Where the Sun Sets Over the Water

There is shop, as Ian would say, in the bowels of Pike Place Market. I do not know what it is called.

I know that if you walk down a slippery ramp, and pass by the gummy bear giant made out of smaller gummy bears, and take a left once you see the stacks of vintage Playboys, you'll see it.

It's the kind of shop that I love, the kind that I can spend hours in, looking at every piece of merchandise they have. There are antique shops in Bellingham with crates of old clothes and stacks of ceramic dishes and boxes of photographs that Kili and I have literally gotten lost in, accidentally wandering out two hours after we went in, thinking we had been there for half an hour, forty five minutes.

The shop in Pike Place is filled with vintage posters, old photographs, mimeographs and originals of 1924 Sports pages. Propaganda posters from the two world wars--DESTROY THIS MAD BRUTE: ENLIST below a gorilla certainly makes me want to fight the Huns. Early editions of Time and Newsweek and Rolling Stone magazines, in protective plastic envelopes to keep my greasy fingers off the delicate pages. Advertisements from the 40s and 50s--who wouldn't want a new pair of boots for $2.45? French nudie pics--Sarah Bernhardt and Josephine Baker, scantily clad. Art deco and art noveau--and not just the requisite Tournee du Chat Noir, either.

We spent a long while in there, sharing the funniest magazine covers and posters, thumbing through old photographs of people who are long dead or now dying. I saw a photograph of a four year old in a camel colored seventies style suit, and I wondered where he is now. Dead? A father? Passing me by on the street?

We left only when we realized we were famished, odd cravings for clam chowder before our visit to the aquarium.

Christmas Cheer, a la cupofchi

Two weekends ago, two of the MFA students hosted a Christmas party. We were told there would be cake, and to wear sweaters. I wore a party dress, red lipstick and an ugly snowflake broach as a hairpin. Way better as a hairpin.

We drank Bailey's and coffee and champagne and did not sing Christmas carols, but had a raucous good time nonetheless. I bought two pounds of chestnuts that afternoon, and took them over to roast for a party snack. It might not have been over an open fire, but I think it still put us in that Christmas spirit.

When we peeled the chestnuts, crouched around the coffee table together, I told them about France, how you can buy a newspaper cone full of hot roasted chestnuts from street vendors. Two years ago, I was in Avignon the day after Christmas, and I remember dropping chestnut shells onto the ground as we walked around, looking at the city lit up for the holidays (biodegradable! it isn't litter!). Something about it always felt so festive, so old-timey. Like I was a part of something that had already happened.

I'm hoping to roast some more this weekend at Scarlet's house, while I plan our Christmas dinner, and then bake some of these to leave out for Carl....errrr, Santa. At any rate, it's about time that I skidaddle and make some Christmas cheer somewhere else, because my tree is about as dry as a bone, and crinkles unpleasantly before dropping needles every time I walk by it.

No matter. Scarlet's got a fiberoptic one put up whose branches will never droop.

It Turns Out...

That in the event of a frigid finals week, washing dishes offers not only a respite from typing, but also serves to warm at least ten of your extremities. I try to leave the toes out of it.

If you can't tell, I'm going a bit whacko with writing, but that's normal, and I'm usually back to my old self a week or two after finals are over.

Only 23 pages left. I'm making excellent time.

Next on AMC

Fourteen days.

Thirty five pages.

An epic showdown.

Who will triumph?

Stay tuned to find out!

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming of turkey noodle soup, tree trimming, and toddies.

Fah Who Foraze

Welcome, December. I'm glad you are here. Good riddance to a terribly busy month (with a lovely time with Emma, of course, but busy nonetheless) and a horrible academic time in November.

Good riddance to writing a blog post a day in the worst possible month of the year to do so, and good riddance to pumpkins.

Welcome, snowflakes and reindeer and Santa Claus hats. Welcome, final two weeks of the semester and deadlines. Welcome cinnamon and toddies (okay, fine, I've already welcomed you several times over in November), welcome Baby Jesus and fir trees. Welcome frigid temperatures and hats and boots.

I'm so happy to see all of you.