How old do you think this kid is???
I love the way he nods his head. And when he pauses and looks like he’s going to pick his nose, but he’s just scratching his face.
I feel like the stereotype of adults reading kids’ books is that they are somehow debasing themselves, but let’s face it: I will never, at any age, be as cool as this kid.
Oh, and yes, that is a ukulele he’s playing. I’d like to hook him up with Stephin Merritt, but it’s possible the world would explode.
My roommate moved out today, taking Cooper on a long road trip back to Portland.
Sure, this is great for her life goals of finishing her degree and getting a job she likes and being near her family. But WTF, that’s my step-dog!
Who will chew the tassels off my slippers and sneak up behind me on the couch to remove the scrunchies from my ponytail, with his teeth?
Who will make off with any paper towel or Kleenex left anywhere in the vicinity? (Have I ever mentioned Cooper’s paper products fetish?) Who will leave meat unmolested on the counter, but leap up anytime there’s a shot at the butter?
Who will wriggle his butt while he backs away when I come home, chew-toy in mouth and looking for all the world like a haughty horse so that while I chase him down for tug-of-war I’m forced to inform him that he’s not as special as he thinks he is, are you, My Little Pony?
Who will put his paws on my arms as I rub his belly first thing every morning, reminding me yet again that, in fact, he is the alpha and I exist to do his bidding?
(My sad attempts at being an alpha dog worked about as well as Cooper’s efforts at chasing his tail… occasional success breeding overexcitement and subsequent flailing back into failure. I tried resigning myself to being the beta dog, but my roommate told me sadly that I’m more of a gamma.)
Luckily, to temper my pain, I have a very nice new roommate moving in. And she doesn’t come alone.
Everyone? This is Arthur.
My grandma was in fine form this Thanksgiving.
My dad has a new mustache, and as soon as she saw him, she said, “Now, X*, do you want to look older or younger?”
My dad, who is 62, considered all the various sarcastic responses he might make, but eventually settled on the straightforward answer that he’d like to look younger. To which she immediately responded, “Well, I think your mustache makes you look ten years older!”
Oh, Grandma.
(She didn’t drop it all weekend, either.)
I shouldn’t laugh too hard — although, let me tell you, I did — because I am so unbelievably tactless myself. Like, when I met my boyfriend — who needs a Blog Name, by the way — he hated most vegetables, including delicious ones like spinach, because he grew up eating them boiled to shit. And so what do I do when we’re eating spinach one time with his lovely mother? I very innocently explain how I had to convince him to eat spinach, since he grew up eating it prepared in the most terrible ways!
Seriously, folks. It never crossed my mind that the person I was speaking to was the one who did that terrible preparing.
His mother was really amazingly nice about the whole thing.
* I’m leaving my dad’s name out of it because his first name is extremely unusual and should someone ever google him just with that — which would definitely work for finding him — I don’t think he’d want them turning up this story!
One of the high points of this Thanksgiving has been getting to see my oldest cousin’s children more. Nico, 6, and Luke, 3, are super cute. And Nico loves me. Luke? Well… he wasn’t so sure.
On Wednesday night he waddled up to me and said, “There’s a mean Elizabeth in my class.” Then he stared at me accusingly for a moment before picking up his dump truck and pushing it around, muttering, “Mean Elizabeth.”
Thanksgiving Day when I passed him in the hallway he said plaintively, “Why are there so many Elizabeths?”
I think I was eventually able to win him over with my willingness to pretend we were in a space boat, but man. What could this Elizabeth actually have done to him???
Excerpts from IraqiGirl: Diary of a Teenage Girl in Iraq. That’s the book I edited, y’all.
But while I’m castigating myself, here’s one thing I did write recently: a letter (stemming from a loooong debate about animal rights) about the disability rights movement in the U.S. This history is awesome, yo.
I’d love to credit the photographers, but I only got these in an email forward from Michael Schwartz, abusing his own excellent Iraq analysis listserv.
Click for full sizes.
Of course, I won’t be able to bear to listen to it (aaahhhhh my voice aaaahhhhhh), but maybe you will…
underagereading
Elizabeth
Emily
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