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Swan Palace. From the menu of my favorite Chinese place in town: Honey Glazed Walnut Shrimp: Shimp in a light batter in snow-white sarcastic lemon, in comination with mayonnaise, surrounding with honey glazed roasted walnut and topped wtih sesame seeds. What a tantalizing combination! –I haven’t been brave enough to try it yet. Canton Steamed […]

Thoughts on Writing. Talking to Lee last night, here are some things that I know: When you sit down to write a story, you should ask yourself “Why?” If all you’re trying to do is entertain someone, that’s good but probably not honest. If you’re trying to “make people think” by telling them your opinion,

Right. You know you’re doing something right when you dream about Jimmy Stewart.

Another cute kid moment. In the grocery store. For some reasons, bananas are still pronounced “mnans,” even though Rachael can say “beautiful” clearly. “Mnans! Mnans!” Since bananas are her favorite fruit in the world, I give her a couple. Mind you, she still thinks tomatoes are apples, but she’s a good kid nonetheless. She clutches

Poor, Poor Marilyn Manson. It’s pretty bad, poor guy. I’m drivin’ along, listening to a rock station, when the MM version of “Sweet Dreams” comes on. Ray’s with me. She starts howling. Then she growls. Then she howls some more. We both crack up.

Luck. I’m putting in for a tech writer position at work. Wish me luck.

cube meditation #1 rest; make gaps to be filled in later; space; inconsequentialize incessancies. calgon: where were you when i needed you the most? japanese flute music & little old men w/ brooms: hiding behind the inbox count your blessings, count to ten: you must be joking! take a deep breath: here? with this air?

Rough Month I took a shower yesterday, and I knew that the last couple of months were over when it felt like a crust of scabs just fell off my entire body. Whew. My daughter is becoming a pre-schooler, and my husband is having an early mid-life crisis. But it’s mostly okay now.

Chain Letter: Warning, read at your own risk. Via my brother Matt. Hello, my name is Amber and I suffer from the guilt of not forwarding 50 billion chain letters sent to me by people who actually believe that if you send them on, a poor 6-year-old girl in Arkansas with a breast on her

Theme of the week: The talk at work has been slang. As in, “What up, Dog?” It all started when someone of the hippie generation asked me what “word” meant. “Word is ‘truth,’” I said. “You know, Hallelujiah, that’s the word of the lord. And word to your mother is ‘really big truth.’” Can of