There’s nothing quite like a nice glass of pink prosecco. It’s better than Champagne, I may venture, because it is so light and fruity. There’s some difference in how each one is processed, which accounts for the difference in flavor as well as price, but I’m not an expert so if you want to know the deets, you’ll need to Google it yourself. I’m also not cheap, but I do think the lower price point makes it easier to have the sparkle of prosecco more often than the special-occasion treat of Champagne. Right? So get yourself a couple of bottles and prepare for the holidays in style. Having just celebrated a birthday myself – I’m a Pearl Harbor baby (the day, not the year, thank you very much!) – I recently had reason to enjoy a glass embellished with a couple of ruby red cranberries. Very festive-looking, and changing the taste not a bit. Consider that part of your decorating scheme, from Cassie, with love.
How does the proverbial Cigar Store Indian still exist, in modern Manhattan of all places, where we conned the Native Americans out of their homes and killed them off with our foreign diseases? This substantial statue in Soho, a little worse for wear around the nasal area but otherwise in pretty good shape, guards a small cigar shop filled with twenty-somethings pretending to be adults smoking cigars. In the City that practically wets itself (oh, alright, it does wet itself) celebrating Columbus Day with a parade and all the fluffernutter that entails, we forget that there were people living here before the Europeans invaded.
This statue should’ve been moved to Washington DC along with the National Museum of the American Indian back in the 1990s.
I’m sure there must be other Cigar Store Indians left in the City. If anyone spots one, send me a pic.
Dale Chihuly, well-known for his creative swirls of glass that are transformed into giant sculptures and chandeliers, has outdone himself with this fantastic show at the Biltmore Estate. Illuminated lights within a plethora of shapes, colors, and unexpected locations throughout the grounds provide a spectacle that is brilliant when the skies darken. Even though I have an issue with an artist who uses others to create his work, there’s no escaping the brilliance of this display. Wherever you have a chance to check out a Chihuly show, do it. You’ll be amazed, and the creative side of your brain will thank you.
No kidding, I saw two guys with daggers very similar to this one sticking out of their dead bodies recently. One had blood pooled all around his head and in his lap – the knife was in his neck, and the other was pretty cleanly stuck in his chest, meaning it was stuck there after he was already dead, so it was a message. For me. Placed on a lovely white couch in the Pierre Hotel. At least the couch wasn’t ruined, but I noticed it disappeared and was replaced with one in a yellow and white linen pinstripe the next day.
All of these events are pretty well described in “Embracing the Fool,” with me being the Fool in this case, as you may have guessed.
I’ve held similar daggers, some of which had a very nice curve in the blade, mostly for self defense purposes when I was traveling with the circus and later, doing my dissertation research. A girl can’t be too careful! Knowing how to throw and use a dagger is a handy skill to have. But I didn’t kill either of the men I referred to above. In “The Fool,” I used a gun to kill, when it became necessary. Self defense, of course.
Here’s an example of a curved blade dagger. Pretty, isn’t it? Until the sheath comes off.
I brought home this laundry bag after an unfortunate stay at the Pierre Hotel. Not to say anything bad about the place – it’s a wonderful hotel – but let’s just say the circumstances of my visit were less than ideal. I’m not cut out for hiding from killers or dodging bullets, it’s just not me. Anyway, my boyfriend the cop keeps threatening to haul me in for theft because I took this when I checked out of the hotel. Pardon-e-moi, but I think they want you to take this stuff, to remind you of how wonderful it was to be able to put your dirty stuff in a bag and get it back all clean the next day. Wow! I keep waiting for that to happen here, but no such luck. I’m kidding – there is no way in hell I’d put dirty undies in this bag. I’m currently using it as a pillow case. A little show-offy, but what the heck. I had to shoot someone in that hotel, so I deserve a little something for my trauma. Don’t you agree? So cute, with the little crown on the “P.” Maybe I’ll find a reason to stay there again that doesn’t involve dead people. That would be good. I’ll probably still pilfer the laundry bag, though.
This is by far the best book about writing ever written. Even if you are not a fan of Mr. King – I can’t read his stuff, it scares the crap out of me – you will learn so much from reading this book. I’m a big believer in being part of a writing group, sharing work and constructive criticism. Since the leader of my previous group was murdered last year, I’ve been looking for another group, but I’m a little wary of all the drama that comes with it. Sometimes, you can feel like you’re in a group therapy session. Or an AA meeting (not that I’ve ever been to either of those). So I kind of want to ask the members of my next group to fill out a short psychological questionnaire before I commit myself (a little pun there), just to make sure there’re no homicidal killers in the bunch. At the minimum. Is that too much to ask?
Sometimes you buy things that just call out to you from a shelf in the store and you just have to bring them home. So it was with me and this bowl. But once I got it home, every time I took it out to use it, I just couldn’t bring myself to put anything in it. It’s just too pretty. What if something happened to it? Or if the artwork inside the bowl is toxic to humans and I poisoned myself? Knowing my luck, that would happen. So I prop it on a shelf and look at it. It makes me happy. And since it’s not calling out to be used, I think the bowl is satisfied with this arrangement as well.