The Hunger Artist

Long ago, this was one of my favorite short stories. Oddly, I completely forgot about it, but in my random internet wanderings I have found it again.

It is still perfect. Read it.

The Hunger Artist


The Suburban Aloha

Today is my birthday and I’m just getting home from a rather long stretch of driving (700+ miles in less than two days across four states bookended by Hershey Park and, sadly, a funeral in Connecticut) and I’m freaking tired. However, I’ve just had a lovely lunch, changed back into pjs right here in the middle of the afternoon, and I’m going to spend the rest of the day reading and writing. The kids are with Nana and Pop Pop this week and aside from a few hours lifeguarding at the pool, I find myself with unprecedented oodles of time to… well, do stuff. To write, say, for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Or possibly get ahead on this gigantic load of reading I’ve got for the fall. One thing is for certain, however: I do not plan to get back in that car again for quite some time.

So if you’re looking for me, I’ll be riding around town on the Suburban Aloha, which my husband fixed up for my birthday. (Hooray!) Now its got a great big seat and when nobody is looking I just might put it on my tri-bike, which despite its speed and whatnot, is not much like sitting on the couch, which is really a crying shame. (Triathlon on 9/11.)

Today is my birthday, however, so no exercise will occur because I’m freaking tired and I’m wearing my pjs already. Think I’ll go put some flower stickers on the Suburban Aloha instead.

Flying and Returning

I’ve been away but now I’m back. We’ve had a lovely family vacation a whole mess of time zones away and now, having red-eyed it back to the east coast, I find myself sitting here blogging because I have very few awake brain cells to rub together and if I stand up I’m going to have do deal with the food and laundry issues lurking a room or two away. Also we’re all sounding pretty cranky so maybe it’s best if we just stay in our corners for the time being.

It is also quite possible that I am really the beast of the bunch, as I appear to be the worst at flying. I cannot sleep on a plane no matter how much I try to talk myself into understaning that I will be fine–it is quite unlikely that we will plummet into the earth/ocean at the whim of a gusty wind (although the pilot did mention on the second flight of the day that he was going to be avoiding some “tornadic” weather in the midwest, which was really not all that reassuring). Additionally, the kids do not undertand that during takeoff and landing mommy must sit as still as humanly possible and try to zen herself out into some peaceful place wherein I am not sitting in what is essentially a giant aluminum gas tank with wings hurtling itself illogically through the air. Thus, it is not good for me to have conversations like this just before takeoff, when I am being issued a child sized life vest for my younger daughter:

N: Mommy, you have to give it back. She asked if I was forty-five pounds and I am.

Me: Just put it under your seat.

N: But I am forty-five pounds. I don’t need it.

Me: Just put it under your seat.

N: But I don’t want it. E didn’t have to have one.

Me: Just put it under your seat. You won’t need it anyway.

N: How do you know?

Me: I know.

N: Are you sure?

Me: Yes. It’s just for emergencies. We’re not going to have an emergency.

N: Have you ever had an emergency on a plane?

Me: No.

N: Then how will we know what to do we do if we have one?

Me: (looking to see if the flight attendant is coming around with the alcohol yet) We’re not going to have one. Just put it under your seat.

Flight passes without incident. Upon landing, taxiing, and collecting various amusements from seat pockets and such, N picks up the still neatly packed life vest and says: You were right! We didn’t need it! You’re psychic!

N thinks I’m psychic lately. I’m going to go with that one for a while. Also we’re going to stay on land.


I’ve been such a crappy blogger that I think I’m going to dispense with actual titles and just name my posts after the seasons, weather being nature’s great wake up call that says, it’s-been-way-too-long-since-you’ve-(fill in the blank). (What people in California do, I have no idea. If I couldn’t say, “I haven’t done that since the last time it snowed…” I don’t know how I’d ever figure out how to stop procrastinating and get on with it.)

Anyway, summer. Summer is fun because stupid flying bugs get into the house and the cats leap through the air trying to catch them, which is very funny to watch. Other than that I am not a huge fan of summer. It’s hot. I make big plans to accomplish all sorts of things that won’t happen. The kids are out of school and cannot formulate a thought that is not prefaced by “MOMMY!” They do love summer, though. That part is nice. Summer means pool, ice cream, watermelon and everything optional. They do make it sound lovely, don’t they?

This summer my husband and I kicked off summer for the second year in a row by doing a triathlon. This was not a particularly good idea. I had a really busy winter during which my gym was closed for construction, it snowed a lot, and my ass spent a lot of time sitting in chairs eating cheddar Sun Chips and Doritos while reading/researching/writing for school and turning my keyboard orange. Such activities do not an athlete make. These activities breed smart-alecky fat-asses, which isn’t as helpful as it might seem while pedaling a bicycle uphill while still dripping wet from swimming thorugh a goose-populated lake. Nevertheless, we did it anyway and live to tell. That’s something, I suppose.

Now that it’s July it’s hot and I’m just lazy. Even the cats have stopped chasing the bugs. Instead they do this:

Anyway, summer is passing and while I am doing things and writing things, I’m not doing or writing nearly as many things as I would have liked. I’m going to blame my lack of productivity on this song, which appeared in our household in June and has been running through my head on a continuous loop ever since:

Thanks for that one, universe.

Interview with the author (That’s me!)

Happy May! Yes, I’ve been missing again but actually I’m still here. There are all sorts of things going on these days and I have no idea where to begin catching up but let’s start with an interview!

I know what you’re thinking. An interview? Who in the world would want to interview me? Even my neighbors hardly know I exist. Nevertheless, there is an interview on the Pank blog with little old me. Go see! Also read my story, which they so kindly published on their site in March. The story is fiction, but the interview is 100% true stuff, I swear.

More to come… (soon!)

Time warp (and new stuff!)

Well, I’ve clearly been in a time warp of some sort as last time I looked it was still February and holy crap tomorrow is April. I know this for sure becuase I’ve already begun my annual survey of jellybean flavors with Starburst sour apple winning by a longshot. Also, there are curious spots of green out there by the fence. I’m fairly sure they are very cranky daffodil shoots that are having some sort of botanical tantrum because they keep getting snowed on.

In any case I’ve been remiss but now I’m back (at least temporarily) with things to share.

First, go see “Don’t Say Sorry” over at, where my kids are cartwheeling in the living room again.

Then, visit “Inheritance” over at PANK. I love this piece. Odd personality quirks, a big dog and a small injury all wrapped up in a short story.

To round things out (and because it’s spring! sort of, anyway) if you missed “Dirty” at, go visit it. It gets lonely and likes to have friends.

Happy spring, everyone!

Almost the End of February


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“Girlfriend in a Coma” is stuck in my head.

Jim took the girls to the Guggenheim and left me alone so I could get some work done. I got almost nothing accomplished and also didn’t get to go to the Guggenheim.

I can’t find enough sugar to function normally.

The handyman came to replace the leaky faucet in the kitchen sink. He angled the handles on the taps back because he said they looked “fancier that way” and seemed so earnest that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that angled taps are stupid looking and annoying. Now I’m going to have to live with it.

Yesterday Jim took this picture of me with the girls from outside on the patio. I was, despite every fiber of my being screaming that it was wrong and unfair, logging them onto Littlest Pet Shop Online on my laptop. It hurt my heart but I guess I love them just that much.

Cue the Outrage


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Just read this article in the Washington Post and I have to say that I love the word “lactivists.” And yes, I think nurse-ins are great. As a mom who used to nurse everywhere my sense is that typically no one notices. Anything. Ever. The fact that someone noticed this mom breastfeeding twice in one day is the most stunning thing about the whole article to me. I have nursed in museums, restaurants, stores, subways, trains, planes, public parks… everywhere. And yes, I’m an invisible person (cue my personal insecurities), but mostly no one ever took a second look. Several times I had older ladies come up and want to see the baby while I was nursing and I would have to say, “Um, she’s busy at the moment,” because even up close no one could see much of anything.

So go! See some art and some cute kids. And if you want to see breasts, take a look at the paintings. Lots of boob action there.

New Poem! (and other stuff)


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It’s been a crazy week and my head is so full of things to do I hardly know where to begin. Unfortunately, the bills must be paid, food (cat and human) must be procured, and something really must be done about the electrical problem which is keeping the entire front of the house dark and powerless. Ah well. Who needs the front of the house? Plenty of power back here, so let’s read poems! I have a new one in Anderbo that’s kind of fun. Go see!