I ♥ Dick

Note to Chris Dodd: Make Dick's "People = Shit" your campaign song. You'll still lose, but you'll be unbearably cool.

The Delgados, "Coming in from the Cold"

And now for your morning soul crushing...

Chowder Boarding

Public Service Announcement

Trader Joe's Butternut Apple Soup = vomitous. My appetite's been on the fritz over the past week or so anyway for some reason, and this crap just made me want to shelve the idea of eating anything for the foreseeable future. Fortunately, Janine's been on overdrive in preparation for Thanksgiving, and not eating's not going to be an option in a few days.

Meanwhile, I'm going to try to avoid the little bit of my finger that made it into the mashed turnips.

Dessert Storm

Janine's been struck by a bolt of inspiration that has moved her to seriously plan a bakery/dessert shop in Baltimore -- she started off with a batch of red velvet cupcakes a few nights ago, and they were remarkably good (of course, she plans to perfect them). She's giving herself a year to prepare, then launching for all she's worth.

She's now passing around the idea hat for names for her place. The short list is:

The Confectionery Goddess
Confection Perfection
Confection Cafe
Confectionery Cafe
Lord Baltimore's Bakery

My short list is:

Gastro-Punk
Cakes of Fury
Crisco Inferno (Bake Baby Bake)
The Painted Tart
Forni-Cake
Toothsome Devil

Anybody else?

John Bockhorst

Interesting story: I dutifully awoke at 5 AM on Saturday morning to stroll down to the Sip & Bite, a pretty lousy diner a few blocks from here. I was scribbling away at my Nanowrimo project when a young woman sat down opposite me an started asking me questions about where I was from. Then she started making fun of my damn accent, certian that I was from Canada or Minnesota because of the way I said, "though." And then she starts making ham-fisted sex jokes based on my astrological sign. And then it's pretty clear that she is, in fact, at work, initiating lines of commerce that start at my wallet and end in her pants. Propositioned at a greasy spoon. My life in Baltimore has become so damn peachy.

That sucks: I was actually planning to try to amend some of my recent reclusionist tendencies and get some people together to go see the Decemberists at the 9:30 Club in DC next weekend, but alas they've cancelled their tour. That makes an even umpteen concerts I've missed in the last year due to cancellations (Decemberists in DC, Innocence Mission in Philly), outrage at ticket prices (Morrissey here, on Halloween, for $65 a head), or sheer forgetfulness (Feist here, on 9/11, Peter, Bjorn, and John at the 9:30 earlier this year). Might actually have to spring for the delux reminder system at Pollstar.com to rip my attention away from this damn house.

Work is hell, especially driving 2 hours a day for the priviledge of obsessing about hyper-specific triviliaties. Luckily, I've got the mornings, which I'm alternating between the gym and Nanowrimo (again, for what, the fifth time?). This year is proving maybe a little more encouraging, though, with as much hand-wringing as I've been doing over the years about getitng back on the writing horse, I actually seem to have a storyline with some legs. I'll be devoting some time to it, at least, although I don't think I actually habor the delusion that I'll be piling up 50,000 words this month. I believe 5000 would be a personal record, so the bar's appropriately low. At this point, low is wonderful.