two years, thirty-six years

recently, very recently, the baron and the husband had a two-fold celebration: their second wedding anniversary and the husband's 36th birthday. both events come on the same day - the husband's thought process being that, if they married on his birthday, the odds of his forgetting their anniversary were pretty slim. so far, this plan is working. below are two gifts from the baron to her man.


above, monsieur tofu has a lock on mr. bacon; everyone loves a barrel chest.

above is something the baron and the husband have long talked of adding to their outdoor living space - to the seating area they call "fern valley". the baron was delighted by the cost and the make of the buddha (it was nicely priced, and is made of cement rather than some kind of fiberglass), and the husband - who has long held a fascination with all things asian - was glad to incorporate this symbol of serenity into his garden.

it was a successful and happy day all around.

the dog and the squirrel

a little while ago, the baron's part of the world experienced some really exquisite weather. for four days, the skies were a cloudless blue, the temperature stayed in the low and mid 70s, and there was a little breeze - just enough to ruffle the ends of your hair or the hem of your skirt. it was delightful, and the best part was that two of those perfect days were weekend days.

so. on perfect weekend days, the baron and the husband spend lots of time outside, reading, loafing, drinking, occasionally croquet-ing. the dogs, of course, join them - though it's hard to say whether or not they enjoyed the days at all, since these dogs seem as content on a 95 degree day as they do on a 55 degree day.

one thing harlan enjoys for sure? a little game the baron and the husband call "hey, squirrel! jump in my mouth!", which involves squirrel stalking, squirrel hunting and squirrel catching. but all that fun starts with squirrel watching. here, for you, reader, is a shot/reverse shot look at the scene. and don't worry - the squirrel made it out just fine.

he's so heavy

tonight the baron's brain is foggy. she received some bad news about a man she kind of knows, an acquaintance. he was traveling abroad, took ill, went to the hospital, and died. this is exactly how the news was related to her, short on details but heavy on certainty and reality. the baron thought of this man, who she'll call lecturer, as an SOB - a salty old bastard, usually attired in jeans, white sneakers, suspenders, and a plaid patterned shirt. lecturer parted his hair deep on the left side and smelled vaguely of stale, smoked cigarettes. lecturer and the baron didn't talk much about their personal lives, but they talked about books and movies, and if ever lecturer had cherries to share, he shared them with her. in short, he was a delight, a gentleman and a scholar, and the baron thinks that the halls of her college will be less rich for his passing. she liked him, and be assured reader - the baron doesn't like many.

the husband's terrible, terrible day is turning into a terrible, terrible night. he works in public affairs for an unpopular government agency. said agency has apparently been mismanaging its 'just in case' oil tankers and the shit is about to hit, but good. because someone upstairs really gets schadenfreude, the husband is on-call this week, which means that all press calls go to him. which means that, after someone foolishly sent an internal memo detailing the locations of these tankers to the press, the calls from said press are coming hot and heavy to the husband.

but. he's a hardy fellow and has sprung into superhero mode. recognizing that the baron had a pretty shitty day herself, he managed the press calls, managed his conference call, and ordered a pizza so she wouldn't have to cook. all at the same time. lightening each other's load? that, reader, is love.

man o' war

the baron has previously referred to the husband's LET ME SEE ALL MY STUFF way of looking at the world.

the record above - man o' war, and yes, those men are dressed like conan the barbarian - was among last saturday's purchases... man o'war is but one of 15 or so records that came home with the husband. as you, reader, can plainly see, the thrift store priced the album to sell, and the husband, never one to turn away from a deal, snatched it up.

farmer's market

the baron and the husband spent a small part of their sunday in greenbelt, wandering around the roosevelt center farmer's market: a friend of theirs was selling dog biscuits and they stopped by for moral support and to drop off freshly baked peanut butter biscuits.


it was their first time at the greenbelt farmer's market - they usually visit the saturday farmer's market in their own city. but the baron, marveling at piles and piles of beautiful produce, thought she might come back.

08.08.08

today, the baron is thinking about contradictions, about how sometimes the things she hates are also the things she loves. it's kind of tough, having both hate and love at the same time, but the baron? she's complex.

for instance, she both hates (the way her stomach and groin muscles cramp up, the way she sweats all over everything) and loves (the feeling of moving muscles, of adding a little more weight to the chest press, of running 3 miles IN A ROW) the gym.

other things she hates and loves include ice cream, 'save the last dance,' sewing, petting her foster cat, and laundry.

another thing the baron hates? jingoism and the idea of nationalism, especially to the exclusion of others. bullys and braggarts. prime-time television and most sports commentators.

but.

right now, she is kind of loving all those things (well, not jingoism. never that.), because the baron loves, loves, loves the olympics. that they're being held in china, that the baron really, really disagrees with a lot of china's domestic and foreign policies (especially those tricky human rights ones), that the baron isn't really all that big a fan of most of the sports included in the summer games... even these things cannot quell the rise of national pride welling up inside her like so much bile.

if you knew the baron, you'd know that the phrase 'proud to be an american' makes her laugh in a nasty way. but, reader, today she kind of is.

i'm american, of course i lie

right now, the baron is thinking about an exchange that just occurred in her office, between her and one of her new students.

(a note: the baron, for no particular reason other than the boring nature of her job, has chosen not to discuss they type of work she does or her place of work. she'll deviate briefly here to say that she works in higher education, with graduate students. she does not teach them.)

the baron, sitting at her desk, was preparing herself for the day, making her to-do lists, getting some water, checking email, when a knock came at the door. it was a new student, fresh off a plane from korea. it's worth mentioning that this young woman is very good with the english language, and that she's very, very cute - like a button.

her: the baron, can i ask you a question?

the baron: sure.

her: in america, do you give out your cell phone number?

the baron: yes, but why are you asking?

her: someone asked me for my phone number yesterday, and i didn't know what to do.

the baron: was it a boy?

her: yes. i was at a coffee shop.

the baron: did you know this boy? how did you come to be talking to him?

her: i was at a coffee shop, drinking coffee, and he came to talk to me. he said that he was korean, and that he had been to korea. he is not a student here. he asked for my phone number, but i wasn't sure what to do. what can i say if i don't want to give him my phone number?

the baron: [heavy sigh, deciding to be honest] well, i can tell you what i do. if i don't feel comfortable with someone, and i don't feel like they'll let me go without repeatedly asking for a phone number, i give them my phone number. but. i change one of the numbers. that way, you've given them the wrong number. it's lying, and you shouldn't do it, but if you feel like it's the best way, do it.

her: ah!

the baron: or, maybe you want to know this person better, but you don't want to give out your phone number, so say 'i don't feel comfortable giving out my phone number, but here's my email address.'

her: ah! yes! that is a good idea.

the baron: yep.

her: ok. thank you. have a good day.

the baron: yep. (the baron is thinking that she just advised a student that lying was the best way to get out of a sticky situation, and worse - she did it from a position of power and authority relative to the student. the baron feels bad about it.)

the husband's consoling words were 'omigod. you're mrs. garrett!', which made the baron feel even worse.