Party favors for visitors of my blog

I love nothing so much as satirical generators on the internet. Today on FB, someone posted this most excellent link to a generator of Lutheran Insults! How neat is that?! Satirical generator + major figure of the Reformation (a topic I'm a little obsessed with right now)* = score! Here's one that I just got-- 

"You pant after the garlic and melons of Egypt and have already long suffered from perverted tastes." 

(From Against Latomus, pg. 223 of Luther's Works, Vol. 32)

What does that even mean? Are garlic and melons symbolic of earthly sin? Because my daughters eat melon at least 3 times a month.

Then of course there's this wonder: Malcom Gladwell Book Generator. I won't spoil it by posting them.

And then, for the word nerds, here is an anagram generator! Yaaay! Words...scrambled...new words!

Your welcome.

*a little obsessed with just means I spend time reading Wikipedia entries. You don't think I'd actually read a book on the subject, do you? No way! I'm currently reading a zombie novel. Much faster paced.

Viva familia

Here are a couple of pictures from Mardi Gras. My brother-in-law, Ben, plays clarinet in one of my favorite bands ever- Panorama Jazz Band. During the Mardi Gras season it morphs into the Panorama Brass Band. In addition to marching in several parades, on Mardi Gras proper they march with the St. Anthony Ramblers, starting in Tremé, dovetailing with the St. Anne's Parade, and then separating to wend their way through the Quarter. I haven't marched with them since having kids, but it is my favorite way to spend the day. Drinking wine straight from the bottle and dancing through the streets. In any other context that would be a really troubling scenario, right? But on Mardi Gras, it looks more like this-

My step-sis, Ama, and Ben

And let me tell you, nothing makes my daughters, niece, and nephews (and me!) feel more bad ass than when we're on the street watching a parade and Panorama comes marching up and gathers by the kids to play them a special 30 seconds before marching on. Can't wait until next year!

(all photos by Marc Pagani)

La Danse de Mardi Gras

Oh, the pain! The pain of waking up on Mardi Gras in a city where today is simply another Tuesday. Agapito had to go to work, and Lucero was off to take some horrid standardized test, and while taking Rosie to school I felt particularly peeved by all the healthy cyclists riding around. Today everything is supposed to be upside-down! The smooth-running infrastructure of Austin was an affront to me today. I called Agapito at a stop light to share my distress, and we agreed that this would be our last Mardi Gras spent outside of New Orleans (barring a trip to Brazil or some other exotic locale that celebrates Carnival). And the Facebook updates with my friends and family in their regalia marching with krewes? Like daggers in my heart.  Nunca jamas, as my husband just kindly translated for me.

Here is a great article about Mardi Gras for the uninitiated- Five Myths about Mardi Gras. And below is my favorite Mardi Gras and Cajun song, "La Danse de Mardi Gras." The tune is medieval, of Old Breton origins. It has a haunting quality. Here's a great write-up on the song.

What, no wheel chair?

 
I promise this blog won't become a Downton Abbey fan blog, but please, somebody fix my printer so I can print out these paper dolls.

And, if you'd like to see what the cast looks like in real life, voila.

In the wake of Downton Abbey's season finale.

Maybe Downton Abbey jumped the shark-- okay, fine, there's no 'maybe' about it--but that doesn't alter the fact that I loved the season finale! I do love a happy ending. (I'll probably be using superfluous unemphatic affirmative 'do' for a couple of days when grown-ups aren't around. Agapito wouldn't let that sh!t fly, God bless him.)


The goofy cross-stitch on the left comes from this fun blog.

For those of you who look to public television for historical accuracy, here's a fun article about the verbal anachronisms littering the show. There's even a fun YouTube mash-up! Downton Grrrr.

Speaking of YouTube mash-ups,  it looks as if the Twilight crowd has gotten its hands on Downton Abbey. Here's a Matthew/Mary montage that's so bad you can't look away!

Speaking of Mary, is anyone else now as obsessed as I am with achieving a décolletage that's as milky clear as hers?! Viva la sunscreen

Three things that I'm totally digging these days.

1. Coconut oil! Yes, it's totally fad-ish of me, but it seems like there's no end to what coconut oil is capable of. In fact, here's 52 Uses for Coconut Oil! I add a spoonful to my new favorite smoothie blend, which I've dubbed "World Domination in a Cup." Blend together (serves 4):

• 1/2 cup of chopped frozen spinach
• 1/2 cup frozen berrie blend
• 1/2 cup of yogurt (I used Fage, but Whole Milk Brown Cow Vanilla adds decadence)
• A couple scoops of your favorite green powder (RAW or Sprirutein are my faves)
• 1 teaspoon of coconut oil (unrefined full flavor)
• 1 cup of coconut milk or soy milk
• (optional) 1 tablespoon of almond butter

2. Mashed legumes! Better yet, mashed and fried legumes! I'm going to make these White Bean Burgers tonight, just in time for item number 3...

3. Downton Abbey! I'm hooked, along with the rest of America, despite the fact that the second season descended into complete inanity. Cousin Patrick come back from the dead acting like an overacting Quasi Modo? (and I'm not even talking about the burn scars, people). Mathew is crippled (and essentially castrated) in the Great War, only to surprise us all with a miraculous recovery? Here's a fun read on the derailment of Downton Abbey.

p.s. Here's an article touting the health benefits of coconut oil- Coconut Oil Benefits.

Back home

Although it was sad to leave Nana, Grandpapa, and New Orleans just three days before Mardi Gras, it was so lovely to come home to my beautiful Lucero and Rosalía. I also missed my husband, who, in his infinite mercy, had cleaned the house! I love nothing so well as a tidy home, which is really unfortunate given that Agapito and I are terrible housekeepers. I find that if my space is messy, my thoughts are apt to be messy too. What this means is that I'm discombobulated a lot of the time.

 

Speaking of spaces, today we're going to go look for houses. Woo-hoo! I'm thinking the oldest we'll be able to afford is a mid-century number, but who knows, maybe there's a little 1930s bungalow that needs a little loving? Flexibility is all, I remind myself. Below are some pics of Nana and Magdalena. Nothing like the palliative power of a baby's love! 

A morning in the Quarter

Magdalena and I came to New Orleans for a few days to help out Nana through the latest round of chemo. It's proving most effective, I might add (fingers crossed!). Mardi Gras is next Tuesday, and though we've yet to catch a parade, the energy in the city is so fun! I'm hoping the energy helps kick my folks' cancer in the ass. 

Yesterday, we took Nana for her dose of magical poison at Touro Infirmary. That's some dark magic, I tell ya. Magdalena and I had three hours to kill before picking Nana back up, so I took my baby girl on a walking tour of the French Quarter to show her my old stomping grounds. A Friday morning stroll was perfect, just before the insanity of Mardi Gras weekend got into full swing. Also, I like the Quarter best in the morning, when the streets are still clean and the tourists haven't begun misbehaving. First stop was my favorite café, Croissant D'Or. 

Croissant D'Or was once Angelo Brocato's Italian Ice Cream shop. Judging from the sidewalk tiles in the picture below, it would appear that the old Brocato's had gendered seating areas? Ah, the good old days. 

  

What always used to drive me nuts about Croissant D'Or was that they close at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. So getting my business together and down to the Quarter in time to enjoy an eclair and coffee at Croissant D'Or was a rare and special treat. Below are a couple pics of the interior of the café. 

Magdalena admires the birthday cake molding.

After coffee and tiramisu, I loaded Mags back into the front carrier, and we made our way up Royal Street. We passed many fortune tellers, both ones who'd set up a table on the street, and others who'd established shops, like this one below. 

When I was younger, I loved reading Tarot Cards, Runes, and doing the I Ching. But now that I have children, absolutely not! The stakes are much too high. It used to be just one basic question my girlfriends and I would ask: Will I find true love? But the threat that the cards might reveal some awful fate for my kids is just too much to handle. My friend and former partner in divinations, Kathleen, put it perfectly--Even if you were to ask a fortune teller the most innocuous question: Will the ache in my lower back subside? there's always the possibility that she would reply, Hmm, my sources aren't saying, but I can't shake the image of a dying child. Uh, yeah, no fucking thanks.

Historically, Royal St. has always been my favorite Quarter thoroughfare, but I've shifted my allegiance to Chartres, which is a little bit grittier and more interesting. We stopped and tipped our hat to my favorite place to have a drink, Napoleon House, and then wended our way to my favorite perfumerie, Hové.

Old typewriter at Hové.

Hové moved from Royal to Chartres, which was a little unsettling. Magdalena and I had fun smelling--or in her case, trying to eat--all of the tester papers, especially their signature vetiver root scent. It's so earthy and deep. Think sandalwood, but not so hippie. I like to imagine I would have carried a little vetiver sachet to breathe deeply as I walked through the foul-smelling Quarter streets of the 19th century. The Quarter smells none too nice on garbage day in the height of summer. Can you imagine what it was like before plumbing and deodorant?!   

Magdalena made a lot of friends in the Quarter. She's very hip to the fact that smiles will get you far in this life. She kinda left a trail of broken hearts in Jackson Square. Next time we visit the Quarter, we're going on a guided tour of The New Orleans Pharmacy Museum, because old-timey glass bottles and herbal concoctions are too fun. I promise to share. 

"Thanks for taking me on the tour, Mom!"

Cemeteries can be fun!

Provided they are appropriately old and spooky. Over the last few visits to New Orleans, I have rediscovered what fun rambling around the old tombs can be. When I was 16 and we lived in Mid-City, I used to walk our dog Sasha through an old cemetery off of Canal-- mainly so I could smoke cigarettes on the sly, but also for the thrill of glimpsing a misplaced femur through the cracks of derelict tombs.

Here are some fun, if sacrilegious, pics of Cysko and the girls at the Prytania Cemetery, followed by a picture of Sims and Tara, my step-bro and sis-in-law, just before they dined across the street at Commander's.

 

 

Sims and Tara looking dapper.

Don't eat the marshmallow!

You know the famous Marshmallow Test that studied delayed gratification in kids? A child is told she can have one marshmallow right away, or two marshmallows if she'll just wait a couple of minutes. Putting aside the fact that marshmallows are gross, what kind of person are you? I'm totally the stuff-it-in-my-mouth-right-now kind of a gal (Get your head out of the gutter!). Actually, I'd probably be the sorry-ass kid who took one marshmallow immediately and then begged piteously for more. 

Case in point- A few weeks ago I was sitting around with the Magpie, uselessly gnashing my teeth over the fact that two of my parents have been diagnosed with cancer in the span of two months.  Feeling impotent and sad, sitting at home in Austin while mom is getting schlepped to radiation and chemo appointments in New Orleans, I decided to do what any loving and thoughtful adult daughter would do: CUT MY OWN BANGS.

Ever penny-wise (read: impatient), I looked for a how-to video on the internet. Since I'm 35, and I have frizzy, curly, White-girl hair, I followed the instructions given by a gorgeous teenager with thick, straight, Asian-girl hair.  Curiously, the bangs I cut did not look like the side-swept bangs cut by Rosebud143. My bangs looked more like one of my daughters' craft projects involving little bits of brown yarn.

Two professional haircuts and 4 weeks later, I'm finally okay leaving the house without stuffing the "bangs" into a bunch of little clips. And look, even Magdalena likes it!

Major damage-control courtesy of Roxie at Avant Salon!

Za-Za-Zaftig!

Pronunciation:  /ˈzæftɪg/

Forms:  Also zoftig, zofti(c)k.

Etymology:  Yiddish, < German saftig juicy.

U.S. colloq.

Of a woman: plump, curvaceous, ‘sexy’.

Nigella Lawson, the very picture of zaftig

You don't really hear that word thrown around much anymore, except in the occasional New Yorker or Vanity Fair piece.*  And it's a shame, really. There are so few positive expressions for round and sexy with as much panache and verve as zaftig. 

Let's reintroduce zaftig into common circulation. What does it take to popularize an expression? It's sort of mysterious.  Linguists can tell you how a word became popular, or why your attempts at inventing a new word will likely fail, but not necessarily how to revive a word. (Ah, I just figured out why there aren't more jobs for us.)  

I may not have the answer on how to get everyone to start using zaftig, but I can assure you that I'm doing my part to maintain my zaftig figure.  Last night, to commemorate my having sent off my dissertation rewrites to my committee, Agapito brought home steaks, a tasty bottle of wine, and some crusty french bread. I cooked them up using this excellent tutorial on how to make the perfect restaurant style steak.

*You will also find zaftig used by my step-brother, Davis, in this rich little article chronicling his life as a New Orleans musician and personage. Check it out!

Feminism can be sexy!

Have you ever heard the expression "snag"? It stands for "sensitive new-age guy." Like, "Yeah, I thought he was hot until he started talking about how beautiful leg hair on women is. Gag, what a snag." And there's nothing worse than snag-feminism. You know, guys who worship the goddess within you, your earthy, intuitive, reproductive powers. This quintessential example of snag feminism, courtesy of my friend Lars, demonstrates it quite nicely. (update: drat, that link is private now, but here's a hilarious parody of it.)

Which is why there is nothing more fantastic than Feminist Ryan Gosling! Go check it out!

Awesome, right? Prior to this blog, I couldn't have picked out Ryan Gosling from a line-up if you'd paid me. Now I want him to be my boyfriend (in a universe with polyandry where Agapito is the first husband).

Okay, so now that you've seen Feminist Ryan Gosling, you can appreciate my homage. Here I present to you, Feminist Magdalena.

One last funny. In response to another feminist who said, "I hate discussions of feminism that end up with who does the dishes," Marilyn French wrote, "So do I. But at the end, there are always the damned dishes."

Which is why the best thing I ever did to negotiate the household chores was delegating dishes to the boys!

Other worlds

This morning there were rumors that North Korea's Kim Jong Un had been assassinated, though the U.S. Government says it ain't necessarily so. I can't help but hope a coup will succeed, assuming it's a coup led by a new boss who isn't as bad as the old boss.

Meanwhile, this sorta cute, sorta bizarre video of N. Koreans playing 'Take on Me' on accordions is circulating.

I appreciate that  people are oppressed in the U.S. I really do. But sometimes I want get on my knees and thank...who or what?... my lucky stars?...that my kids get to grow in a country that at the very least pays lip service to the idea of freedom.

Rosie (top) with her classmates