The sun's setting early on the longest day of the year thanks to the coming storm. Rain. Shower? It'll probably peter out before anything actually falls. It's weird. Among the things I miss most about Pittsburgh is the weather. Sure, transplants-- and natives-- bitch endlessly about the lack of sunny days, but I liked having a lower risk of skin cancer and I liked my landscapes green. In the almost-year since moving, most of the rain in the warmer months seems to be in the form of brief storms. Not sustained gentle rains of the type favored by farmers nor the sustained storming-all-night storms, just quick hits that usually bypass my humble abode thanks in part to the good old urban heat island effect. As a result, even with sprinklers the grass is already fairly yellowed.

Christ, how I dread holidays. Knowing that it's going to suck and trying to make it suck less is a setting myself up for disappointment, but I can't not do that. Our first father's day without my brother went okay-- as long as we were busy. St Michaels was an adequate distraction. And being down that area just reminded me how much I want to live on the water with a nice little sailboat. Just a wee little sloop or catboat would be nice.

Where did you go? Where have you been?

Where did January go? At least I'm down to one more month of waiting to hear if I'm a finalist for the fellowship I really want. Also, totally missed mentioning two years since officially adopting FatCat. DamnCat still looks at me as if asking when I'm going to return the interloper.

Paul Krugman and Arianna Huffington on the round table on This Week: could there be two less effective "defenders" of the proposed health care reform? With all due respect to Mr. Economic Nobel Prize, Krugman's a great writer but terrible speaker/ debater. Arianna Huffington.. oy.

I am a redhead again. I missed it. Very few blondes (whether natural or "blonde") look their best with that color. I include myself in that category-- it was pretty on its own, but made me look washed out). And I'm just not a brunette in either personality or color (no offense to the brunettes out there). Which leaves black and red. Black might actually work... but it's a commitment (and probably the one color that would actually shock my mother). Red is fun, it makes my eyes stand out even more, and random strangers ask me if it's my natural color when I'm not burgundy (obvi, no) and if I'm Irish (not a drop). And while it might be pushing the envelope a bit with job interviews in which I'm supposed to be extremely serious and reliable... well, I hope that the extra confidence makes up for whatever seriousness I lose.

Speaking of which, I found a fabulous Calvin Klein suit with an inseam that might actually work for me... but it's a little pricey. Of course. Because the one freaking suit at Macy's that wouldn't look completely ridiculous on me is also about the most expensive. Just try to find 36" inseams in women's sizes-- talls are hard enough to come by, but almost all clothing manufactures assume that tall people are just stretched out normal people with proportionately narrower hips and all. And shorties can kiss my ass on that matter. At least they can hem things. I can't add fabric to make the legs and arms longer.

My jewelry making skills are improving. I will have to take pictures. But showering, laundry, library, and such should take priority at the moment.

Les mals mots, les bons mots

I am so very tired of typing certain words. Words like "coverage" and "Massachusetts" and "assessment." I either need to set a macro, or pick an entirely different topic for my Masters essay next semester. I've done so much research on the Massachusetts health reform and the Prescription for Pennsylvania, but I still feel oddly unqualified to write the paper I'm writing. Ugh.

As a de-stresser I've been reading (okay, re-reading) Agatha Christie novels. I love a good mystery, and, I confess, I love me some Hercule Poirot. Poor French and all. The problem I have with many mysteries is how obvious they are from the onset. There's a reason why most are considered genre writing rather than literature (this is true of sci-fi and fantasy as well, which is probably why I read so little of those genres, too). So if I'm going to be stuck with a genre book, well, why not ones that are magnificent period pieces as well? I haven't looked at And Then There Were None or Murder on the Orient Express in a good 15 years, so it was fun re-discovering those gems. Plus, they're pretty quick reads.

Speaking of vintage things and period pieces, I lust for this poster:


Mont St. Michel

Beautiful! It combines one of the most hauntingly beautiful places I've visited with the eclectic bohemian vintage French aesthetique I covet. WANT. I want this one, too:


Your Victory Garden