if they voted wrong. For some reason, Paulette Toilet did not appreciate it when I told her she wasn't a Christian...but she just wouldn't listen to me, so I had to let her burn.

In college, the guys in the apartment next door (and especially Davey, who I occasionally smoked cigars with) were extremely hot so when they suggested we girls attend the Bush (the first) rally in '89 at our own small Christian college, I said absolutely. One of the guys was the local Young Republican president or something, so we got to meet Mr. Bush, who seemed nice and all. But the best part was getting to sit next to Davey for an hour. So obviously I voted for Bush. Twice. And I got a C- in Political Science. I still didn't really care. I just liked to write stories and read non-political things, like books, hello.

Well then I got married and settled back in Republican smalltown (though I voted for a Democratic mayoral candidate in '92, I believe), where there were 12-step programs available for any Democrats who dared admit their affiliation. Somewhere in there was Ross Perot, or maybe he came later, I can't remember, who sounded really tempting to me. But again the broken record--I could never admit to anyone that I was tempted to vote non-republican, because I could not bear people to be disappointed in me. But then began the babies. I spent a lot of time in front of the TV when baby #1 was born in '93--what else was there to do when the kid never stopped crying. Leaving the house was a major event. So I ventured into new territory and began to watch something called 'The News'. And it wasn't pretty all the time. I guess I started caring for the first time ever in the early to mid 90's.

Baby #2 was born 3 days before voting day, 1996. I remember making my final decision to vote for Clinton in the hospital. I never cared for Clinton's smarmyness, though I know a lot of people loved it. But the economy was good, and the budget was balanced, and I really cared about that. So he was going to get my vote.
Backtracking for a moment: I had not voted for Clinton his first term--but honestly I can't remember who ran against him--was it Bob Dole? I can't think of anyone else it could have been. And I really don't have time to look it up right now. I know I liked Libby, she seemed like a pretty cool lady. Anyway. Back to 1996.

The baby #2 story is gory and I won't go into serious detail because I know Sasha doesn't care for that, and this is of course dedicated to her. Needless to say, I came home from the hospital on Monday afternoon. Tuesday was voting day. I had a rough delivery, lost a lot of blood (sorry), and my iron was very low. But I was determined to vote--after all I was turning over a new leaf! So when Matt got home from work, I eased my way into the car (no, I was not supposed to drive yet) and drove the 2 miles to the voting booth. The line was extremely long. I finally got to the point where they checked off my name, and by this time I was in a cold, clammy sweat. I peeled off my coat, my sweatshirt, began to fan myself, but there were still at least 50 people in front of me. I ate half a roll of Life Savers, even the green one, trying to get some sugar action, but I started shaking. When things began to go dark, I realized I had to get out of there. I went to the sign-in table and said I was ill--they pointed me to the restroom and I left my little paper thingy with the nice lady, who said I could get back in line when I returned. I barely made it to the restroom, willing myself not to pass out. A few other unmentionable things happened in that little restroom having to do with the effect an epidural has on normal bodily functions, and after spending a good half-hour in there I thought I was probably okay to walk. Right out the door. Besides, by that time my breasts were about to explode, and Matt was sitting home with a starving newborn.

So anyway, I failed to vote in 1996. I'm so sorry. Turns out though that Mr. Clinton did okay without my vote. And the nice lady at the check-in table who had my little yellow slip of paper called a few hours later to see if I was ever coming back. Wasn't that sweet?

But then, real tragedy struck when I found myself deep into the workforce again, for a VERY conservative republican company. If the democratic candidate in 2000 had been someone other than Al Gore, I probably would have been tempted. But W seemed like a really nice guy. And I felt sorry for him that the story of his DUI broke right before the election. The fact that this Christian guy had a bit of a checkered past was actually comforting to me--it made me think he'd be more sympathetic and open-minded. Heh. So yes, I voted for Dubya.

I think it was the 2000 election debacle that really got me more interested in politics, though. I began reading more. I found Anne Lamott, an outspoken liberal Christian and frequent writer for Salon Magazine, and I was SHOCKED at how much her views made sense to me. I found it was possible to be a Christian AND a Democrat. Silly it took me so long, I know. And then my friend Julie came to work with my real estate company. Julie had values I appreciated, and was a staunch Democrat and didn't care who knew it. She rolled with the punches at the office--out of 64 realtors, she was the lone Democrat. Having Julie around gave me some confidence, and eventually I began to enjoy arguing political issues along with her. It was all fairly surface though--I didn't understand a lot of stuff, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I still don't. But I did understand right from wrong pretty much, I think. Like, when I learned that Clinton had called Tony Campolo to come and give him spiritual advice after Monicagate, and when Campolo did this, Republicans denounced him and Christians blacklisted him, canceling his speaking engagements, for 'helping that sinner'. What was that?!? I think that was my first episode of righteous anger.

And then of course there is a very special message board where I met several of you. I'd never read so much about politics in my life as I've read in the past 2.5 years, from so many passionate people who made sense and provided proof/links/reasoning for their stances. And I've found a passion for politics now as well, though I still feel terribly uneducated. But I'm learning and enjoying it. And some of you liked me despite my initial aversion to the deep end. And you humored me and taught me things. Many, many things. Plus, I even started writing my congressmen. Regularly. Heh. Oh yeah, in 2004 I campaigned quite loudly in Michigan against the 'gay marriage ban' and voted for Kerry. And started this blog. And got hate emails from the religious right. I feel pretty good about that.

Anyway, that's the story so far. Hope it wasn't too boring.


Thursday, April 07, 2005

But is anybody listening?

I am no longer a Republican, but I was once. I don't plan to ever go back to that party, but it is refreshing to read these Wise words from John Danforth, taken from his op-ed column in The New York Times, March 30, 2005.

During the 18 years I served in the Senate, Republicans often disagreed with each other. But there was much that held us together. We believed in limited government, in keeping light the burden of taxation and regulation. We encouraged the private sector, so that a free economy might thrive. We believed that judges should interpret the law, not legislate. We were internationalists who supported an engaged foreign policy, a strong national defense and free trade. These were principles shared by virtually all Republicans.

But in recent times, we Republicans have allowed this shared agenda to become secondary to the agenda of Christian conservatives. As a senator, I worried every day about the size of the federal deficit. I did not spend a single minute worrying about the effect of gays on the institution of marriage. Today it seems to be the other way around.

The historic principles of the Republican Party offer America its best hope for a prosperous and secure future. Our current fixation on a religious agenda has turned us in the wrong direction. It is time for Republicans to rediscover our roots.

John C. Danforth, a former United States senator from Missouri, resigned in January as United States ambassador to the United Nations. He is an Episcopal minister.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Everything in Between

This crap is so infuriating and in my opinion, so far from what Christians should be spending time on. How does this help anything at all? How can anyone believe this stuff? If Dobson is so focused on the family, why does he insist on tearing them apart?

Monday, April 04, 2005


I am going out to get cheese.

There are several new sandwich recipes I must try now that I have this lovely Grilled Cheese Cookbook (which happens to be one of my favorite gifts ever). My refrigerator currently sports feta, cheddar, asiago provolone, romano, mozzerella (shredded) and parmesan. On my grocery list today:

goat cheese (Lezay?)
mahon (I've never heard of this)

I also am on the lookout for a good bakery that has ciabatta or foccatia that's not been sitting on a shelf for 3 days.

The tomatoes here are lovely--much better than in Michigan for obvious weather-related reasons. I love tomatoes. I also found a garlic olive oil which has just the right amount of garlic, not too much as many of the specialty oils do. Normally I prefer to add fresh garlic to recipes, but when making certain grilled sandwiches, I've discovered having a bit of the garlic flavor brushed on the bread is nice.

It's going to be hot this week. A nice sliced roma tomato (salted), some freshly sliced mozzarella, a bit of arugula or spinach...drizzled with garlic olive oil and sprinkled with pepper...a perfect lunch.

What's your favorite cheese, bread, fresh veggie?

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Well. This puts me in a rather foul mood.

Got this from my dear ciggy provider (Anthony--what a honey he is. He always handles my order personally.) today:

Recently, new laws have been passed to block all credit card purchases of tobacco via the internet. At this time we are unable to take, complete, or even ship your order the way the new law reads. We are asking that our customers contact their local congressional representative to voice their outrage. We apologize for an inconvenience this has caused. We look forward to serving you in the near future.

Serves me right for taking a liking to an import. Damn Canadians. And I've only got 2 packs left. I am not pleased. Now I certainly can't quit. That would be letting the government win.

Oh, and in the meantime, Anthony sells some delicious coffee. He could probably use the business right now...Sutter Avenue