City Battles Blob

I came across this story earlier today and it made me laugh. I realize that it's a serious and expensive problem, but the way the entire city is so completely bewildered by the "blob" is just fantastic.

The best part is the handy little map they've created to pinpoint the exact location of the blob.

I'm not sure how this thing could have just been discovered now. 90-foot blobs don't appear overnight. The story reports that the blob is made mostly out of flour and grease. Basically, it's a giant blob of dough. I guarantee you that somewhere in Lewiston, there is an Italian guy scrambling to hide the evidence of his foiled plan to make the world's largest pizza.

Mystery Buzz

My Treo buzzes every single day at either 12:03 AM or 12:07 AM. Without fail. Every day.

I have absolutely no idea why it does this. I've tried resetting it. I've removed the battery. I've called Verizon. I've checked for hidden alarms. I've downloaded Palm software updates (I have a 700p). I've spent hours and hours pouring through various Treo forums and Treo fan sites, all to no avail! (Yes. There are Treo fan sites.)

I'm not usually flustered by technology, but this thing really puzzles me. It doesn't really bother me or affect anything; it's just a question that I can't answer. And I hate those.

So I'm turning to you: have any of you ever experienced anything like this with either Treo (or other Palm) or Verizon?

Time for a new look?

As many of you already know, I recently started a second blog that deals solely with food, cooking, and my experiences at culinary school. I just finished the design of the new blog and I'm completely crazy about it. In fact, I'm so crazy about it that when I link back here, I kind of feel a little bored with the look of this site.

I made a couple tweaks over the weekend (widened the posting area and increased the header size), but I'm wondering if perhaps it's time for a more complete makeover.

This is where you come in. I would love for you to weigh in on the decision. Please let me know what you think of this site design, the header, the colors, layout, etc. Tell me if there is anything you find complicated when you visit or that you would like to see. If you love it as is and don't want any changes, well then tell me that too.

Your feedback is greatly appreciated!

Some things you just have to share

I live downstairs from an opera singer with a powerful voice. During the day, she practices her arias in her apartment. At night, she and her husband make love. Loudly.

I've grown oddly familiar with their most intimate sounds and habits. I could tune them out, I suppose, but quite frankly I'm fascinated.

I can tell you, for example, that when she finishes, she squeals and giggles, and then gets up and runs down the hall in the direction of the bathroom (our floorplans are the same).

I know his name is David. And that he's quieter during the act--only the occasional groan--but afterwards can't seem to stop talking, telling her things that I can't discern, but which invariably produce peals of hysterical laughter. It only takes him about 15 minutes to recharge. They're usually up long past my own 2 AM bedtime.

I guess when one works from home, sleep is not really that important...

I'm not sure why this took me so long...

Those who know me will agree that this is long overdue. Those who don't, will soon understand why.

My new blog:

Always Order Dessert
Devoted to all things edible...

(Don't worry! I'm not shutting down sent from--Now you just get twice the Alejandra fun!)

Elsewhere on the web...

The always awesome writing website Indie Bloggers has featured my recent post, "Hindsight" on their site.

If you haven't had a chance to check out Indie Bloggers yet, stop whatever you're doing and head over there now. It's an amazing collection of great writing from around the web, with a new awesome post featured every day. Their goal (as I understand it) is to feature, encourage, and inspire great writing on all kinds of topics.

So far, I think they've done a damn good job of it...

Not even the rain has such small hands, Part II

“No. Don’t go yet,” I say when he reaches for his shoes.

“Babe, I have to…” His voice and face are tired, but I ignore it.

“No you don’t. Not yet.”

I feel and sound like a petulant child, but I can’t seem to help it. I’m not ready for him to leave yet.

He sighs and sits back with the remote in hand, flipping through the previews on the OnDemand channel. He laughs at something and I smile, but nothing on the screen makes sense to me and for some reason seems only to make me feel more upset. I wordlessly take the remote from him and turn it off, replacing the cheery sounds with the crackle of the parts as they cool.

He takes my hands in his, commenting on their size. I line them across his palm like puzzle pieces, noting the way two of mine together barely make one of his.

“Not even the rain has such small hands,” I say. I explain before he has the chance to ask. “It’s from this E.E. Cummings poem—‘Nobody, not even the rain has such small hands.’”

That last line has always been a favorite, but as I say it, I understand why this is so difficult. I might be the one with the small hands, but it’s really him who has the ability to naturally unclose me, petal by petal, effortlessly slipping into those tiny spaces no one else can seem to find. And when he's gone? They close up again--empty and quiet until the next time he makes the trip over from his half of the world.

Another minute ticks by and I watch him shift. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s got his eye on the clock. My stomach suddenly starts to cramp—sharp pains that shoot up like knives and make it hard to breathe. I wince and tell him this.

“Is it from the wine?” he asks.

“No…I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is.” I’m lying, though. I know exactly what it is: my body is rejecting his departure.

I take a sip of water and lay down on the couch next to him. He’s allowed me a few more minutes and I take them hungrily. Lifting his arm, I slip my body under it, right ear pressed against his chest, within which a beat pounds steadily. I know that thump, having fallen asleep to its rhythm many times—nights, mornings, even one cloudy afternoon on the middle of a carpeted floor just inches away from a brownish wine stain.

I’m straining right now, wishing I could stop time or at least figure out a way to bottle this feeling of quiet contentment I feel only when he's around. Instead, I shut my eyes and lie still, breathing in the familiar soapy scent of his sweater. For a few more seconds, everything is in place. I’m afraid to move, knowing that once I do I’ll have to get used to missing him again. The task feels exhausting, unbearable, even. I want to say things, convinced that maybe if I just express this thing inside me just right, it'll make the moment easier.

I give myself a deadline. 30 more seconds, I think. In 30 seconds and I’ll get up and say good-bye…

I count them out slowly in my head, measured in time with the heartbeat in my ear. 28…29…30...

I wait one more beat before I tear myself away.

"OK," I say.

Mistress of My Domain

I finally scrubbed that (blog) spot out of my address...

Now with a new, (slightly) shorter URL: http://www.sentfrommydelldesktop.com/


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