ALERT there are bees in my kitchen.

Or something like bees. Two of them, to be precise. Plural: bees.

Why? Because I am chopping mint and making tabbouleh? Or because there was sugar out for the pie?

Bees, like spiders and moths, do not belong in the house, in my opinion. And mice. Bees, spiders, moths, and mice all belong in the out of doors where there will actually be more opportunities for them. Or, fewer opportunities. I am, actually, stony and hard of heart on the subject of bees, spiders, moths, and mice. Circle of life, my friends, circle of life.

[note: I do want there to be bees in the world. I am not without mercy. I am not killing the bees. But I can't believe that the two bees in my kitchen are actually doing the bee-world any favors. The future of bees cannot lie in hanging around my kitchen while I chop mint. That just wouldn't be sustainable.]

All I'm saying is that I was making tabbouleh, but the bees have forced a retreat. As in, I cannot be in the kitchen, tabbouleh, mint, pie or no, if there are also bees, end of story.

America: keep your bees outside, with the flowers and trees and heat and dirt and wasps and, hopefully, spiders, moths, and mice. I need to add the mint, parsley, red onion, garlic, salt and pepper to the tabbouleh, stat! It's like a Mexican standoff up in here, with the two bees and their stingers and me with my scaredy-cat ways.

Bees! Get out!

That is all.

Dear spider that was in my dream,

There was also a peach in my dream. And you, dream spider, were on that peach, transparent and tiny. You were getting ready to dig in, with your extra special secret dream-spider tools. I think that's when I woke up.

Really, spider that was in my dream, I have nothing much against spiders, and on an academic level I respect the work you do for good in this world, eating the bad bugs and trapping stuff in your webs and building webs and being all eight-legged and what not. But you go too far, spider. You go too far when you invade my dream, creep me out, and eat my dream peach. I was saving that peach. I was going to eat it for breakfast, and now you've ruined it.

And speaking of creepy things, I think there is entirely too much talk of the scary at the moment. On public radio this afternoon, someone was interviewing someone else who has a study out about horror and how revelatory it is about our state of mind, global-psyche-wise. Oh really? I think what horror shows us is that there is scary stuff, and it just keeps getting scarier. It just gets scarier by the movie, and you know what that tells me about the global psyche? We are terrified, that's what, and you, peach-ruining spider, you are not helping on that front.

Dream spider, if I had found you on my actual breakfast peach, I would have respected you and your fine work, academically. But breakfast-wise, I would have had to crush you like the bug you are. And don't try to tell me you're not a bug. You have 6-8 legs, am I right? Anything in that range is a bug around here, unless you ask my historian, but hear me now: I won't. I won't ask him. I will not have it, dream spider: you may not have my peach.

--and if you recur in my dreams, there is no telling what.

htms

Just say no to scary movies.

It's time again. Time for the previews for scary movies. I know, because I just saw one on late-night television.

The people, scary movie previews belong to a special category of repugnant. There you are, in the movie theater, waiting to see Premium Rush just because--because it looked fun, and had Joseph Gordon Leavitt in it--sitting in the multiplex, semi-digesting the Mexican food you just ate--because it is delicious, and it is enchiladas, one of God's most perfect foods--and the previews come on. And terrible things are in the previews.

Is Premium Rush a horror movie? It is not. It is, sort of, a thriller, with awesome action sequences involving bicycles, with a special set of thrills because one of the bikes in question has (a) just one gear and (b) no brakes.

So the multiplex has set you up. You think the previews will be bicycle-chase-thriller-movie-esque. So you're humming along pleasantly and then all of a sudden, unspeakable evil has possessed a child. Or something. You're not going to un-see that, and you didn't sign up for it, no sir.

And while I'm at it: does watching The Daily Show signal to the universe that I'm in the market for a horror show? It's not like I was watching the Republican National Convention or something. Speaking of horror shows.

Observations for the end of July.

1. I have now edited and revised so much that I can actually feel it in my behind. I'm hoping that it has the same basic effect as multiple sets of squats. With free weights.
2. Did you know that sitcom According to Jim, starring Jim Belushi and Courtney Thorne-Smith, is on? As in, they're still making and broadcasting episodes? I found this out today whilst reading USA Today, which is a veritable fount of vital information and mostly easy crosswords.
3. A picture of a big shark (also in USA Today) is effectively able to deliver a mild scare to a person such as myself. To me.
4. Without excessive heat applied to my brain, I am capable of sustained thought.
5. While Everything is Illuminated has a style that I enjoy and even admire, it has, so far, virtually no narrative momentum.
6. A bicycle can be an effective compositional aid.

So long July and hello August.

Productivity report.

Today, I had breakfast with my friend Ann at the Blue Plate (Greek omelet, sourdough toast). I woke up with allergic eye, a phenomenon that is, if the evidence is to be trusted, going to be an annual occurrence. It starts with an itchy eye, which I then rub, and then I sleep, and voila, I wake up and scare myself in the mirror. When this happens, I like to worry about it incessantly. Today, I put a warm washrag on it and massaged my tear ducts and used eyedrops and checked it out a million times. Also, took healing naps. It's better, but I hated having to alarm my breakfast companion. However, we talked about everything under the sun while I wore my hair Veronica Lake-style, except curly. I'm pretty sure this helped.

Today, I read the book for my book group, Women as Lovers, written by Austrian, Nobel-Prize-in-Literature-winning Elfriede Jelinek. I bought this book months ago. I kept track of its location, since books in my house have a tendency to wander. When I received the book from Amazon, I read a page or two and thought, sweet holy Lord, this book is damn depressing, then laid it aside for a week or three months. And I thought about picking it up. And then this morning, I did. I picked it up and I read half of it. Here is my verdict: damn depressing. Scores 11 on the Depress-o-meter (out of 10).

Today, I bought a birthday present for my granddaughter. Don't tell her, but it is a family of horses playing on a playground. Actually little plush horses, with an actual plastic playground. It is the cutest thing ever and I wish I had had some tiny horses on a playground when I was little. Too bad all they had was rocks and Bubble-head Barbie back then. Lucky granddaughter!

Today, I had my book group at Martine and ate several expensive yet delicious little plates of food. The excellent salad had a Bleu d'Auvergne dressing that was subtle and suave. The shrimp was on a spring pea risotto cake and was bathed in some sort of divine jus. The desserts included grilled gingerbread as well as a peach-cherry jalousie. Yes. Jalousie. Are you jaloux? Because you should be. Jalousie is good.

And now I am going to bed. My eye is ready for it. Also, now that I have put away Women as Lovers, I can finish my L.A. detective novel. It is heating up and it is good.

Blogging the Oscars, part 1.

1. DVR: genius, but there will be a small lag between my posts and real-time Oscar action.
2. At our house, we're already arguing, pretty much par for the course. However, we are well-fed, which I hope will mitigate the arguing.
3. I have heard from college daughter that Tilda Swinton looked like "a scary human being," a point I disputed without having seen her at all.

How did they do the whole animated beginning what with the writer's strike? Did I just see Indiana Jones on horseback followed by a 80s laughing Eddie Murphy? I could rewind, but it's time to get on with it.

Important note: my previous post was my 500th. Woo hoo!