tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59111722011-07-30T21:58:58.662-05:00The Many Names of ParadiseThe ticker-tape ramblings that will probably lose me a public office someday.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comBlogger1981100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-79102026409006121722009-02-12T15:15:00.003-05:002009-02-12T15:22:48.854-05:00Wherein I Return to Catalogue the Trials and Tribulations Of Being a Precocious Regency-Era Child Trapped in an Adult's Body in This Horrible Modern World.When last we left Our Heroine (Me), she was being lured by the promise of filthy lucre into that vast iniquitous institution that is Big Law, lulled into a false sense of security by her charming little townhouse in the city and the infinite Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-28483627605557122452007-04-10T11:52:00.000-05:002007-04-10T12:21:03.765-05:00Ten Things I Have Discovered Since I Last Wrote1. The world can be divided into those who fall in love with fictional characters and those who don't.2. Contractors always take longer than one imagines even if one has taken into account Murphy's Law and added a month.4. Regency Romance novels are dead.5. Do not be fooled by the first day in February that feels like Spring. Do not, especially, Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1163738025890521422006-11-17T00:31:00.000-05:002006-11-16T23:33:45.890-05:00SnippetsThat summer she lost herself in the old garden of words: words mossy with disuse, words thickly woven to block out the sun, words like a crackling carpet of leaves beneath her feet, words to drown in. She carried the seed of a great sorrow that needed nourishing, that needed to be planted between the neat rows of words on a page. The words constricted her, narrowed her world, pulled her Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1163737647646327422006-11-16T23:26:00.000-05:002006-11-16T23:34:20.403-05:00Cure for a Restless Soul in the Throes of a November DrizzleMe.A cup of tea.The dog.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1162755849780435042006-11-05T14:40:00.002-05:002009-09-29T11:32:15.585-05:00The Daily Cup of Jonathan: How Jonathan Eats His Brownies EditionShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1162613182191629532006-11-03T23:03:00.000-05:002006-11-06T19:55:43.293-05:00The Chapter in Which Our Intrepid Heroine Discovers Heretofore Unknown Talents in the Trackless Urban JungleDear Timorous Reader, who may perhaps have feared for my safety out of the hill-less dells of my youth, let me tell you something: I am Washington's Hippolyta, brave Amazon Queen who can fell a speeding Jaguar at three hundred paces. Left to my own devices, I can track a Starbucks through Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1162506784051506832006-11-02T17:26:00.000-05:002006-11-02T18:00:11.046-05:00Getting to Know Me, Getting to Know Alllllllll About Meeeee...Skye in her infinite wisdom introduced me to a desk calendar from Koco NY -- the "She" calendar, which personifies every month as some variety of girl. This approach speaks, of course, to the deepest root of my pleasure in things. I love personification (also onomotopeia, anaphora, and anything else that describes literary devices and Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1162136029038198402006-10-29T10:33:00.000-05:002006-10-29T13:57:39.413-05:00The Daily Cup of JonathanJDH: We came too early.SMJW: What do you mean?JDH: I like to come to Starbucks around eleven when it's teeming with life and people and community.SMJW: Oh that's so sweet--JDH: It makes me feel like my stock is going up.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1161816219271292152006-10-25T11:17:00.000-05:002006-10-25T17:45:15.923-05:00Field SongWhat stands? The walnut: the tower of story dark with crows,The leafy way station for doomsayers: Say nay, say no,Say the morning comes in with a silver spoon and the spoon rattlesIn a cup because the child is gone. But still the childStands, the way a statute does in the mind: or in a field: a fawnFigure with a filigreed grin: there Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1161187297925520972006-10-18T10:45:00.000-05:002006-10-18T11:01:37.946-05:00Lemons, Lemonade, and Pearls or From the Lowest Dungeon to the Highest Peak I Fought With the Balrog of Morgoth Until at Last I Threw Down My Enemy and Smote His Ruin Upon the Mountain SideThere is something to be said for the malcontent itch, the irritating grain of sand that nestles close beneath the skin and will not budge for anything. Layer by layer it brings forth bright things-- smooth, Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1161123679883447832006-10-17T17:08:00.000-05:002006-10-17T17:48:48.983-05:00A Prayer to St. AnthonyBeware the artistic soul in October. It starts to die, ripe green leaves that were full to the tips with life turn crisp and scarlet like a splash of blood. They fall loose from their moorings. Beneath them, the rich earth breeds decay and discontent. On my knees in the bathroom, I scrawl poems on the wall. This is my penance. Each one is a rosary prayer for something I Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1161113318097210472006-10-17T14:27:00.000-05:002006-10-23T06:26:09.363-05:00PatternsI walk down the garden-paths,And all the daffodilsAre blowing, and the bright blue squills.I walk down the patterned garden-pathsIn my stiff, brocaded gown.With my powdered hair and jeweled fan,I too am a rarePattern. As I wander downThe garden-paths.My dress is richly figured,And the trainMakes a pink and silver stainOn the gravel, and the thriftOf the borders.Just a plate of current Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1160979655277527982006-10-16T01:07:00.000-05:002006-10-16T01:21:37.686-05:00Pain for Gain or Guns for notButterOkay, it's time. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to swagger into the gym like John Wayne shouldering through the swinging doors into the saloon to clean house (at least that's what I assume he does because the only knowledge I have about John is what has been imprinted onto my cultural consciousness by clips and ads and movie allusions. For all I know, he might beShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1160696184556660552006-10-12T18:18:00.000-05:002006-10-13T12:57:22.273-05:00SanctuaryThere is a lovely scene from the movie, Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, wherein the Baudelaire children, still reeling from the sudden death of their parents and the loss of their home in a fire are locked in a dreadful room by their wicked guardian Count Olaf. Violet Baudelaire, who knows that there is always something, builds a tent in the middle of the room out of theShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1160583924492407432006-10-03T11:24:00.000-05:002006-10-11T11:59:20.686-05:00Beginning AgainI like beginnings. I'm good at beginnings, all dimply charm and easy laughter. It is harder to maintain something in maturity and beyond, into ripe age. The internet is littered with my fallen monuments of grandiose promise. Here lies Ozymandias, King of Kings, etc... There are difficulties, of course. The slick surface of first conversations, polished through much practice and Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1158298818678717922006-09-15T00:38:00.000-05:002006-10-11T11:16:46.693-05:00Falling SnippetsLike any other animal, I am not immune to the turn of the season. Autumn brings, as usual, thoughts of warm, cozy places both literal and metaphoric and a strange sense of something unsettled.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1155065792026513162006-08-08T14:34:00.000-05:002006-08-08T14:40:33.123-05:00Almost there... My candle burns at both endsIt will not last the night;But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -It gives a lovely light.Edna St. Vincent MillayShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1145279890460557362006-04-17T08:02:00.000-05:002006-04-26T08:06:00.353-05:00Rite of SpringIf I have proven anything in the nigh on (could it really be?) three years that I have been keeping (to loosely appropriate the term) a blog, it is that I am unreliable but also repentant. Let us consider, dear Reader, that Spring marks my reconcilliation with you after a long silent Winter, where perhaps you feared that I had forgotten you or at the very least begun to stray to Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1144365909896281242006-04-06T18:14:00.000-05:002006-04-06T18:45:28.543-05:00PostcardI have spent all afternoondissolving in a cup of teaand a book of poetry--I have gone to live in Italy,where the warmgolden light was very kindto my blinking eyes that at firstwere unaccustomed to such wholesome delights,which also included crusty bread anda friendly pair of Tuscan brotherswho pointed me over the hillsto an old abbey (and grinned for my Italianwas like creaky door).Oh andShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1140170115268948992006-02-17T04:48:00.000-05:002006-02-17T05:06:25.456-05:00Pakistan: Day One - The JourneyTwenty-six hours after leaving my bed, I am finally back in one. Oh sweet luxurious pillows -- sorry the fruit guy came to the door bringing bananas! and oranges! and kiwis! (or something like, couldn't be sure, not that I even like kiwis-- they're for my dad)-- Where was I? Oh yes, pillows, all six of them. They know how I like a bed. To be fair by the airline, Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1139144202926456532006-02-02T07:53:00.000-05:002006-02-05T07:58:20.706-05:00Fourteen Days of Love Poems: Day TwoOutwittedHe drew a circle that shut me out -Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.But Love and I had the wit to win;We drew a circle to take him in.- Edward MarkhamShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1138801420898675712006-02-01T08:42:00.000-05:002006-02-01T08:43:40.910-05:00Fourteen Days of Love Poems: Day OneThen wear the gold hat, if that will move her;if you can bounce high, bounce for her too,Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,I must have you!"- F. Scott FitzgeraldShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1136442887249160422006-01-05T01:26:00.000-05:002006-01-05T01:34:47.256-05:00Live BaitOh! That tricksy spammer! He almost had me with an email entitled Starbucks Treats. It was a worthy ploy; I almost clicked on it, thinking fond thoughts of peppermint mochas and low-fat apple coffee cake, but no! He overplayed his hand with the desperate imperative coffee drinkers click here!. Starbucks would never be such a rouged whore. Her lures are more subtle, more subliminal, more Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1136413723269816812006-01-04T17:28:00.000-05:002006-01-04T17:30:11.143-05:00Happy Holidays from Dante and Shangrila! Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1133735271206019942005-12-04T17:25:00.001-05:002005-12-04T17:27:51.206-05:00Study BreakIt's in the singing of a street corner choirIt's going home and getting warm by the fireIt's true, wherever you find love it feels like ChristmasA cup of kindess that we share with anotherA sweet reunion with a friend or a brotherIn all the places you find love it feels like ChristmasIt is the season of the heartA special time of caringThe ways of love made clearIt is the season of theShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1132149520823090052005-11-16T08:55:00.000-05:002005-11-16T11:51:51.360-05:00Pre-Thanksgiving Thanks GivingIn that all too brief ribbon of November between my birthday and Thanksgiving (in which I am supposed to thoroughly prepare for the onset of finals at the precipitous drop which is December), I have decided that, this being my twenty-fifth year, I will take a longer moment to give thanks for the things that make me smile (and apparently unbearably cheerful in the Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1131022978819872692005-11-03T07:59:00.000-05:002005-11-03T08:02:58.830-05:00The Alexis DietBrownies for lunch and dinner? Check.Brownies for breakfast? Check.One horrified stomach in revolt? Ungh. (Really, I should leave this to the professional.)Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1130796892676799912005-10-31T17:11:00.000-05:002005-10-31T17:14:52.686-05:00Oh My Poor Knees...Mondays, I have discovered, are not days for wearing high heels. Walking around with four classes worth of books up and down the stairs and around and around the school for ten long hours is certainly a testament to my devotion to my new pair of green suede pumps. Especially since they almost killed me as I attempted to disembark from the elevator...Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1128764405775286682005-10-08T04:37:00.000-05:002005-10-08T04:40:05.780-05:00You Know You're Flying to Texas When...The Congressman in first class talking rapidly on his cellphone about fundraising is wearing a pair of custom made cowboy boots with snake skin tips and a tooled leather decal of the Seal of Congress. They were hypnotic...Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1128567157035574052005-10-05T21:46:00.000-05:002005-10-05T21:52:37.040-05:00Two Things...1. Somebody loves me!2. I just happened to be perusing the Houston Chronicle and came upon this article. Bart Whitaker was in my study hall. We did puzzles together. I had the inklings of a crush on him. We used to plot to take over the world and divide it between me, him, and Dean Wang. The last time I saw him was when I ran into him and his parents at a bowling alley. Just wow.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1128220267174390332005-10-01T21:29:00.000-05:002005-10-01T21:32:49.200-05:00Taking a StandAnother reason why Cafe Saint-Ex is one of my favorite places to brunch:from The DCist(Also, the mimosas are fabulous...)Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1126580275049521532005-09-12T21:55:00.000-05:002005-09-12T21:57:55.056-05:00One of My First LovesDemain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme laShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1125495280045139152005-08-31T07:53:00.000-05:002005-08-31T08:35:25.303-05:00ApologiaSweet, gentle Reader, do not be cross with me. Summer, let us be honest, is not a season for keeping promises. It is a time for wild, idolatrous vows that fall from berry lips and hide among the bushes and brambles until Fall when their rotted, dessicated corpses are swept away with the cicada shells. And now, on the cusp of September, I return to you, scratched in unspeakable places but Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1119456248844251552005-06-22T10:55:00.000-05:002005-06-22T11:04:08.850-05:00After Many a Weary MileI return to the fold, the perfumed bosom of you, O Reader, brown as a berry (I've never really understood that simile -- aren't the only brown berries the dead ones, in which case it's more than a little macabre and not at all indicative of ripe summers and blooming good health?) and brimming with all kinds of cheerful ideas that are possible only through the langourous Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1114108253215098842005-04-21T13:29:00.000-05:002005-04-21T13:30:53.216-05:00Springtime BluesYou flaunted the fragrance of your blossomsThrough the wide doors of Custom Houses--You, and sandal-wood, and tea,Charging the noses of quill-driving clerksWhen a ship was in from China.You called to them: "Goose-quill men, goose-quill men,May is a month for flitting."Until they writhed on their high stoolsAnd wrote poetry on their letter-sheets behind the propped-up Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1114058422455490422005-04-20T23:26:00.000-05:002005-04-20T23:40:22.456-05:00We Interrupt the Regularly Scheduled Programming for a Brief Burst of Utter OutrageThere is not much that Will Ferrel has said that I would classify as profound, but here, a bit past midnight, reading through Tom DeLay's attack on the judiciary, his hoarse, plaintive voice from Zoolander rings like a temple bell, "Doesn't anybody notice?! I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!"The judiciary is Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1113922427037145822005-04-19T09:53:00.000-05:002005-04-19T09:57:28.500-05:00CovetousnessThe Complete Works of Jane Austen, all first edition. 1811-1818. Yummy...See the listing here.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1113400609233684902005-04-13T08:39:00.000-05:002005-04-13T08:56:49.233-05:00Ah Spring, when a young woman's fancy turns lightly to thoughts of exercising artistic control over her immediate environment. Or maybe it's just me. :)Ten months after moving in, I have sufficiently marinated in the feng and shui of my house to have a master plan for decorating it: warm peach in the entry way, blue and butter birds in the kitchen, creamy vanilla in the living room. Mmmm... Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1112727320884245982005-04-05T13:52:00.000-05:002005-04-05T13:56:42.303-05:00I Believe in UnicornsThere are some things that make me believe that the world is a beautiful and magical place. This article is one of them.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1112582617270718592005-04-03T21:42:00.000-05:002005-04-03T21:43:37.273-05:00No words left... will happily drown in other seas.Love and Sleep Lying asleep between the strokes of night I saw my love lean over my sad bed, Pale as the duskiest lily's leaf or head, Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite, Too wan for blushing and too warm for white, But perfect-colored without white or red. And her lips opened amorously, and said-- I wist not what, saving one Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1112410226758180152005-04-01T21:49:00.000-05:002005-04-01T21:50:26.756-05:00Glory be to God for dappled things-- For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1112026026068776632005-03-28T10:48:00.001-05:002005-03-28T11:07:06.070-05:00Word of the Day Does Wordplayantanaclasis (ant-an-uh-KLAS-is) noun A play on words in which a key word is repeated in a different, often contrary, sense.[From Greek antanaklasis (echo or reflection), from anti- (against) +ana- + klasis (breaking or bending).]This is one of those things like anaphora that makes me all tingly inside. Truth be told, I just really like repetition. There's Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1111440861932327662005-03-21T14:56:00.000-05:002005-03-21T16:34:21.933-05:00Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?They took my lover's tallness off to war,Left me lamenting. Now I cannot guessWhat I can use an empty heart-cup for.He won't be coming back here any more.Some day the war will end, but, oh, I knewWhen he went walking grandly out that doorThat my sweet love would have to be untrue.Would have to be untrue. Would have to courtCoquettish death, whose impudent andShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1110815765648440562005-03-13T00:03:00.000-05:002005-03-14T10:56:05.650-05:00Overthought Whilst Studying Property on an AirplaneI should be a vampire lawyer. I like property law. I like the alleyway sneakiness of devising property to a sixth cousin thrice removed who will later be played by myself. I like biting people. I have old world charm. In short, could there be a better solution to my professional ambivalence? Surely not.Cue sinister laughter and a flash of fangs.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1109781636148250042005-03-02T09:02:00.000-05:002005-03-02T12:03:46.986-05:00Land, Ho!And so February ends, as usual, with a gasp, as if March has arrived just in the nick of time to save me from a blue-faced death. Stiffling, muffling, cold as Kelvin (not Kevin) February (although to be fair to this particular cycle of seasons, winter hasn't been nearly as cold as it could have been. Never let it be said that I am ungrateful for small mercies-- no wait, I'm still chilledShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1109083934689977102005-02-22T09:17:00.000-05:002005-02-22T09:52:14.690-05:00The Morning AfterI have been spending a lot more time than is my wont at the gym. My shoulders hurt; my arms hurt; my thighs hurt; my calves hurt; my hair hurts. But I keep going back; moreover, I want to go back. This feeling is wholly new to me: so strange, so unexpected. It smacks of discpline (or addiction, which, given my obsessive past is far more likely, actually). Could it be that after Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1108657833361304712005-02-17T11:21:00.000-05:002005-02-17T11:30:33.363-05:00Open Letter to AOL Instant MessengerPlease stop. Substituting letters for words is not cute, has never been cute, will never be cute, not even on candy hearts. Know that as a card-carrying member of the quasi-terrorist group, the Apostrophe Liberation Society, I will feel it my ordained duty to declare jihad against you and pointedly ignore anything you ask me to do in tweeny-rat-text-speak. ThisShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1108564284700491442005-02-16T09:08:00.000-05:002005-02-17T11:42:52.026-05:00The Luck of the CeylaneseGenerally speaking (or in French, which I prefer, pour la plupart) my life runs smoothly, swimmingly as a greased wheel, a meandering brook, and other bucolic imagery that conveys a sense of pre-modern simplicity and ease. Every once so often, however, something gets stuck, and everything goes horribly awry. This seems to be one of those weeks.Consider Saturday night, Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1107444474040807252005-02-03T09:27:00.000-05:002005-02-03T10:27:54.040-05:00"Speak low if you speak love..."
This play has so many fond memories for me. Kim and I used to pace gravely through the hallways at school doffing an imaginary hat and murmuring "my white plume..." (Then we'd giggle because that's what twelve-year-olds do, but you get the picture; it had momentary gravitas, I swear.)
It was this play that taught me the thrilling accuracy of the mot juste, the Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1106661726633808272005-01-25T08:57:00.000-05:002005-01-25T09:44:58.030-05:00Bucking the Trend
In an effort to stave off blogalial inertia, it is hoped that this entry will halt my dismal slide into apathy and blog neglect.
I'd like to say that I've been busy with school, by nay, gentle friends, while Washington was inching through the ice and sleet, I was in Los Cabos thinking sleepy comparative thoughts about sand and snow. I did manage to get a lot of work done though.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1105629962804586582005-01-13T10:23:00.000-05:002005-01-19T10:57:36.856-05:00A Good Beginning
My Property professor: "Woodrow Wilson once said, 'A lawyer is like a needle, a thing of one eye and one point.' Well, screw you Woodrow Wilson."Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1102017367583204442004-12-02T14:54:00.000-05:002004-12-02T14:56:07.583-05:00A Poem for Winter
Touch Me
by Stanley Kunitz
Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1101994882778764442004-12-02T08:28:00.000-05:002004-12-02T08:41:22.776-05:00Bah Humbug
New months take me by surprise each time. December? How can it be December? It was just November yesterday. (Please note, for future reference, that November is my birth month and should be given all due veneration.) One would think that after twenty-three years of repetition, I would have gotten the routine down, but nay, good sir, such is not the case. December sucker-punched me. Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1101771043568021432004-11-29T18:28:00.000-05:002004-11-29T18:30:43.570-05:00'Tis the Season
For the person who has everthing, consider these gifts:
Heifer
My dad loved his honeybees last year.
:)Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1101578209481660322004-11-27T13:55:00.000-05:002004-11-27T12:56:49.480-05:00The Witch's Garden
I wake at night in
sweat and tangled sheets
and remember Rapunzel’s
mother: how the leaf
went to seed in her belly
and each night she dreamed
of it, dreamed in sweat and
tangled longing for the sweet
long leaf in the garden
that came to her each night
in her dreams and how she
gave the thing she loved to
have it: Rapunzel. Rapunzel, green
long leaf, sweet with the longing
Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1101221705209504382004-11-23T09:46:00.000-05:002004-11-23T09:55:05.210-05:00The Cheat Entry
I haven't done a Word-of-the-Day entry in a while, having graduated to brief tone poems about my day, my dog, my lattes...
In any case, due to behind the scenes pressure from disgruntled patrons (you know who you are), I am updating my blog. But I'm cheating.
entelechy (en-TEL-uh-kee) noun
1. Perfect realization as opposed to a potentiality.
2. In some philosophies, a Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1100084772773642942004-11-10T06:04:00.000-05:002004-11-10T06:06:12.773-05:00Happy Birthday to Me: The Horoscope Edition
IF NOVEMBER 10 IS YOUR BIRTHDAY: Gentle ways and a sympathetic outlook may give way to an eagerness to fight for what is right. In the coming year you will no longer be content to sit on the sidelines. You will be ready to leap into action whenever you hear the call. Your initiative is enhanced in December and April when you will be more than able to Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1100052611736178302004-11-09T21:06:00.000-05:002004-11-09T21:10:11.736-05:00Reality TV Meets Shangrilogic
Okay, so I know I've railed many a time and at great length against the perfidious eleventh plague that is reality television, BUT how can I hold out against this?
Seriously, sign me up. I was born to be on this show.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1100027157622364822004-11-09T14:04:00.000-05:002004-11-09T14:12:41.910-05:00Commence Panicking and Widespread Hysteria...
Now.
Classes end in three weeks.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1099532267326247752004-11-03T20:31:00.000-05:002004-11-03T22:26:55.306-05:00Today, America broke my heart, broke it the way only a first love can. I opened myself up with an unsparing intensity to something greater than myself, and the width of my passion is the depth of my grief.
But the true measure of a man is how he acts in defeat. I am proud of John Kerry for conceding as he did, for being the first to extend a hand instead of a raised fist. While I don't believe Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1099233163996111372004-10-31T09:32:00.000-05:002004-10-31T09:35:23.463-05:00Happy Halloween!
From the New York Times
Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1098662451840359822004-10-24T18:54:00.000-05:002004-10-24T19:00:51.840-05:00Countdown
Ahhh... that's better. I have scrambled over scrubby hill and slippery dale to find my cosy spot in front of a roaring fire, hot chocolate in hand, dog's nose resting on my leg. There are all kinds of sounds in fire, wild whooshes and pops and every once so often a fragile sound like glass breaking. Come on Winter! Do you worst. I am perfectly happy to hibernate till, well, at least Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1097158297534571372004-10-07T07:38:00.000-05:002004-10-07T09:11:37.536-05:00Hot Chocolate, Figuratively
After tossing and turning and worrying about the fate of the world and, tangentially, the ways in which proximate cause can be proven in a negligence claim, this article by way of Kevin cheered me immensely.
Of course, my second hot chocolate, literally, is doing much to smooth over any lingering malaise.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1097117041221523442004-10-06T21:42:00.000-05:002004-10-06T21:44:01.220-05:00Okay, even I am frightened by this.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1097007320604144232004-10-05T15:04:00.000-05:002004-10-05T15:15:20.606-05:00Plum-dendum
Today was a cocoa-mocha-cocoa (grande, tall, tall, respectively) day. Forget toothpicks, I'm going to start needing steel girders to prop up my eyelids.
And in a testament to my prescience, my professor did in fact call on me Monday. There's nothing like a preemptory voice saying "Miss Willy" to get the adrenaline shooting through my veins. Happily, I had woken up at three to do theShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1096861863570886062004-10-03T22:18:00.000-05:002004-10-04T00:10:36.926-05:00More on Plums
I sat down at the kitchen table with a pot of Cinnamon Plum tea today to do my reading. It was a beautifully classic moment of October with the sun coming in cheerfully through the windows and Dante blending into the floor at my feet.
And then I decided, in honor of that lovely, autumnal moment, I'd remove to the couch and read the Atlantic instead.
For my pains I was rewarded Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1096632268344256172004-10-01T06:59:00.000-05:002004-10-01T07:05:50.620-05:00Plum Pudding
Timothy Garton Ash, an international relations expert at Oxford University, drew rueful chuckles the other day at a panel discussion here when he dubbed Prime Minister Tony Blair's approach to the Bush administration "the inimitable Jeeves school of foreign policy."
Britain, Ash said, "is the wise old butler who stands behind this idiot nincompoop in the White House and is Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1096419590972633082004-09-28T19:46:00.000-05:002004-09-28T19:59:50.973-05:00Wind and Woe and Other Melodramatic Railings Against Fate
I like rain. I like rain and storms and, as you may recall, Dear Reader, I have being skirting the grating edge of strident in my recent, constant demands for a storm. I would like to take this opportunity to point out that the underlying premise for this particular desire for storms is that I am not in the storm, or that, if I am in the Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1095952761098241052004-09-23T10:16:00.000-05:002004-09-23T10:22:56.390-05:00Ah Ha!
My Democracy and Coercion professor mentioned shower epiphanies today, not expressly by name but certainly in substance.
I felt very vindicated.
:)Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1095611950062735962004-09-19T12:27:00.000-05:002004-09-19T11:39:10.063-05:00Down with Summer!
These are the days of September that I love best: cool, crisp, days with the sky swept clean of clouds and the bright sun and the russet ends of the leaves. Dante and I went to the park to study this morning. (Well, I went to study; Dante went to frolic and chase the squirrels-- and if there's anything in this wide world cuter than a corgi running up and down the dappled hills, Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1095462014205066922004-09-17T17:40:00.000-05:002004-09-17T18:15:17.276-05:00Maybe I Just Need a Glass of MerlotI have Billy Collins' Litany in my head today.
You are the bread and the knife
The crystal goblet and the wine.
Poems run in my head like songs. For two months after September 11th, the falcon turned and turned in widening gyre; I could hear nothing but the falconer. I suppose it is the nature of words to do that, stick and not budge, leave a smudgy, stubborn Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1095262769106052182004-09-15T10:34:00.000-05:002004-09-15T18:05:01.196-05:00Caution: You May Need a Dentist Directly After Reading This Entry.
Today, while driving to class in the rain and listening to the soundtrack to Emma, I was reminded of a line I love from the movie:
"I rode through the rain! I'd - I'd ride through worse than that if I could just hear your voice telling me that I might, at least, have some chance to win you. "
That from darling, darling Mr. Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1095122445037832202004-09-13T19:06:00.000-05:002004-09-13T19:45:29.853-05:00Call Me Miniver
It is such a shame about the libraries of this past half-century. There's no beauty in them, no architectural joy, no love of books, no love of readers of books. They depress me in the way that the National Cathedral depresses me. (Oh, it's all very impressive when you're eight, but after Saint-Chappelle or the Hagia Sophia or Notre Dame you realize just what an abomination its Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1094816410251368052004-09-10T06:07:00.001-05:002004-09-10T06:42:26.856-05:00Hurricane Season I am, I must admit, a little soaked to the skin, a little wind-blown, a little rumpled and askew. Law school will do that to you. As I lie here watching rosy fingered dawn (stock epithet second only in my eyes to the wine-dark sea) and the morning lark, I am infinitely grateful for this moment of respite.
On theme but not point, I miss Texas storms. I miss the wild rolling soundShangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1094260096434200552004-09-03T19:49:00.000-05:002004-09-03T20:08:16.436-05:00I Love Dahlias
Really, they're the most splendid little (big) flowers. They were my reward today for going shopping all by myself and only having a (minor) heart-attack once (when I tried to park in the apartment-in-Beijing-sized lot in the Adams-Morgan Safeway and found that I had backed myself into a very tiny corner). They're marvellous even though I broke a knife trying to cut the stems. I Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1093987329642084462004-08-31T15:48:00.000-05:002004-08-31T16:22:09.643-05:00Perhaps a Bit Premature in the Way that "Mission Accomplished" Was a Bit Premature...
but I love law school. The professors are fantastic; my class, for the most part is thoughtful and intelligent; and the readings are engaging in a way that I would have never expected.
There's an article in my Democracy and Coercion class about male vs. female processing and hierarchy vs. solidarity, old Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1093955781298659132004-08-31T07:31:00.000-05:002004-08-31T07:36:21.296-05:00Notes from WAY Too Early in the Morning
Tea. They have Tea. And not just any Tea, Twinings Earl Grey Tea (in addition to the -don't fool yourselves, it's lesser- Bigelow variety). I am officially recompensed for having attempted the Metro bus system this morning for the second time ever and for driving all the way back from Baltimore last night with only my headlights and a prayer to guide me.
Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1093831029710070502004-08-29T20:55:00.000-05:002004-08-29T20:57:09.710-05:00It's not just good, it's good for you!
(As if I needed an excuse...)
Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1093814461929954862004-08-29T16:11:00.000-05:002004-08-29T16:21:01.930-05:00On Either Side the River Lie...
Well, with only a few minor catastrophes behind me (foremost in my mind the exploding Cheer), I am almost fully fledged. My room is resolving itself into semi-coherence: I have a file cabinet that matches my desk (very important for aesthetic integrity); there are more clothes in my closet than in the laundry, on chairs, or on the floor; my reading packets have Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1093618157160545692004-08-27T09:48:00.000-05:002004-08-27T09:49:17.160-05:00I love dog people.
My Geico customer assistant has a corgi named Oscar Wilde.
:-D
Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1093575731621994212004-08-26T21:45:00.000-05:002004-08-26T22:02:11.623-05:00Enjambment
Today, with much gratitude to a panel of law professors who referred to each other as ignorant sluts, I remembered that there is passion in law; that law is the means but justice the end; that the practice of law is vibrant, dynamic, alive; that I like adjectives (and, of late, semi-colons-- funny, I used to hate them and William Carlos Williams. How things change...).
I am full of Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1093466160729166812004-08-25T15:05:00.000-05:002004-08-25T15:36:00.730-05:00The Entry in Which I Revel in My Room Being Pink, Think About Cutting My Hair Again, And in Fact Speak of None of Those Things
Today is the day of the great white elephant; I could call it the grey and blue elephant if I liked, but that might be less of an elephant and more of a pot-bellied pig.
Yes dear, neglected Readers, school has begun. Well, orientation anyway. I have to say, it's been Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1092889260328061402004-08-18T22:54:00.000-05:002004-08-18T23:21:00.330-05:00Shangrila Regina
I have returned, my sweets, from summering. Tan, but not burnt; rested, but well-learnt.
I am in love with the Midwest. I didn't even mind the brief descent into kitsch-topia while Alexis, Rachel, and I waded through stuffed animals and knife sheaths looking for a shot glass at the largest truck stop in the world. Iowa is the stuff of dreams: the broad back and muddy elbows of Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1089830020815170332004-07-14T13:32:00.000-05:002004-07-14T13:33:40.816-05:00Thirteen Ways of Being Busy - Part II
IV
A girl and a dog
Are one.
A girl and a dog and his neuroses
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer.
The beauty of sleep
Or the beauty of completion,
The boxes in the old apartment
Or in the new.
VI
Cycles filled the long window
With furiously pumping legs.
The shadows of gay men
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Flirtatious, fraught with possibility
A Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1089819881927395152004-07-14T10:32:00.000-05:002004-07-14T12:10:30.036-05:00Thirteen Ways of Being Busy - Part I
(with grave and abject apologies to Wallace Stevens)
I
Among twenty carboard boxes
The only moving thing
Was the white couch in plastic.
II
I was of three minds
Like a card of paint
On which there are three shades of pink.
III
The sawdust whirled in the air-conditioned wind
It was a small part of the disarray.
Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1088705245259473602004-07-01T13:01:00.000-05:002004-07-01T13:07:56.880-05:00You Know It Might Be Time to Go Home When...
you start to stir your coffee with a double A battery.
In the words of my former-opera singer colleague, Michael, oy gevalt.
Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1087849190898239382004-06-21T15:10:00.000-05:002004-06-21T15:19:50.896-05:00Shangrila, the New Perfume by Calvin Klein
In some ways my life is best characterized as a series of blazing obsessions, kindling one after another in the manner of sentry lights zipping from Gondor to Rohan. Having been aware of this minor peculiarity for some time, I was gently led to muse upon it again while examining various transportation options to North Carolina. Apparently they have Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1087431660422535242004-06-16T19:16:00.000-05:002004-06-16T19:21:00.423-05:00Yes, Dear Readers, you who have given me succour in my time of woe, to you I dedicate my wild yawp that tonight rings over the slated roofs of my new home.
:-D
That's right. I have a house.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1087394120775853202004-06-16T08:53:00.000-05:002004-06-16T08:55:45.753-05:00The Day Dawns Grey and Hazy, and I Resist the Urge to be Melodramatic
I think the title says it all, really. Today is bidding day. Keep your fingers crossed for me.Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1086968692543969322004-06-11T10:44:00.000-05:002004-06-11T10:44:21.283-05:00All I Want for Christmas
I've given up on the pony. Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1086876827052590522004-06-10T08:54:00.000-05:002004-06-10T12:37:24.580-05:00I Dub Thee Gallimaufry
First of all, annual congratulations are in order for Jonathan, first of the tens (by which I mean the micro-clique in high school loosely bound together by the virtue of being born on the tenth day of the month) and harbinger of the ripe old age of twenty four which I most decidedly do not want to be this year. Twenty-four is the year that all memebers of my family lose Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1086718916861754192004-06-08T13:18:00.000-05:002004-06-08T13:21:56.863-05:00Love Like It's Never Going to Hurt...
Oh Beekman Place, you're going to break my heart again, aren't you?Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1086708406819095022004-06-08T10:07:00.000-05:002004-06-08T10:45:09.130-05:00In the Land of the Blind, the Deaf Man is... umm... Still Deaf?
Sometimes there are things, things that fill me with such irrepressible joy that I feel I must share them with someone or burst into a hundred happy pieces. By some bizarre twist of fate, these are usually the things that cause otherwise amiable and sympathetic friends to say disparaging, flint-hearted things that I'm sure they Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1086642028874418152004-06-07T15:58:00.000-05:002004-06-07T16:00:28.873-05:00A good parody cures all ills.
(link via Kim)Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1086270874606659062004-06-04T09:43:00.000-05:002004-06-04T10:03:00.876-05:00I Return from Battle, but with Lingering Scars
In the heady days of my school-going youth, sickness was a welcome break from the distressing regularity of good health. By sickness, however, I mean a light malaise, a gentle pulse of a headache, a delicate temperature and a rosy flush to the cheeks-- just enough visible symptoms to allow for the necessity of convalescing at home and being coddled Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1085678546660452072004-05-27T10:45:00.000-05:002004-05-27T12:22:26.660-05:00In Retrospect...
or more specifically in the light of day, Preppy in Pink over Mauvy Rocks was, perhaps, not my best venture into creative color. It looks like bubble-gum and sparkles exploded all over my fingernails. Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1085599446491901992004-05-26T14:12:00.000-05:002004-05-27T10:24:13.873-05:00The Weary, Wayworn Wanderer Returns to Her Own Native Shore
Yes, I'm back from Houston, where my office was (oh so coincidentally) conducting a focus group on the strengths and weaknesses of immigrant networks. I did some shopping with my mother, saw my father briefly between his "empire-building" in Atlanta and some court case in San Antonio, and spoiled wretched the face-eating puppy whose Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1085183132822429642004-05-21T18:45:00.000-05:002004-05-22T07:34:29.403-05:00In Living Color
I can post pictures now! It's so thrilling!
Fragonard's Jeune Fille Lisant, one of my favorite paintings at the National Gallery. Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1085164012253883562004-05-21T13:19:00.000-05:002004-05-21T13:38:51.170-05:00In Passing
Regardless of political affiliation, there is no denying that the official photograph of Dick Cheney is downright sinister. There's something part smirk, part snarl, part primal feral leer about it. If his face were a map, it would have HERE BE DRAGONS scrawled all over it in ink looking suspiciously like dried blood. I say this because I pass this portrait of Dorian Grey every day on Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5911172.post-1085068198491298942004-05-20T09:20:00.000-05:002004-05-21T10:12:18.503-05:00Sing in Me Muse...
What a tragedy that in today's fleet and mercurial world, we no longer have the grace to let a tired warrior have her ten days of mourning for something lost, something ceded in the heat of battle. No, today, despite the the pall of the morning, the chill in my heart, I must press on, paint my face, arm myself so strong in righteousness (and a bright canary handbag), plunge Shangrilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01546820442359517546noreply@blogger.com