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Showing posts from August 11, 2008

Update!

The Cat is not dead! Will reconsider the use of flea drops on antique pussycats in the future; it makes them dopey and unresponsive for a while. While I pull myself together, the little fluffy freeloader is sucking down lamb baby food like it's going out of style. I am such a pushover.

Mind Tics of Monday

Shred the Cat may be passing on. Or maybe it's the flea medication but at any rate, we more need more lamb baby food so I can try to coax her into eating. The heft of a sick animal is possibly the saddest weight ever. Despite our 16 years together, I am not ready. Adoring Betty Fussell's memoir. She's featured in this month's Vogue at eighty years old, putting us all to shame. Enormous slipper socks from Dastardly Wool are finished and now need to be felted. They are absurdly big. I am not watching the Olympics. I have not worn a wig, blonde or otherwise, in thirteen years. Lipstick: Poppy King's Sinner: pink. Praise all! Look at all the New Yorker online only content ! Symphony Spaces' Selected Shorts podcast this week John Lithgow reads Roald Dahl's Taste. He's wonderful, especially when reading all sides of a family argument. Shriekingly funny and the audience agreed.