an open letter to kevin arnold

dear kevin arnold,

remember when you took off your jacket and put it over winnie cooper's shoulders? right after her brother's funeral and you were sitting on that rock? that was the first moment when i knew i loved you. and then there was that time when you rode furiously to winnie's house on your bike with the U-shaped handlebars and you waited and waited outside her house until she came but she didn't want to see you and you did not accept that. so you climbed up onto her roof and that great song played with the dark falling all around and you whispered "i love you" through the window and she said it back--that melted my cold, cold heart faster than a fudgesicle on hot asphalt. these were important moments, beautiful moments, so important that even a decade later when i watch these clips with patricia we feel our hearts jump and it makes us glad and nostalgic all at once. and it is good.

xo,
amy

[0:22-0:55 is perhaps the most amazing 30 seconds of TV from my youth]

how to be okay reading for eight straight hours:

1. read on your deck sitting in your brand new auction find: the rosette wrought iron table
2. instead of reading on the deck, actually talk on the phone for 2 hours
3. instead of reading, walk a mile to the nearest library and look at books of photographs for 2 more hours
4. read one chapter of a densely worded technology text book with obscure cover art
5. watch this:

6. read another chapter of said book
7. watch this again:

8. gab on the phone some more
9. wait until 9 pm to polish off the final 50 pages of dense textbook
10. watch this one more time and weep with joy:


(I've showed this to some people but it just had to be commemorated via the blog. I literally cannot get enough of the knife licking and shirt ripping. genius!)

Tween Studies Here I Come!

If for the sole purpose of analyzing this brilliant, gorgeous scene:

(Oh Jared Leto--why must you look so good in that amazing corduroy jacket?)

PS: and maybe this scene makes me cry every single time I watch it. So worth it.

Moral Obligation

I feel morally obligated to post this insanely amazing cartoon on this blog. Unicorn/Narwhal war:
(imagine doing the voices for this...especially the girl "But what happened to your...heart!?" So wise)

And then this is maybe the funniest thing I have seen all day (I particularly like when it hops close to the camera). Trish and I have decided to drop out of school and become puppeteers. It seems like the only logical recourse, considering.

ANCHORS AWAY!

Nothing screams "Awesome!" more than craft-store sailor hats decorated to the nines with glitter and bedazzle jewels. A few weeks ago we went to Annapolis and I can't even begin to describe the pure magic that happened there. Let's just say we were a tad out of control and I loved every second of it. These photos are courtesy the amazing Lisa (whose birthday we were celebrating).

We did our best to take a picture with every and any man in uniform--objectification/ogling at its best:


I miss these dear faces very much:

At this rate I'm doomed to fall in love with Iowa over and over again

In 193 A.D. the Praetorian Guard put the Roman Empire up on the auction block. In 2008 A.D. Sharpless Auction effectively put Iowa City up on the block. Some may scoff--what could Iowa City possibly have to auction off--but let me tell you about some of the treasures that the fair folks of IC loved:

1. Knick-Knacks Type 1: If it's palm-sized, glazed, and preferably made of some sort of 70s-era cut glass it will sell in two seconds flat. And I mean, wham bam thank you ma'am fast. It will also pull in the big bucks--I saw an entire fleet of mason jars go for three whole dollars!

2. Knick-Knacks Type 2: You know that box that sits on the highest, dustiest shelf of your garage? The one that is filled with frayed bits of rope, doll appendages, beat up tin canisters, and a few nutcrackers? Well get that bad boy to Sharpless--STAT! We obtained two full tables of such boxes for $1 today. This needs to be emphasized: TWO FULL TABLES FOR A SINGLE DOLLAR. Why in the world would we want all that? If not for the gorgeous Envoy typewriter (the sole reason for the purchase--it was sold as a "package"--I picked up a whole lot of auctioning vocab as you can tell), then absolutely for the squirrel-hugging-an-acorn salt & peppa shaker set and let us not forget the calendar from 1976 with a smaltzy soap star on the cover, the sturdy wicker basket filled with gems like an embroidered chicken ornament and a needle cozy.

3. Yard ornaments: Any and all. Stag caught in mid-leap, dainty fairies, earnest ducks...you name it and Iowa is guaranteed to pledge its undying love.

4. Broken electronics: These are hearty farmer types with beards, overalls, checked shirts, and beat up work boots. They down the popcorn sold in red and white striped bags in fell swoops. They order the pie heaped with a foot of whipped cream and wash it down with Orange Crush soda. They have tattoos, weathered faces, and grease-creased wide-billed caps. You can bet your bottom dollar they know how to fix a Discovision laser disk that broke shortly after it was purchased in 1978. And don't even sweat the TV without a screen, antennae, or dial. These are people I need to know.

I bid my little heart out and left the proud owner of a sexy (but extremely functional) wrought-iron rosette deck table & chair duo. And that squirrel-hugging-an-acorn set? Well, let's just say that I've never felt so proud to walk into my house knowing what joy I will bestow upon my countertop. The best part--it was free! They just let you take stuff that does not auction (though I am not sure how this treasure escaped IC's deft, probing auction eyes).

Jealous?

If you weren't before...

MY LAST DAY OF WORK!!!!!!

and there are no words to describe my feelings of pure, unadulterated joy, only this:


and this:


and this:


(i.e. infinite hasselhoff magic. thanks warren g for this little treasure!)

The Truth is Out There and Mrs. Burney Knows the Way

Mrs. Burney called. Again. This was not a surprise since she calls twice a day—once at midmorning and the other at precisely 3:15. Usually she just asks to simply leave a voice message for Mr. L but for the past few days she has insisted on talking to him. Finally he took her call. Five minutes later she called back:

"I just spoke with a very nice man, Ronald Reagan I think was his name. He told me to talk to you about setting up an appointment with him. What time works in his schedule?"

I tried to tell her these three simple facts:

1) Mr. L is not and will never be Ronald Reagan
2) I do not keep schedules of any kind for Ronald Reagan &
3) I do not actually work for Ronald Reagan and she might have the wrong number

“But I just spoke with him,” she insisted, “he told me you would be able to figure everything out.”

How kind of you, Ronald Reagan. (So wind swept).

And here’s the dish: I’ve known for weeks that Mrs. Burney was a little wacky…it’s just that it never occurred to me that she might actually be a legitimate whack job until that very moment. She sounds so normal on the phone, like a kind grandmother who bakes cookies and hangs lace curtains in the windows.

So back to this afternoon’s call: “This is Mrs. Burney again, I’m calling to confirm my August 27 meeting with Mr. L.”

I naively thought that she had finally figured it all out and was really going to be in a meeting with Mr. L. That is the only reason why I called him to see if I could transfer the call.

He was stumped: “Mrs. Burney? Meeting? I’m not sure…” And then it hit him: “OH! The crazy lady. You remember that show with Scully and Mulder?”

“The X-Files? Sure.”

“Well, yeah, she thinks I’m Mulder. You know, Agent Mulder? She calls and leaves messages about all the alien sightings she’s had. So if you have fifteen minutes to spare you can listen to her—it’s actually kind of interesting, if you’re into that kind of stuff. Which I’m not.”

(Of course, Mr. L)

I clicked back over to Mrs. Burney and she absolutely did NOT want to leave a voice message. She wanted to talk to a real person. Guess what? I qualified!

"Well,” she lowered her voice to a whisper and it sounded like her hand might be cupped over the receiver, “I just wanted to tell you about the disk I saw flying over Willoughby Street and I saw it land and I saw the door open. Willoughby Street, okay?”

She started to elaborate over all the details and pretty soon I found myself caught up in the story: “Willoughby Street, you said?” I propped my elbows on the cool granite desk top and cupped my hand over the receiver, “Now how far from Willoughby did it land?”

john cleese vs. gwen verdon--you decide:

(ministry of silly walks = best invention since sliced bread)


(like megruth said, let's make it a goal to master the dance move at 2:50--genius!)