30 June 2006

1 "i'm not ready. i have no makeup on... and now my zucchini's aflame!"


I: the pink fan
lindear got married last summer and because there was some bridal party drama, i surprised her with a bag of happys, one of which was a pink feathered "my pretty princess" fan. because there are very few excuses in life after the age of ten for purchasing such things, i got two. lindear's was incorporated into newlywed foreplay. mine sat on a bookshelf collecting dust. with the move, it relocated to a kitchen hook because it was pretty and matched the mixing bowls.

II: the zucchini
i've been living on zucchini for the past three hell weeks (because it's cheap and not pb&j). zucchini and parmesian cheese. zucchini and pasta. zucchini and whatever. it's fabulous. and whatever way it's done, an integral part of the preparation is sauteeing.

III: the fire detector
the fire detector is located ridiculously close to the kitchen (albeit in a one room apartment there are few places that aren't ridiculously close to the kitchen) so if any heat source is turned on, the detector imagines flames and goes wild. this happens a minimum of five times during the preparation of any given batch of zucchini.

IV: the meeting of the thrain
invariably, the end result is me, usually with implausible hair and in a revolutionary outfit, standing on tiptoe in a smoke-filled room beneath a screeching fire detector waving a pink feathered fan wildly about in the air to the cocophany of zucchini snapping, crackling, and popping on the stove.

a grey gardens dance finale ensues.

27 June 2006

2 colliewood


the collie is the eaton family dog. it's the only kind of dog we've ever had so there's clearly quite a bond there. we share a whimsical nose, an english heritage and a fondness for organization (ie. herding). and since we're big fans of rebound pets, we've never not had a collie.

but exempting those 6 months of squatting after grad school with queen cookie monster, i haven't lived at home for seven years. and with this last big grown-up move, the lack of collies in my life has really hit hard. the bombshell and i ran into one in the park last night, and it took every measure of self-control not to throw myself down the hill to pet her. i want one. i really want one.

my building doesn't allow dogs (or cats for that matter, but shh! vieve is a person of fur) and i adamantly plan to live here for two full years. but come feburary 2008, bungalow or no, my collie's coming home. am thinking merlin. because lancelot is just a wee bit much. then again, paired with genevieve, merlin might make me sound arthurianly ignorant. hmmm. thank heavens there's always phelan and paulina.

26 June 2006

0 the O.E.D.

it was a weekend devoted to marilyn, mary, and mame. the end result was two fabulous phrases that i will now proceed to run into the ground:

"long pants at last!"- an exclamation upon any event that seems particularly grown-up. as in, i'm a teenaged boy now and don't have to wear short pants any more! (auntie mame)

"oooh. we're at the rodeo!"- an exclamation for any time of total disorientation. the equivalent of "how did i wind up here???!" (bus stop)

23 June 2006

1 snow white


today, during a lull in the never-ending, vacation thwarting work drama, i found what is going to go down in history as my first white hair.

it may, in fact, have just been a particularly bold character among the many blonde, auburn and brown strands, but this is a milestone i'd like to go ahead and get out of the way and now seems as good a time as any.

accordingly, because i take archiving to rather grotesque extremes, this rogue strand was pasted into my journal, for the benefit of the future writer of the cupcake&bombsybox. unlike croftie's journals, which were filled with dialogue and stage directions, mine will be remembered for bad penmanship and a freakish hair.

as for the white coife, vera, whose name means my name, is my new style hero. where's janek? i need to talk mrs. nabokov.

22 June 2006

3 vieves 'n oline

vieve and i have been madly in love for over 4 months. we got together on valentine's day and have been completely inseperable ever since (excepting that unfortunate box springs incident). an only cat and an only child, we really respect one other's boundaries and have much in common. so much, sometimes it's a wee bit creepy.

this was me in february...



this was vieve on monday...



we frighten me sometimes.

21 June 2006

5 speaking of JFK hair...

three things:
1. i love bono.*
2. this is the age of stylists.
3. bono's stylist, we have a problem.

second only in hysterical scariness to tommy lee jones' JFK hair, is joe pesci's JFK hair. and as mr. the edge would say: "without joe pesci's JFK hair, there would be no over-processed redish combed-back mullet on the b-man." if only.



* as an eccentric, kindly parental figure, whom one loves but whose antics occasionally provoke embarrassment and shame.

20 June 2006

2 a ray of glorious light in Hell Week (part deux)



a history lesson, if you will.

in the fall of 2002, the first season of the mary tyler moore show- the greatest sitcom of all time- was released on dvd. the packaging contained an announcement that the 2nd season would be released in march 2003. this was a vicious lie.

a naive trustoline, i promptly began recording over the dozens of tapes that contained the treasured episodes i'd been watching religiously since ninth grade. the episodes that along with the BBC pride and prejudice comprise the very core of my olineness.

34 months passed. inanities like "welcome back kotter," "the jeffersons," "all in the family," "m*a*s*h," and "gilligan's island" were released in their entirety. still, there was no more mtm.

finally, in september 2005, season 2 came out. season 3 followed in january and season 4 hits streets today. this has somewhat restored my deeply shaken faith in humanity.

three seasons remain. it is my dearest wish to live to see them. Fox, hear our prayers.

16 June 2006

3 dispatches from Hell Week: sweet bungalow dreams


aside from that whole Hell Week thing, it would be hard to improve upon my life at the moment. things are pretty peachy right now. the only way i can imagine taking it to the next level would be to live in a bungalow.

my family always had a design philosophy that people should be able to walk into your home and know you, intimately. thus, my apartment is like pulling up a red chair and sitting in the center of my mind. you're surrounded by piles, pictures, pop culture, books and vieve fur. all these things i hold dear.

but if we were to describe my personality architecturally, i would undoubtedly be a bungalow. in either the cape cod or queen anne style. it's compact, quirky, very much old school, and often surrounded by green. this is probably because i grew up in mid-town memphis surrounded by bungalows and watched entirely too much meet me in st. louis as a very young girl. as a result, bungalow living is really the only life for me.

to begin with there's something relaxing about the very word. bungalow. it's so temporal, casual, beachy almost, yet without the smell. the thought of home-ownership is second only to parenthood in total complete and utter grownupy scariness, but i'd be up for a bungalow. it sounds less like a major financial investment and more like a bunkbed. also, you're not just getting a home, you're buying into bungalow living- a way of life defined by opened windows, summer breezes, lazily rotating fans and drinks with umbrellas. and who doesn't like the sound of that?

to me, bungalow living would be a curious blend of donna reed and lana turner. bungalowsoline (see! it works well with my prefixes so it was obviously meant to be!) would cook quiches and wear tight sweaters. she would have clothes strewn all over the place without stressing about it and diaphanous pastel curtains that fluttered in the wind. she would never apologize that her bungalow is messy when she knows it isn't. and she would rock those red stilleto slippers with the boa fluff. you know the ones.

at this point, bungalowsoline is renting in chicago, where she could not afford to purchase a closet if she so desired. but someday (because bungalowsoline really bought into that mariah carey song "make it happen" and, therefore, has unshakeable faith that it will), we'll all be sitting in swings on the porch of a chicago/boston/memphis/ savannah/parisian bungalow, perusing each other's plays and novels and films, drinking diet coke out of yellow acryllic wine glasses and remembering merrily, merrily when jack black's body was but a dream.

15 June 2006

4 dispatches from Hell Week

sometimes, in the midst of things, only Tommy Lee Jones' JFK hair can make it all ok. (and this photograph doesn't begin to do it justice.)

13 June 2006

2 dispatches from Hell Week

today, in the midst of The Week From Hell (ie. the storm before the three week recuperative calm), the Favorite Writer responded to my plea for last-minute emergency article assistance with the following: "you know i'd walk the world over for any blade of grass you wanted." this is the same Favorite Writer who last week, when approached to write another last-minute emergency full-page article based on approximately three sentences worth of material, coined a new universal writers motto: "have pen, will bullshit." these are but a few examples of why he is the Favorite Writer.

the Favorite Writer and i should be the bestest of friends. we write the wittiest of emails and vent about the stupidest of stupidities and mercilessly mock melodramas of our own making. but alas, the Favorite Writer and i are socially retarded. behind the pen, on the paper we exhude charisma, confidence, charm. in our three face-to-face meetings, that was all lost amidst the stammering, hand-wringing and painful pauses. maybe that's the sad side of self-aware awkwardness. the knowing the great conversations that could be had if only the words didn't have to be internally repeated twenty-seven times before making their way out of your head.

then again, if someone i'd met three times leaned over a glass of punch at a networking function and said "you know i'd walk the world over for any blade of grass you wanted," i'd pull some ghastly face and avoid him like the plague. but reading what the Favorite Writer said made me feel like a much-beloved grand and witty editrix. yes, we do only really have the one writer, but he's the Favorite. and he would walk the world over for any blade of grass i wanted. and that's rather sweet.

12 June 2006

7 take heed: Hell Week begins

on thursday, lindear said "chickenshit."
yesterday, croftie said "ass."
the apocalypse is nigh.

09 June 2006

0 sweet 16

it's pretty well known that croftie and i are too cool for school. there's the whole jack black business, the working in our wacked out field stuff, and our winning though wallflowery personalities. but a slightly less obvious reason for our too-cool-for-schoolness is the weekly Girlie Movie Night. GMN is just beyond.

past GMN's have featured such girlie fabulousness as anne of avonlea, return to me, how to steal a million, dick, bridget jones' diary, the cutting edge, one fine day, and sweet home alabama. this week we took GMN back to its maphy origins with titanic, part 1.

long long ago in maph, we watched the first half of titanic- pre-berg- and were struck by it's chick flickyness. we had every intention of tackling the second part, but it fell by the wayside amidst graduation and moving. this week, we returned to part 1 and decided, really, part 1 is all we need. it's bridget jones on a boat. it's anne and gilbert in the atlantic. it's got deep chocolate layers minus the cookies. it makes us feel 16 again.

just the introductory music was enough to bring a nostalgic tear to our eyes. we recalled sitting in backseats on long vacation rides, sniffling to james horner's plaintive notes and wiping our eyes on flannel shirtsleeves. we remembered thinking my life is so tragic- though we couldn't recall why and we're pretty sure it wasn't. at the time, way back in the winter of 1997, i was wrought with grief that princess diana didn't live to see titanic. as though had she lived three months more, jack and rose's timeless tale might have pulled her from a wayward arab course and assuaged the pains of mental instability. there's something about being 16. stupid things seem so big and the big stuff seem so easily resolved by something stupid.

the most stupidly fantastic element of titanic, that which most endears it to 16 year old girls, is the ridiculously absurd plot. jack and rose knew each other for under a week. yes, he saved her life and that would tend to bring one close to a person pretty quick, but not that close. in rose's shoes, we would have complained that jack called us "rose" too much. we would have rather died than hock up spit in front of him. and we most certainly would have been a little more frightened when he pulled us into that medieval looking gym, stared deep into our eyes and emphatically declared: "i KNOW you, rose. and YOU won't be happy living like THAT." unlike us, rose hemmed and hawed and wound up naked within hours.

but these realities are nothing when you're 16. and james cameron is eerily aware of that. which is why we will love him forever for making titanic, part 1 (titanic, part 2 is a disaster film, and as such is exempt from this girlie movie discussion). we don't know how he did it. the mournful music that tugs at our girlie heartstrings. the beautiful clothes for which we would at least consider life-long enslavement to evil billy zane. the shots that capture every single glorious nuance of the wonder that was leonardo dicaprio's cuteness in 1997.

admittedly, there are glimmers of gilbert grape and we did major lips of disapproval at the nose picking during the roll-in-mouth "make it count" speech and at the post-coitus head-on-the-bosom business. but then there are moments aplenty that set our hearts aflutter. leo chewing on a ciggy during the poker sequence; leo rocking the tux during the fancy dinner scene; leo telling cora she's his "favorite girl"; leo dancing in the jauntily unbuttoned white shirt; and our absolute favorite, leo blowing the strand of hair out of his eyes during the portrait session. even years later, it almost hurts to look. and yet, we have to rewind.

and somehow james cameron knew all of this. he knew what we girls wanted and needed: a girlie movie about a ridiculously good-looking couple who fall ridiculously in love in a ridiculously short period of time, have a series of ridiculously dramatic adventures set to ridiculously mournful music and meet a ridiculously predictable end to the crescendo of a ridiculously saccharine ballad by a ridiculously skinny diva. he knows us so well it's scary. as croftie profoundly observed, "watching this movie, i'm really surprised james cameron isn't a 16 year old girl."

07 June 2006

0 oh ya'll

i'm pretty indifferent to britney spears. i frowned when she and JT wore the matching denim outfits but that was about it. then there was this photo. let me break it down. this is pregnant britney in new york crying in the cafe of FAO schwartz with her son, moments after photogs snapped her nearly dropping him in the street when her wedgies got caught in the hem of her too-long jeans. the tragedy is multi-layered: the pebbles flintstone hair, the visible bra, the fact that she had no less public place to have a meltdown, the tear about to drip from the end of her nose. this picture made me want to write her letters, to buy her albums, to attend her concerts, to become her personal stylist and to stand with a WE LOVE YOU placard outside her home. at the very least i'll be wearing my kitschy britney t-shirt in earnest today.

06 June 2006

3 taking it to The Edge

continuing with our u2 every other post trend...
bombsy is tres curious about Edge: was he just, 'ok, we're calling me The Edge now'? i say it was a spirited friend (perhaps someone named, um, Bono). it doesn't take much. i became "cupcake" in two days. there was a convo about croftie's slip and an admission that my mum has called me that once or twice. by sunday afternoon HH, who had barely adjusted to the power of my prefixes (charmsoline, trampoline, etc.), was brusquely informed, "we're calling her cupcake now." thus begins my reign: hostess cupcake, queen of the dance parties.

05 June 2006

0 this is who i live with


vieve REALLY loved the present.

2 a staunch woman


an obscene percentage of you people (essentially, my 6 friends) haven't read "a rose for emily." it's faulkner (who was 4' 10"). like faulkner, it's short. it's gothic. it's brilliant. and it's creepy as birds. so go HERE.

03 June 2006

8 sometimes we rock n' roll


they played "ultraviolet."

really nothing more need be said, but i'll admit there was a yelp that scared everyone around me and a single tear of joy. yes, i cried in elated response to a cover band. but then i always do bring my earnest best.

we really admired faux bono when he sang, "i wanna feel... navy pier on my face!" navy pier has a distinct mustard scent. and a lot of concrete. and we wouldn't want to feel that on our face.

incidentally- VERTIGO will be in raleigh august 10th, so all you north carolinians better go. the cupcake accepts no excuses.

01 June 2006

5 eaton beans & franks


because i'm an only child and a girl, my family's favorite pastime is playing with my name. ages ago, in the car on the way to meet up with Partner for the european whirl, my mother mentioned "katie pancake." up to that point "caroline window" and "caroline teudereau" had been the greatest names they'd manufactured, but "caroline pancake" easily surpassed those. it fit perfectly into our ancestry. we are, after all, descended from the eatons of new york and the beans and the franks of mississippi. we've been eaton, beans, and franks for years. a beloved breakfast food would be a welcome addition. yesterday, my first full day of twenty-fivedom, my mum attempted her first blatant fix-up. this obviously made her uncomfortable. super cheerily, she said that a friend of a friend's nephew is living in chicago and what a small world- at which point i gave a great snort and my father gaffawed in the background because we know the phrase "what a small world" seldom augers fun times- he's living in your neighborhood and he's not married. the only time i've been officially fixed-up was in the 10th grade, when Partner had me take Joshie to the Come Together dance because she already had a date but wanted to find out if she had feelings for Joshie instead. she did have feelings for Joshie but somehow i, who didn't, wound up dancing with him to boyz 2 men's "i'll make love to you." mortifying, though it led to one of the greatest awkward pictures ever (taken in front of a mcdonald's and featuring a bomber jacket paired with gold shoes) so it wasn't all bad. but because of that i'm not a fan of the fix-up. thus, my mum, who gets me eerily well, invoked the magic words- the one phrase the sheer novelty of which was guaranteed to pique my interest. she said coyly, almost as an afterthought: "you know, The Friend is related to katie pancake." quickly she cautioned that she didn't know whether this nephew came from "the pancake side of the family" but still. dare we dream?!