Sheer Dumb Luck and Brown Mascara

How I hosed this Blog - and am rebuilding it

2011-07-10T17:28:00.000-07:00

Basically, I was playing with my photo albums in Picasa via Google+ and decided I didn't want this blog's images viewable via that entry point and thinking I was just hiding it there, I actually deleted the last 3 years of images.

I think I can rebuild it all.

Sigh...

A Couple in the Kitchen - The Great Ravioli Revival

2011-04-03T10:01:00.000-07:00

When I was a very little girl, select Sundays required immediate bed-making as ordered by "The Aunts." The made beds were then covered with clean white bed sheets - used only for this purpose - in anticipation of sheets of pasta dough, laid gently to dry.

Today, my Aunt Angie takes my husband to school on this process - ignoring any training he has had over the past 30 years in German, French and Italian cuisine. "It's all wrong," she says, "Today you'll do it the right way."

We'll make Ravioli Aunt Angie's way. Or else.

Mangiate in buona salute!

The Aunt

The Student Hubby

Step 1: Put Paul Simon on

Prepare the pasta dough

Argue over amounts. Settle on below
2 Cups all-purpose flour
1 Cup water- room temp
Argue over whether a small amount of EVOO should be added to water
Leave out EVOO or die
Pinches of salt

Make a well in flour
Sprinkle salt
Argue over the proper way to use a fork

Slowly add water to well and knead to mix until dough becomes soft and elastic

Argue with any other Italians in the room over proper size of well, pressure while kneading, speed at which water is added, the weather.

Let dough rest half to an hour.

Step Two: Filling

While dough is resting:
One 15 oz Container Ricotta Cheese or good fresh as available
Romano to taste
Grind, chop and mix together spices from window box: Basil, Parsley, Oregano, Fennel, Salt, Pepper & add to cheese mixture
Spinach - fresh or frozen - if fresh, quick saute in pan with garlic and EVOO
If frozen, thaw and drain all moisture

Set cheese mixture to the side

Step 3: Gravy

Start Gravy while pasta drying
Parboil 3-4 Hot Italian Sausage
2 tbsp EVOO added to large pot
1 large onion diced
6 cloves cleaned garlic minced
Handful of mushrooms quartered
Hot Pepper flakes, salt & pepper to taste
1/4 cup red wine
Brown Garlic, Onion in bottom of large Pot
Add red pepper flakes, salt & pepper to taste
Add Italian sausage
Cook for 5 minutes or so until onion and garlic nicely carmelized
Add Mushrooms and red wine
Cook an additional 10 minutes over medium high heat until wine reduces
add: 1 16 oz Tomato Puree
1 16 oz crushed tomatoes
1 8 oz small can sauce
4 oz tomato paste
Stir, lower heat, let simmer uncovered for 4 hours

Parboil the Sausage

Step 4: Roll dough sheets

We use an older hand-crank pasta machine

Cut dough into smaller manageable pieces - about 8
Feed through Pasta maker - gently to avoid tearing
Lay-out and let dry ten minutes
When we have more dough than needed for ravioli, we make some Fettuccine too, and use or freeze for another meal

We Dried these on kitchen towels on the dining room table

Fettuccine

Step 6: Cut & Fill the Ravioli

We like a good sized ravioli, but make to your liking
Cut 2-3 inch strips, place tsp filling in middle of strip, fold strip over and crimp and seal edges with a fork

At this point, the Ravioli team has decided to take a break - drink 'em if you got 'em.

Last Step

We made a nice arugula salad with roasted red peppers and artichokes as a starter

Next boil the water, and drop the ravioli in after the water comes to a full boil - cooking time varies on size and thickness of pasta, and taste preference - ours took about 7 minutes to rise to the top of the water.

Our guest brought some lovely flowers for the table and a nice Pinot Noir, and we enjoyed!

I'm here, I'm here. Just been busy.

2010-07-26T17:07:00.000-07:00

Something to Think About

2009-12-24T20:32:00.000-08:00

"Just 'cause you've got the monkey off your back, doesn't mean the circus has left town"
George Carlin

Auntie teaching Lynn to make fried Cauliflower

2009-11-26T09:24:00.000-08:00

They are having conceptual differences. She's wearing him down.

The Best Friend a Gal Could Have

2009-10-26T12:10:00.001-07:00

Rip Sweetheart. Dot Masullo Carroll 1996-2009

Fill in the Blank

2009-10-25T20:37:00.000-07:00

Life's too short to be: [comment]

On Tallulah Bankhead

2009-10-25T18:04:00.000-07:00

Twice this year, I have been told I sound like Tallulah Bankhead. I don't know whether to have another Mimosa, or have another Mimosa.

If I could Tell you

2009-10-25T17:56:00.000-07:00

Wanting attention is one thing; getting it another.

The story of my Aunt's Husband's First Wife

2009-10-25T17:12:00.000-07:00

Uncle George worked for the New Haven Railroad, and on the side, to make more money, he owned a pet store. While he was working nights for the railroad, his then wife (Aunt Angie says we'll call her "Jezebel"), ran the pet store.

One day Uncle George came home at 8:00 in the morning as he did five-days a week, and said to his 4-year old son as he said five-days a week; "Hey honey, where's mommy?"

And the son, his name was Lew, said, as he often did, "She's still in bed." Uncle George smiled at his son and ran up the stairs to kiss his good wife good morning. He opened the door and turned on his heel and never walked that way again.

It's a hellava story.

What I have Learned

2009-09-25T16:48:00.000-07:00

Contentment + humor2 divided by sorrow = wisdom

absolute tripe.

Teaching Aunt Angie

2009-09-25T15:47:00.000-07:00

Chicken with Tarragon and Artichoke

Gauche Rain

2009-09-06T17:22:00.000-07:00

(for Jane Austen)

It spit at us as we ran.
It mocked us
as we tried to take cover.

Chicken BelGioioso (Romano & Cappicola stuffed Chicken breasts) w/apple gravy scrapings over garlic potato mash & sauteed brussels

2009-08-30T13:33:00.000-07:00

Lynn's turn to show Aunt Angie a dish:

Chicken BelGioioso (Romano & Cappicola stuffed Chicken breasts) w/apple gravy scrapings over garlic potato mash & sauteed brussels.

Lynn chopping shallot:

How a bird might see the Brussels sprouts:

le bird
le bird a voo sauce

Service:

scaryrobotspider

2009-08-30T13:10:00.000-07:00

Find the cute doggy face in this photo. Or the scaryrobotspider. Either one. #scaryrobotspider #cutedoggyface

8 Famous Last Words to my Aunt from the Album of the same name

2009-08-30T09:31:00.000-07:00

Also from the Play "Throw Away your Wigs" (the Lost Recordings)

"You realize I've never done this before, right?"

Before:

I didn't ask her to make this face, she did it all on her own. Hire her for your next film. Or commercial. Just come by, take her to WalMart. (Don't touch the shopping-cart if you do. It's hers. Trust me I learned the hard way).

After (again, no coaching. I think she looks fabulous).

Author's note: No Aunts were harmed in the making of this blog post. Views and opinions expressed on this blog are solely those of the catholic-guilt conflicted-Buddhist-Italian niece of Angelina Masullo Girtell. Mrs. Girtell declined to be interviewed for this comment.

Stories about My Husband: Another Way of Looking at it Altogether

2009-08-29T16:59:00.000-07:00

Aunt Angie has reminded my husband, who teases her incessantly, that:

A: She is Italian

B: Since she moved in two months ago, he has almost lost two fingers

C: She knows how to get bloodstains out of everything

It's been very quiet here this evening. Very quiet.

Stories about My Husband

2009-08-28T17:05:00.000-07:00

Chapter one: Why My Husband's Work Clothes will always have Bloodstains

One night, I posted this on Twitter: "My husband bought a chainsaw and is cutting down a healthy tree. I don't know why."

The overwhelming male response was: "Because he bought a chainsaw."

Tonight, while sorting laundry, I came across one of my husband's t-shirts, non unlike many t-shirts I have seen before it, and rather than shout-a-stain-out, I thought to leave it.

I thought then to ask my husband if he wanted to keep the stain, because after all, it is his shirt. He smiled and said "Yes, leave it."

I was reminded in that moment of his father. The first day I met his father my thought was "good Lord I have never seen that much paint on a person."

My husband's father worked and he worked hard. He was a tile man. He cut tile by hand and grouted on his knees. Later, he cut with a water saw. The spots and splatters on his pants were not only paint, but floor glue and plaster and grout and so on.

He taught his son to cut tile and his son taught me, and I have to say, it's very messy.

To that, my husband's father taught me "Dirt is the badge of the workingman."

Well, if dirt is the Badge, blood is the Medal.

I think when my husband is out; getting gas, banking, going to the parts store to get another part that won't fit and if it does it'll break the 4th time he uses it, he passes other workingmen, and they nod at each other.

They wait in line together or throw back a cold one after a good day, sit next to each other in Hospital Emergency Rooms and say to one another, "Looks like ya' cut yourself."

"Yup. Damn [insert the name of any tool or process]."

"Man, I hate when that happens."

It's a moment.

Recently, there was a woman who was in a Bi-Lo parking-lot. She quickened her pace, stole glances behind her to gauge the distance between her car and a wild-looking, dirt and bloodstained man, calling to her waving his hands.

If she could have heard him, she would know that she dropped something out of her cart. (Your "personal" grocery item is at the service counter by the way.)

If she could hear me, I'd say “Ma'am, if I didn't know that man was my husband, I’d run too,” "but he's a workingman, and that blood is code."

So that's why I won't get the bloodstains out of my husband's work clothes.

That, and because it's a royal pain in the ass to do.

Next: Chapter Two: Another Way of Looking at it Altogether

Author's Note: Husband states: "We do not go to the emergency room; we go to Lowe's & get duct tape & rags. "

Please correct your copies. Thank you.

From TED - Talks Golan Levin makes art that looks back at you

2009-07-30T07:07:00.000-07:00

Take a break with Art from TED

Golan Levin, an artist and engineer, uses modern tools -- robotics, new software, cognitive research -- to make artworks that surprise and delight. Watch as sounds become shapes, bodies create paintings, and a curious eye looks back at the curious viewer.

Half performance artist, half software engineer, Golan Levin manipulates the computer to create improvised soundscapes with dazzling corresponding visuals. He is at the forefront of defining new parameters for art. For more: Golan Levin

Yankovikc does the Doors - it's just fun

2009-06-29T17:02:00.000-07:00

I just love this :)

Sigh....

2009-06-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

Because I cannot resist

See more at FilmJunk

Carmela Continues to Enthrall her Audience

2009-06-21T14:59:00.000-07:00

See, Carmela was a little uppity, you know, she thought she was better than everyone else.

Happy Father's Day Nick

2009-06-21T14:30:00.001-07:00

Nick Masullo's "Everything You've Got

Nick Masullo, 1952-2008

Why Carmela lived in Philadelphia

2009-06-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

Turns out, 'cause her husband was from there, and that's where the work was in WWII.

Now We're also writing a song

2009-06-21T13:38:00.001-07:00

Called, "You Keep your Broom on your Porch, and I'll Keep my Broom on Mine."

Aunt Angie's hoping for a Grammy.

My Aunt is Telling Me a Story

2009-06-21T13:34:00.000-07:00

about a woman named Carmela Miozzi who goes by Lanza now after that guy she married.

It's a really good story.

Times When You're Dumb

2009-06-21T13:30:00.000-07:00

I own a website called sheerdumbluckandbrownnascara.com

Beat that.

Today's Prayer

2009-06-14T15:45:00.000-07:00

Imagine everyone happy.

You'll Want to Dress

2009-06-14T12:24:00.000-07:00

Set stage:

Sunday morning, 6:30 AM.

I wake, drink coffee, and shower by 7:30 because I have promised my husband that I will drop my husband off at the golf course by 8 AM for an 8:15 tee-time, and I must drop my husband off because his truck has a trailer, and his work equipment is on that trailer, and he does not prefer to drive this trailer-married vehicle to the golf course as it may die a slow and agonizing death at any speed above 35 mph.

I am not, in the least, envious that he is playing and I am not. I have a promise to keep. “A promise made is a promise kept.” That’s what my husband says, and he got that from his mama, and she was as fine a woman as there was until cancer took her when my husband was 19, but that’s another story for another day.

In this one going on now, I have promised my 84-year-old Italian, Roman Catholic Aunt that I will play golf every-other-Sunday until I find someone, of whom we both approve, to take her to church - a church that is ten-minutes away - and that until we do indeed find someone, I will not enter nor pray in a Catholic way, but will heartily and happily deliver her only - every other Sunday as agreed.

This agreement was made by my Aunt, only after searching, observing, and somewhat-hesitantly agreeing to go to the church we identified, among others, as being acceptable, with an out-clause just in case.

I set everything up so that after I deliver her to God, I can return home, fix the dryer, vacuum my bedroom, fold the towels and return in time to redeliver her home after Mass has concluded, and look “nice” doing it.

I take all of this into consideration as I dress; I have a lovely blue and teal tie-died dress I bought at the market, I am covering it with a stylish jersey deep blue overtop, and am wearing teal and black casual sandals. I tie my hair up. I apply mascara. I wear a bra.

I look OK in my opinion as I drop Lynn at the course. People see me. They do not gasp, they wave. I feel confident in my choices.

I kiss my husband goodbye, I visit the store at his request to buy ingredients for dinner, I make sure I have mimosa-makings because I am here, I am a realist , and I understand, in a deep, soul-spiritual way, that this will be a three-mimosa day.

I return home, empty the dishwasher, waken my Aunt, trim her hair, give her a mini-facial so she feels pretty at church, send her off to dress while I smoke a cigarette on the front porch because we do not smoke in the house anymore, and she joins me. She sits on one of our comfortable porch chairs.

She sighs.

I say, “What time do you want to walk in to the front church doors.”
She says, “Well, Mass starts at 10:30, and if I’m early, I could say the Rosary, so ten o’clock.”
I say, “Check your cell-phone that you refuse to learn how to use, and tell me what time it is.”
She say, “Oh it’s ten to ten, we can’t make it.”
I say “Why?”

“Well," she says, "because you’ll want to dress.”

Tomatoes, and Basil, and Gardenias Oh My!

2009-06-13T07:59:00.000-07:00

I love the Gardenias from our garden

And the tomatoes

and the basil (in pots)

Break in Case of Emergency

2009-05-25T22:54:00.000-07:00

Let's just keep a watch out for the person who does something well in an emergency. That's who I'm puttin' my money on.

Follow the Tags I

2009-05-25T22:51:00.000-07:00

Everyone tells the truth all of the time, even when they're lying.

From my Drama-Dame Stuff

2009-05-25T22:35:00.000-07:00

My glass, sorrowfully short of both champagne & of orange juice - empty in fact - speaks ill of the help & ferociously of the hostess.

Daily Prayer

2009-05-25T20:00:00.000-07:00

I will learn to use the tools I have.

When I find them.

It's not like they're lost, it's like
they're very, very secure.

Sore Gift

2009-05-25T19:35:00.000-07:00

I have a gift for placing a thing
in such a perfect place, that no one
can ever find it.

Sore kind of gift to have, really.

Chick Pea, Hearts of Palm Tabouli with Fennel, Eggplant in oil, and seasoned Mozzarella

2009-05-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

84 and Rockin' It

2009-05-20T14:30:00.001-07:00

Introducing, Angie Masullo Girtell

We are creating a book, a Blog, a Website: "A Couple in the Kitchen" launching soon.

Here's a taste: Beef Chuck with Rigatoni. Roasted Red Peppers from tonight at http://twitpic.com/5ljao

Homemade Wooden Boat Race. Nassau.

2009-04-04T17:51:00.000-07:00

"Longer Boats are coming to win us..." ~ Cat Stevens

Homer and Marge

2009-04-04T13:51:00.000-07:00

Homer
"My wife is not a doobie to be passed around!" ~ Homer Simpson

Marge

"I don't hate you for failing, I love you for trying." ~ Marge Simpson

Spring 2009

2009-04-02T04:29:00.000-07:00

For three days now, the rain rinses fine
yellow dust from yawning jasmine and oleander.

It bends early irises, creates a nervous first
dance between the freesia and arugula, draws

a syncopated song from roof and chimney.
Soon, we will open the house windows and doors,

read books on lazy swings, sip the scent of gardenia,
fill the house with magnolia and white sage.

But for now, we stand at the window,
and watch the wash of winter.

Mad Ramblings Because it's Spring

2009-03-20T21:07:00.000-07:00

If you stare at me with a crazy eye, and tell me what to do, rest assured I will invite my friends, and for fun do the opposite to you.

Ride My See-Saw

2009-03-20T20:35:00.000-07:00

When God talks, this is what I hear

2009-03-18T19:25:00.000-07:00

stop being so mean to each other.

Poem for My Husband 12

2009-03-17T17:14:00.000-07:00

He mumbles. In his sleep, in waking, pacing

to the kitchen and back, he looks for

eyeglasses, the newspaper, a blue-handled

hammer his father gave him, a shoe.

He calculates always, the curse of genius.

He does the math, and while it adds up,

it never works out for humanity

in the end.

Still, he gets in his truck and leaves, to mow this one's

lawn, trim that one's trees. Cries with a man

whose wife is gone, listens to a long-tale teller

ramble on. And at home, and at night, he mumbles

these love songs to me.

Money Changes Everything

2009-02-28T07:05:00.000-08:00

If I had a time machine, I'd travel back in history, find the first person who said, "Ok, put it in writing," and kick his sorry butt.

Next, I'd travel back one minute, find the guy he was talking to who said "I'll pay ya' tomorrow," and kick his sorry butt too.

Then I'd come back to the present, sit on my back porch, and paint the flowers in peace.

Bad artists copy. Good artists steal.

2009-02-28T06:32:00.000-08:00

.

The Picasso School of Art Promotion: Sell first, explain later

Micommunication Chronicles Part 3

2009-02-14T06:00:00.000-08:00

Dearest Husband, it was not the washing of golf balls I found curious. It was the use of the dishwasher to do it.

Why is PiMPY3WASH so Darn Pimpy?

2009-02-12T14:07:00.000-08:00

I’m fascinated by a washing machine named PiMPY3WASH. As you may have read, the washing machine belongs to Ryan J. Rose, has its own Twitter account, and is programmed to send Ryan a message when it completes a load of wash.

That was fascinating to start with, but what draws my attention now, as of 02/12/09 at 4:30 PM EST, is that PiMPY3WASH has exactly 499 followers, 415 more followers than its creator.

Granted, some of these followers may be Bots, but I’ve looked, and I think the vast majority are us non-bot types.

From casual observation of Mr. Rose, I can see that he’s brainy, funny, and quite clean. He certainly does laundry more than I do.

Why then, does an inanimate object that sends out no message other than “A load of laundry finished washing at: Sat Feb 7 00:48:51 2009” garner more attention than the man behind the machine?

I asked Ryan what he thought about the why of it; his response?

“That’s a difficult question many people have pondered. If you figure out something good, let me know ;-)”

I think it possibly has something to do with being “in” on something, but it’s the what “it” is that I can’t figure out.

Or maybe, folks are waiting to see if one day, PiMPY3WASH suddenly (and possibly of its own volition), will follow them back. Asimovians everywhere wait with bated breath.

Or maybe, just maybe, they’re hoping that PiMPY3WASH will teach them how to make millions through never before tried Internet Marketing “programs".

For me, I follow Mr. Rose @ryanjrose. I can’t wait to see what he does in the future. Other than another load of wash I mean.

If you're one of the followers, leave a comment and let me know why. I'm genuinely interested, and so too it would seem, is Ryan.

Reference articles:

The L.A. Times: http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/technology/2009/01/twitter-washing.html and also numerous other blogs and websites.

See it in action: http://www.youtube.com/ryanjrose

Thinking of Old Lovers

2009-02-12T09:20:00.000-08:00

"He was cheap, but not too cheap. He was a pair of Ferragamos on sale."

Five Days in Arkansas, For Nick Masullo, 1952 - 2008

2009-02-07T09:15:00.000-08:00

1.

The pilot urges us to look out
of the right-side windows of the plane,
asking with a smile in his voice if we have ever seen
a bald eagle in flight.
There it is, winging next to the Airjet as we ascend.

2.

When I was five-years old and my brother eleven, he taught me to play chess. This as a distraction after his failed attempt to enter me in the Little Miss America Pageant.

The family joked that his eyesight was always poor.
I liked that he believed I could pull off a crown.

“Each piece, from Pawn to King, has its place and its own characteristics of movement. Remember that: in this and in life there is order, and the Queen rules the board.”

He is a fastidious man, he always has been,
it serves him well now.
His shower strictly scheduled and timed,
each body part cleansed in its specific order.
His skin smells of amber when he is done.

I have inherited some of this compulsion for order,
but not all – I save private chaos for manic paint
on sleepless nights.
He can afford no chaos.
Or privacy.

I say I will make mashed potatoes this evening. He smiles.
I make enough for five days. Not enough for him.

He is more mother to me than the mother I had, and certainly more father, but just as they are to me strangers, he is in many ways an unknown.
Each day now, he is a stranger to himself
taking inventory each morning
to determine what has left him, what he has left.

I stand beside him and hold his head between my hands
to stop the now constant movement.
I kiss his forehead.
His eyes meet mine and still I see joy and wonder there.
How can that be I ask?
That’s what happens when you live in the moment he replies.

I argue with God as my form of prayer of late,
cry and drink mimosas too early in the morning,
listen to Abbey Road over and over and try to learn to play the tambourine and bongos
with an urgency that causes me
to lose the beat and rhythm.

I know timing is everything.
I know there is no time.

I cover his clean shirt with a beautician’s cape,
joke that his back-length hair needs a perm. Then feed him,
soft food to keep him from choking.

I search my mind for new humor,
some witty thing to make his eyes laugh.
My sister is the funny one.

People say surrender – to God, to the Universe, to “it”.
Okay, I’ll surrender, but not without a fight.

His friends come each and every day.
Tonight the musicians are here.
They play his own songs for him
with a tenderness I envy and admire.
They are his arms and legs and hands.
Too rapidly they are becoming his ears and eyes.

Charm and talent will only get you so far on life’s road I tease.
That seems to be the road I’m on he replies.

In all this, he has never lost his voice.

3.

When I first arrived, my sister-in-law mused
at my newly cropped hair. An emotion-fueled night
with blunt instruments, and a bottle of wine
called Running with Scissors I explain.
I pull out a book from my bag of the same name. It is a theme.

Back in my hotel room, I open her gift to me,
carefully wrapped with cobalt tissue paper, tied with gold string
and glass beads. I saw her select these beads with concentration
the day before. I thought she would make earrings for herself.

In my hand I hold her Grandmother’s silver shears,
smaller than my palm. In her note she warns
that they are sharp. She warns not to run.

4.

Bob Dylan is singing Forever Young through my earphones
and I am sobbing and cannot stop.
I think one day I will write this all down, that I will understand
the complexities of my emotions
and my brother’s emotions
and my nephews’ emotions
and my sister-in-law’s emotions
and my sister’s emotions
and my husband’s emotions
and everyone involved’s emotions
and that job is too big to think about
so I think about what it is I can think about,
and tell the flight attendant No
although I wonder if I should have taken the cookies after all.

I write for three minutes at a time, and while this seat on this plane
leaving the Ozark Mountains is a really lousy place,
there is in this moment
flight with a bald eagle, and mashed potatoes waiting.

5.

There are no revelations today.
No secrets uncovered.
No cures.
No no-fair calls.

There is melody, the Spring maybe.
There is a prism in the window raining cool
color on wood and stone, and in this white light moment it seems,
is the road we're on.

For Nick Masullo, 09/1952 - 09/2008

The Miscommunication Chronicles, Part I

2009-02-05T13:57:00.000-08:00

02/05/09 Dear Husband, I DO love cranberry juice & thank you, even if it in no way resembles the chicken stock I requested.

02/03/09 Dear Husband, thank you for changing the sheets for the 1st time in a year even though I did it an hour earlier.

02/01/09 Dear Husband, if, when you remove your socks in the future, you shake them right side out, you will save us both an enormous amount of time.

01/30/09 Dear Husband, either rinse the dishes first, or buy a new a dishwasher.

01/24/09 Husband, throwing the screen door in the trash after beating it with a hammer is not fixing it.

Can't Help Lovin'

2009-02-01T12:08:00.000-08:00

Birds gotta' swim, fish gotta' fly.
I'm gonna' love one man till he dies.

That's how I heard it.

My Daily Prayer

2009-02-01T10:27:00.000-08:00

No arguing with God

On South Carolina

2009-02-01T09:50:00.000-08:00

Here, the moon at midnight masquerades as dawn.
Georgia visits on the wind, and the mockingbird strings its song until sun bids good-day to ocean.

Stop Thinking

2009-01-30T14:53:00.000-08:00

How can too much happiness be a bad thing?

Pre-dinner Zen

2009-01-30T14:47:00.000-08:00

I'm too busy remembering my own mistakes to remember yours.

Pick One

2009-01-25T12:59:00.000-08:00

image copyright Karen Masullo 2008

We reveal the ignorance of our questions,
as we reveal the ignorance of our answers.

We reveal the truth of our questions,
as we reveal the ignorance of our answers

We reveal the ignorance of our questions,
as we reveal the truth of our answers.

We reveal the truth of our questions,
as we reveal the truth of our answers.

OCD Me?

2009-01-25T04:51:00.000-08:00

I'm a good candidate for OCD, but I'm just too lazy. That stuff takes commitment.

If I have to walk back upstairs to check if I left the iron on, to hell with it, we're insured.

OCD-lite.

Love Poem to My Husband

2009-01-25T03:30:00.000-08:00

Web2.0 Pick-Up Lines

2009-01-20T18:56:00.000-08:00

I was at a cocktail party tonight, and someone asked me, flirtatiously & with no preamble "so, how many you got followin'?"

I told him none since I started using the new restrainingorder.twitter.com app.

I think he was impressed.

First Clikball, then this

2009-01-18T21:16:00.000-08:00

"Dying is easy. Comedy is hard."

Reportedly the last words of Sir Donald Wolfit, British actor and director. 1902-1968

Well-delivered re-quote: Peter O'Toole, My Favorite Life

Sheer Dumb Luck and Brown Mascara

2009-01-17T19:17:00.001-08:00

Timing is everything

This is a Comma Separated Value file

2009-01-15T19:23:00.000-08:00

Human flourishing, pleasure, happiness, virtue, identity, love

Diary of a Smoker Quitting, the Official Re-post

2008-12-19T06:45:00.000-08:00

Please Read the Right-hand column of this blog before you read this. Gives it a little context for why something from 1998 is here.

Day One: Shit.

Day One again only the next day: Have tried to kill husband twice.

Decide against washing dishes as always have cigarette when done. Same for bathroom. Am suddenly thinking this has upside.

Eating dried fruit, apricots, pears, and brown things that look like squished roaches, which remind me of doobie roaches, which remind me of cigarettes.

Watch husband light a cigarette; look at him pitifully. Eat leftover beans from last night – that’ll show him.

Walk by computer and wave occasionally. Can’t sit and write or surf as this has been main smoking area.

It’s about four-o’clock now; I could have just one, I could have just one, I could have just one. That’s Mr. Nicotine. He lives with me; ‘he’ could be a chick, but frankly, right now, I don’t frigging care. Decide to play fantasy game on Playstation.

Spend next three hours breeding Chocobos so game hero can save world. World doomed in my opinion.

Day two, morning: Woke up two hours earlier than usual. Great; two extra hours of fencing practice with the RJ Reynolds Company and spawn.

Seriously considering finding some hallucinogens as never had desire for nicotine during a really good walk through a wall.

Woke up six times during night to pee because I drank four gallons of water "to assist my system flush poison."

Am feeling unusually testy as result of lack of sleep and deep-seated oral fixation fantasies. Decide to either kill or have sex with mail carrier when post arrives. Probably both.

Day 2, afternoon: See husband off to airport for business trip. Clean closets. Nothing new in mail.

Did all laundry out of necessity – body of dead mail carrier would not fit in dryer otherwise. Put in extra dryer sheets (Arm and Hammer, biodegradable.)

Decide to take walk. Meet neighbor who asks if mail came yet. She is smoking a cigarette. I tell her no out of spite.

Day 3, morning: Go through dead man’s mail bag; keep catalogues for joyous Christmas shopping. Feed rest down garbage disposal.

Day 3, Afternoon: Call garbage disposal repair.

Day 4: Receive visitor. Police looking for missing mail carrier – received anonymous tip from garbage disposal repair person. Make coffee and offer fat-free cookies and dried fruit. Arrange dried fruit to make smiley faces on plate. Police officer asks if I mind if he smokes.

Burst in to tears. Confess.

Day 472: Sentenced to death in murder of Postal Employee. Federal crime.

Day 478: Beaten by seven large women in prison for having no cigarettes to trade.

Able to sing better now; make up prison blues songs.

Day 552: Receive divorce papers: husband marrying tobacco heiress. Cell-mate offers to have ex husband whacked. Wants twelve cartons of cigarettes and one pair Doc Marten boots. Decide husband will live as price too steep.

Day 558: Secure two cartons of cigarettes for payment to cell-mate to have defense attorney whacked. Feel better.

Day 691: Served last meal – minister asks if anything wanted at last moments. Think back to how good cigarette after meals used to be. Request one last smoke. Minister reluctant, no smoking in federal building, but sneaks one in.

Sit back, relax, smoke. Ahhhhh.

Feel slightly dizzy, giddy, euphoric. Warden enters cell excitedly; Governor issues full pardon due to new Federal "It Takes a Village" crimes statute: allows for defense appeal of insanity by reason of severe nicotine withdrawal.

Day 1: Shit.

Copyright 1998, Karen Masullo

Love is Sheer Dumb Luck and Brown Mascara

2008-02-09T07:17:00.000-08:00

I fell in love with my husband the first time I saw him - he was wearing a tuxedo, and who can resist a man in a tuxedo?

Oh, it was more than that, but that first moment we locked eyes is so clear in my memory; I felt as if, for the first time in my life, I was home.

I stay in love with him because he’s a genuinely kind, funny man who likes women and men equally, and after 25 some odd years, we’re still having fun together.

We have grown up together; experienced deaths together, a flood, leaky roofs, conflicting politics, dancing, music, music and more music, more incredible food and wine than I can name, battles of will and concessions, amazing romance, mountains, oceans, valleys, a flying whale, fishing poles, one and only one very frustrating game of racquet-ball, friends that are family and family that are friends, and through it all, conversation - wonderful, intimate conversation.

I say it was the brown mascara. He says it was sheer dumb luck. Whatever it was and is, I’m thankful, and vow to keep it alive.

What’s your Love story? Comment below by Thursday 02/12/09, and on Friday, 02/13/09, we’ll announce a Valentine’s Day winner who will receive some free, great logo gear from the Sheer Dumb Luck and Brown Mascara store.

Make sure to include your email or Twitter @ so we can contact you, and be assured we will never use this information for any third party list or solicitation.

Dancing: An Emergency Guide for Men for Valentine's Day

2008-02-08T09:53:00.000-08:00

Party Etiquette:Dance Moves: An Emergency Guide For Men
From those witty folks at http://www.videojug.com/

After Vonnegut

2008-02-01T19:06:00.000-08:00

Hairy Duck Pen for Stadol

2008-01-29T09:04:00.000-08:00

A pen in my office:

Aunt Angie's B-Day wish to Helen

2007-11-06T14:43:00.000-08:00

For CB

2007-02-07T18:49:00.000-08:00