Joelle said around lunch time on August 13, 2007
I have a kind of… situation. There is a mystery smell in my apartment. Now, before you start assuming I’m a crappy housekeeper, I assure you my home is quite tidy. All the garbage has been emptied, the disposal has been run extensively and deodorized. My sink was recently rooted… twice. My bathroom is immaculate (I even installed a new toilet seat yesterday), I burn smelly candles and all of my pilot lights have been checked. Nothing died in the fridge and from what I can tell, nothing is dead or dying in my home. There are no dead hookers in my mattress. None of my plants have root rot and there are no half-eaten anythings hiding anywhere. Fans are running in every room of the house. And yes, I did consider that it’s me. I’ve been assured that it’s not. *sniffs*
So… what gives?
Here’s the deal: I don’t smell it in my house at all until I leave. I can have the windows and door open all day long airing the place out or I can keep it shut up all day with no change in result. When I come home and unlock my front door, even if the windows have been left open, I smell what I thought at first was ammonia, like a litter box, but now has been determined to smell more like fuel or gas. This sent me in a wild panic to check all my pilot lights, but no, that’s all good.
Also, the smell never really enters my apartment. Once you’re in, the smell is gone. Once you’re a foot past the front door… poof! Disappears. If you try to go back and smell it in the same spot you just stood, it’s also gone. It’s like this strange scent that lives in a 1inch field of space just in the jamb of my front door. I don’t smell it when I’m outside, only as I swing the front door in to go inside. Once inside, the smell is gone.
I feel like I’m taking crazy pills here. What could it be? Airplane fumes? Car exhaust? Electrical problems with the building? Olfactory haunting? What is it?
Joelle said at some point on August 10, 2007
I think it’s high time I bought new flatware . Forks and knives are not usually something I think about and it’s really not the kind of thing anyone really think about replacing all that often, do they? At least I haven’t. The set of flatware have in my drawer I got in 1991 as a gift. It’s Pfaltzgraff, so it’s not like it’s bendy, but after (quick math in my head) almost 17 years, I think it’s time to bid it farewell. Those spoons fed ice cream to soothe many broken hearts, the knives moonlighted as screwdrivers, putting together more crappy furniture than I care to count… this flatware has seen a lot.
Wait a minute. I’ve had my flatware for almost seventeen years? I don’t think I’ve had anything seventeen years besides my jaded perspective. Things like yearbooks or family photos, your baby shoes… things like that, sure. Those are things you expect to have seventeen years, but forks you got when you were 18? Not so much…
Anyway.
I realized this morning that I needed new flatware when I reached for something to stir my coffee with and grabbed the butter spreader. You know, the little one with the beveled edge that you use with fancy-shaped balls of butter at restaurants. I chose it because I realized I was down to only two spoons left in my set, the rest victims of the garbage disposal or the former office desk. I figured I should use the scalloped sugar spoon or the fancy butter spreader before I wasted my only two spoons. How ever would I eat my sorbet later? I wouldn’t want to do anything extreme like dishes.
Do you ever hang on to a piece of silverware even though you hate it? I have a fork that has a bent tine. No matter how I try I can’t get that tine bent back into place, but do I throw the fork away? No! I curse at it and throw it back in the drawer and pick a different one. Why do I do that? It must be the same gene that makes me keep pens with no ink.
Joelle said at some point on August 8, 2007
I was skimming my Google homepage for my morning dose of news and found this little gem out of New Zealand. Apparently, a couple had decided to name their newborn baby “4Real” because they saw the ultrasound and knew the baby was “for real”. But, because it was rejected by some sort of New Zealand baby name registry for including numbers and not using consecutive characters, they’ve decided to formally name the baby “Superman” while still referring to is as “4Real”.
I’m sorry, but are you fucking kidding me? Stupidity this grand deserves profanity. These people are breeding? I think the movie Idiocracy is right, smart people are over-thinking their procreation, being too cautious, waiting until it’s too late or they’re too old or they only have one baby. (And believe me, I feel that way, too.) Meanwhile, we’re being out-bred by miscreants who want to name their kid UB40 or whatever. Jesus H. Smart people! Put down the Nietzsche and start shagging. I implore you.
Pat and Sheena Wheaton say they will get around the decision by the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages by officially naming their son Superman but referring to him as 4Real, the New Zealand Herald newspaper has reported.
The Wheatons decided on the name after seeing the baby for the first time in an ultrasound scan and realizing their baby was “for real.”
“No matter what its going to stay 4Real,” Wheaton told the Herald, “I’m certainly not a quitter.”
[read full article]
Stay in school, kids.
Joelle said late at night on August 4, 2007
I’m selective about the musicals I see… some of them are a little over the top for me (even the ones I’ve been in). In the last decade, I think I’ve only been to a few shows — Cabaret, Rent and now Avenue Q.
For years I’ve been wanting to see Avenue Q. I’d heard all the great reviews and after hearing a few songs from the show, I was convinced that Avenue Q is definitely right up my alley. With songs like “If You Were Gay” and “The Internet Is For Porn”, how can you not be entertained?
While in Vegas in 2005, I saw the orange “furry” cabs around town as promotion for the show and was thrilled to hear it was going to be at the Wynn Hotel. I figured I’d have a better chance of seeing it there, but never got around to it. I guess it’s run it’s course there as it’s been replaced by Spamalot and the fine folks at San Diego’s Old Globe Theatre put in their bid as the first stop on the Avenue Q national tour (running at Spreckels Theater).
I knew it would be here, but with tickets running a bit tight for my budget this summer, I figured I wouldn’t get a chance to see it once again. But, fate was on my side! Yesterday, I logged into MySpace and saw that the Old Globe Theater had placed a bulletin offering 50% all tickets for tonight’s 9pm show only if you mentioned MySpace when you made the reservation. A few texts to GFI and we had fantastic orchestra seats, center stage within minutes. Hooray!
We started the evening at Cafe Sevilla, a great Spanish place downtown where we indulged in a few sangrias and a variety of delicious tapas. I’d only done the tapas thing once, when I was in England, and really enjoyed it so it was fun to do it again. If you ever go to Cafe Sevilla, I highly recommend the Chicken Croquetas and the White Sangria.
Anyway, after hailing a cab, we made it to the show right on time, picked up our tickets at will call and proceeded to enjoy one of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time. Maybe ever. The actors were great, especially the female lead (and various other characters), Kelli Sawyer, was fantastic. Her voice was great, even when singing in character voices. To say this musical is irreverent is putting it mildly. It’s rude, crude and socially unacceptable, but it’s just so… happy (and true) that you can’t help but laugh. I wish I could see it again before it leaves. I’ll have to go see it in New York, I suppose. Maybe in New York there won’t be a woman behind me gasping at every other potentially offensive thing.
Go see Avenue Q if it comes to your town and you’re not a complete tight ass. Go if you areamused by excessive stereotyping, swearing, hardcore puppet nudity and really, really cute bears. Go if you like Gary Coleman. Go see Avenue Q.
Joelle said in the early morning on August 3, 2007
As a kid growing up, I never wanted to be famous. You know how some people want to be rock stars or President or like… a supermodel or something? I never wanted that. First, I wanted to be a doctor — mostly because my Barbie was a doctor and damn if she didn’t look sharp in that coat. Then I wanted to be a singer, as demonstrated by the Gershwin tunes I would belt out in my living room accompanied by our player piano. Singing was followed by dancing, but only because I took eleven years of ballet lessons and nine years of jazz dance. My dad used to tease me and say I wanted to be a singing dancing doctor. Think of the specials I could offer! “Pap n’ Tap” — get a pap smear and a tap lesson for one low price! “Lambatomy: The Forbidden Surgery"…
But, I digress.
I still don’t want to be famous. Famous is a pain in the ass. But, I do want to be successful and I feel like if we aren’t now, we’re well on our way! Recently, Kathy and I not only acquired our very own publicist, the lovely Carly Milne (who is also an established author with a new book
coming out soon), but we also are going to be working with a very cool lit agent (who I won’t name just yet — the ink isn’t quite dry). I feel so good about all of this. Excited… a little nervous in that good way. We really dig our editor, our publicist is a long-time client and friend and we really enjoyed chatting with our new agent this morning. She was fabulous and it makes me feel like we have such amazing, capable people behind our little Moxie machine.
Oh my god, we have “people”. 
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