loving marjorie williams

It's official: I blog solely to avoid doing actual work. Here to my worky chair I return, here in my worky chair I blog. And pay bills online. And look for mango chicken recipes.

Summer 'cap: NY/D.C. rocked my socks, the puppy got a kitten, I had a hysterical birthday, lots of Booky Goodness. Summer reading: Temple Grandin, the Dalai Lama, Marjorie Williams, and Lynne Reid Banks. Started (because as we all know, I am a self-starter and a non-finisher): Animals in Translation, The Universe In a Single Atom, The Woman at the Washington Zoo, and The Indian In the Cupboard. Yeah, yeah, I was supposed to have finished The Indian In the Cupboard in the fourth grade, shut up. Also, The Woman at the Washington Zoo can't be counted as yet another book I haven't finished because it comprises many sublime essays and those are like poetry - not to be drunk all at once, but sipped, stored and cherished. So there.

Um, I have to go defrost the chicken now; that is my contribution to tonight's dinner. The jejunity of my last attempt to create something edible by combining meat and fruit (1997?) could be blamed on my age (19-year-olds are supposed to order weird pizzas, not make them) but now that I am, oh, 23, there are no more excuses; best let the man handle dinner - after all, a man's place is in the kitchen.

;)