Chinese art and American girls
ZERO, I MEAN ZERO, BOUGHS OF HOLLY
It is College Kid Coming Home Day! I have sent a note of warning to the washing machine and the shower. I have stocked up on apples, yogurt, and chicken. I have several saved episodes of Riverdale for us to groan through. Prepped and ready.
The lucky man may not realize that he is walking into chaos, however. Was it the smartest idea EVER EVER EVER to start the renovation of our front room/dining room/foyer/hall/basically the whole front half of the first floor a week before Christmas? Hmmm. On the other hand, said renovation has been almost a year in the making, between the design and all the different components, and it is finally happening. It is not full-blown construction, but it is lighting, painting, some ruinously expensive foyer wallpaper (I fell in love at first sight and then nothing more economical could ever fill the hole in my heart), and things are kind of a mess around here. Happy holidays! Hope you like dust, paper on the floor, and the smell of Benjamin Moore Regal Select. If it were not for a freezer full of ravioli, the Christmas levels would be nigh-undetectable.
I can’t believe it is 7:30 am and I have used the adverb “nigh.” Too bad for you that it’s No-Delete Thursday. Too bad indeed.
HIGHWAY SAFETY
Future historians will probably find it ridiculous that we all got around (for the most part) in metal gas-powered boxes and there was like an honor system of painted lines on the ground to stop people from crashing into each other. Did it stop people from crashing into each other, the historians will wonder? No it did not!
The future historians will also find it ridiculous that every once in a while you had to go to a cavernous Soviet-style government office and peer into a decades-old microscope thingy while a bored old lady asked CAN YOU SEE ANYTHING AT ALL and (if yes) OKAY YOU GET TO KEEP DRIVING THE DEATH MACHINE THEN. I took an entire morning off to do this, after receiving the letter that said I had to do so. The letter specifically said Mimi, you cannot renew your license online. You need an eye test. It is really important, we have to know all about your eyes, so come to the godforsaken DMV, even though you still have post-traumatic stress from helping to license your teen in 2020, and let us check out your eyes. You can lie about your weight and we will take a terrible photo of you. C’mon, said the Secretary of State (in the letter). It will be fun.
So I went, and of course it was as miserable as predicted, but I stood in the lines and did what I was told and then got to the part with the crap-ass plastic eye test binoculars and the guy said, “We’re skipping the eye tests now because of COVID” and I was like oh. But my letter? Never mind.
I had kind of a nice drive back on Elston though, the foggy skyline ahead of me and that awesome stretch of semi-industrial Chicago waking up around me, also it was like a little tour of Ancient Diners Whose Continued Existence I Am Pleased To Note. I resolved to get LT up really early some weekday for fried breakfast, as that is the sort of thing that empty-nesters who work from home really should be doing.
There has always been a lot of talking to inanimate objects in the house and I fear that the aforementioned empty nest/working from home/long-married togetherness will only make it worse. The other night I noticed that we had a fancy, expensive, small trash can (one of the Simplehuman models) in the basement TV room and I said, to the trash can, “Who put you down here? You are too nice to be in the basement!” and LT did not even pause his video game to reply (as the trash can), “That’s what I’ve been SAYING!!!”
MISC.
- Sometimes I lie awake at night wondering why the bicycle started out as a thing with one BIG wheel and one TINY wheel when other vehicles of the time (wagons, carriages) all had wheels that were the same size. What lunatic thought of that? If you are a bicycle historian you can tell me but fair warning that I may space out about halfway through the explanation.
- A colleague that I have only rare interactions with sent me a very long, chatty email that was a lead-in to a simple question that had a simple answer. I just was not really in the mood for a chatty reply so I just…answered his question, using maybe 10 words to his 100. He then forwarded my response to another colleague, noting the answer to the question but also saying “you might enjoy Mimi’s balloon-puncturing response…she really is wonderfully direct, huh? *eye-roll emoji*.” Only instead of forwarding, he replied, so that message making (gentle) fun of me went to…me. I wrote back saying hey genius, I’m not mad because it’s true but be more careful with your email maybe, and he apologized and it was all fine. I already knew about my work reputation and I feel bad about it for maybe five minutes a year. And some people actually like me! So whatever.
- I live near a corner bodega with a sign that advertises “Cigarettes And Much More Items” and I like the way they put that. Shades of Wigs And Plus.
—mimi smartypants heard you the first time.