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Friday, June 13, 2003

Today is a bee-yoo-ti-ful day for two reasons. A) My family will not have to relocate to East Lyme, Connecticut (As in the quite unpleasant disease, not as in the quite pleasant citrus fruit). Dad landed a job here, so we're staying in Portage (symbol: French dudes canoeing) at least until I graduate. B) It's sunshiney.
This calls for a picnic, pot-luck style!
I'll make y'all some Melly Special Sandwiches. Here's the directions:
1. Get two pieces of bread. Cut a triangle into each. Eat triangle. Butter one side each of the remaining pieces of bread.
2. Place bread slices into skillet. Place skillet on stove. Turn on.
3. Crack an egg. Pour half of its contents into one of the triangle-holes, pour the remaining contents into the other.
4. Let fry. When eggs are bubbling to a perilous degree, flip over.
5. Place one slice of provolone cheese on one of the pieces of bread, place turkey on the other. Let stand, allowing cheese to melt and turkey to brown.
6. Turn off stove. Put the two pieces of bread (and their respective contents) on plate, together.
7. Eat the greasy, carbohydrate-laden delicacy.
Of course, sandwhiches are not enough to feed a bunch like us. Who will volunteer to bring MelloYello, tortilla chips, and Spaghetti-O's? (Highest per-capita consumption of Spaghetti-O's in the United States: Michigan).
Also, we need a mix tape. A proper picnic cannot be held without a mix tape and a boom box. Anyone know of some good summery picnic-type songs? I tried searching for a Flaming Lips version of, say, "The Ants Go Marching 1 by 1, Huzzah, Huzzah" but to no avail. Ditto on a Wilco rendition of "Mr Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, Please shine down on me." So it's up to you.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 1:07 PM

Thursday, June 12, 2003

I learned how to snap the other day. Seriously. Nothing could have made me happier. I have spent my entire life without this skill. It's not like I didn't know how to do it...I knew that you put your middle finger and thumb together and moved them really fast, but the elusive snapping sound that is supposed to accompany this action was lost on me.
Yet yesterday it came. It CAME. I am now a proud member of the snapping society.
I long ago started believing that you just can't go through life without being able to snap. You miss out on so many things-- the Hokey Pokey, countless sports cheers, and, of course, the ability to call your servants to your side instantly. I don't have a servant yet, but it's nice to prepare for the future.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 11:16 AM

Wednesday, June 11, 2003

You know I hate to plug things without commentary, but I thought this was worth it.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:59 AM

Tuesday, June 10, 2003

I tried to write this last night, but Blogger foiled my plans (maintenance, my ass). Yet perhaps it was a good thing it did. I was so mixed up upside down cold last night that whatever words that might have flowed out here could have hurt me. I wrote them down on paper, instead, and will transcribe them here. But the passion and the hurt is gone, really. They're empty words now, reminiscent of a time when I was mixed up upside down cold.
I've been on this whole "let us read snarfy comingofage novels!" kick lately, which accounts for my last three reading selections. They're all the same story, really, but with different page turns that perpetuate my growing sunburn.
I escaped from the sun long enough to babysit friends of the family; one girl of 6 (Allie) who has a pnechant for playing "monsters" and scaring the general public with her frequent bloody noses and her sister of 2 (Sammie) that only understands one word -"ok"- and when you say it softly into her ear she will nod enthusiastically and transfer her smile wetly onto your cheek.
I was a Good Babysitter. I remembered the kids' names, even though they both end in "ie". I played monsters and fed them icecream and sent them off to bed at a reasonable time; I did not shriek when a baby boxturtle was found on the living room couch and I made sure to do the dishes while still keeping a watchful eye over the ensuing Peace. The only regards to my perfect image in which I failed was the bedtime story.
There once was a young princess. She was not beautiful or rich or daring like her other princess friends but she was happy enough when music played, and because this is a fairytale music was always playing. The princess, therefore, was always happy, at least on the inside. (Sometimes, you see, she'd pretend to be sad on the outside for variety but her sucess in this just made her all the happier.)
In fact, the only time she was ever sad was when her daddy and mommy, the king and queen, told her that it was time for the princess to find herself a prince. The princess was not sad at the prospect of love, but rather at the possibility that no prince would ever love her back. But the princess wanted to please the king and queen so she played some happy music and took a deep breath.
The first prince she met made her realize that this adventure wouldn't be so bad after all. The prince was funny, smart, handsome, kind, and many other cliche positive statements that are required for a true Prince Charming. The princess loved him for all of his perfect generalities for four blissful years until she realized that she only loved him in the perfect, cliche, Hallmark sort of way. This being her fault, and not the prince's, the two broke apart on friendly terms. The princess resumed her quest for a prince.
The truth is, the princess grew lonely without her old prince to talk to. But she knew that that relationship had not worked out, so she decided to look for a prince that was the exact opposite of her old Prince Charming. She wanted something edgier than Hallmark. This was how the princess met the commoner. The commoner played his own music, which made the princess very happy indeed. The princess cast all of her remaining love on him. This was done in secret, because it was not proper for a princess to be in love with a commoner.
However, messy things like love can never be kept secret forever. One rainy day, the commoner realized that the princess was in love with him. But instead of loving her in return, the commoner merely recoiled in horror. "A princess that is not beautiful nor bold has cast her sights on me? How awful! I deserve only beuatiful and daring princessess!"
It was then that the princess realized that this commoner was so anti-Hallmark that he virtually was Hallmark, and indistinguishable from her past Prince Charming
[Ed. Note: I think Rambler would call this a headfuck]. This revelation made the princess very sad.
"Did the princess say 'off with his head'?" inquired Allie/Sammie.
"No," I said, "Because even though she no longer loved the commonder, she could not bring herself to kill him completely."
"Well then," said Allie/Sammie, "that was a silly story."
Indeed it was. I had forgotten the neccasary gore needed in order to amuse Allie/Sammie.
"Gah." said Sammie/Allie.
"It was a true story, though." I replied. "Ok?"
Sammie/Allie kissed my sunburned cheek before closing her eyes.
At that moment, a line from my most recently read trash novella came back to me. "Sometimes people use thought in order to escape from living life." I thought (ha!) back on this year and remembered my need to tie everything up neatly with a pretty bow, even messy packages like love. My words wrapped around everyone and everything, glazing over this and exemplifyig that in order to make everything perfect. Everything had to be summed up in a conspicous manner in the hopes that people would ooh and ahh over the loveliness of it all to see what lies beneath. And it seemed that yesterday I had finally ran out of wrapping paper. My fairy tale wasn't covered enough, and ugly parts glared out.
Incidentally, the commoner once wrote a poem about a girl that was so in love with words that she isolated herself in their outside warmth and inside emptiness.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 11:00 AM

Monday, June 09, 2003

Did y'all know that I am the number one search referral for a "Say yes to Michigan shirt"?. Hell, I should sign myself up with the travel bureau and make some money while I'm at it. Of course, by announcing this fact I will undoubtably bring even more disapointed viewers to my blog looking for a t-shirt, for my lack of archivey goodness.
"Archivey" kind of sounds like a spice, does it not? Saffron. Garlic. Archivey.
The brainlessness of summer has gone to my head. I apologize, and promise to write something pseudo meaningful later in the day.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 12:04 PM