Monthly Archives: June 2012

Key learnings from Shiba Inu puppy cam

I’m assuming the world has tuned into Shiba Inu Puppy Cam at some point, but just in case you haven’t please click here N-O-W.

I have watched Puppy Cam far more than I should tell you, but at least I’m learning stuff.

First, puppies are often more entertaining than anything on TV, even when sleeping

Sorry, there’s puppy butt in ever screen shot I have taken

Also, I want a puppy  Continue reading



Peconic Bay by Tom Slaughter via 20×200

It’s that time again: #ScrantonTweets at the Beach.

Last year, my father planked. The year prior, I got him drunk on margaritas (just two!). What should I have him do this year?

My friend Leslie, a psychologist, is joining me at the beach. I’m a little concerned about her reaction to my family. Wouldn’t you be?

You still have at least one new post coming per day–hope you’ll check in between barbecues, beach trips and hangovers.

Don’t worry about me posting that I’ll be away. First, I live in an apartment building with several levels of security. Second, I have a friend staying in my place for some of the time. Third, everything in my apartment is covered in a  layer of dust because I haven’t called the cleaning lady for ages.

I went to a sh*tshow and didn’t even notice


I thought we had a nice enough business lunch together. It was neither mind-blowing nor awful. Then again, I wasn’t paying.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that you have been designated by Eater as a sh!tshow. Even stranger? Salman Rushdie is somehow involved–although his choice to have his birthday festivities elsewhere is telling.

Now I’m kind of waiting for you to close.

All my best to you in your future endeavors,

One Chicklette

PS your bathroom is kind of weird and your web site is amazingly awful.

This essay will break your heart

You have to read this essay even though it might leave you hurting. I can’t stop thinking about it.

Via The Rumpus “What He Took” by Kelly Grey Carlisle.

Sometimes I imagine my mother in the months before her death. I imagine, for instance, that it was raining when she finally went to the clinic. This is implausible, of course, because she probably went in May or June, months when it doesn’t rain in L.A. But I like the rain, and I like to think she did too, and so I make it rain as she waited at the bus stop. It was 1976 and so I imagine Chevettes and Galaxies driving by on the busy street in front of her, their tires kicking up a fine mist. Her jeans were probably too long for her, as mine are. Their hems were frayed and wet. Perhaps she leaned back against the smoky translucent plastic of the shelter, then touched her stomach. Just a faint, quick touch, as if she were checking to make sure her top button was fastened, but it wasn’t that. She hadn’t fastened that button for weeks.

The power of imagination: filling in the blanks of a story she may never otherwise know, all the way down to the tattered, damp hem of her late mother’s jeans.

Via and Diana Ong

I also love the way this powerful essay unfolds. She starts with the image of herself as a new mother, nursing her baby girl, while her husband steals away for what may be one last night of uninterrupted sleep for a while. But then details are revealed. The author’s mother is dead and before that, at loose ends.

The author has me thinking about the families that bring us into the world and what makes us who we are.

Read something that moved you? Let me know in the comments so I can read it too.