1. Try to get paintbrushes that are all the same color. Children will not believe that the color of the handle will not make a difference. And they will all want the pink one.
2. That little girl with the look of Lucifer in her eye? She is going to dump the dirty water. Then she's going to paint the wall. Finally, she is going to attempt to paint you.
3. Yellow paint will stain your cuticles. Green and blue will stain them worse. All of the colors mixed together will create the worst stains of all.
4. Blot the painting before you hang it to dry, unless you like the spattered look on your floors as well as its aftermath as it is tracked happily through the room.
5. When washing the children after painting, be sure not to neglect their arms, faces, ears, necks, legs, feet, and stomachs, as the presence of paint in some of these locations will be more difficult to explain to the parents.
My two-year-old niece learned how to say my name before my husband's, his brother's, or any of the names of her other aunts or uncles except for two. Jealousy reigns. To be fair, it sounds more like "Tate," but the last T is emphatically present and accounted for, and we heard it at least 20 times, very clearly, during last night's visit. To paraphrase Lester Burnham: She's the niece I've always wanted, and now I've got her. I RULE!
Last weekend Marc and I joined the other Marc and some other Bronx Science recoverees for Spirited Away (that link has sound, FYI). Once I got past the fact that the audience reminded me of a hipster graphic novel convention, the movie was hauntingly wonderful. The Japanimation thing isn't really my scene, so I can't really vouch for how it compares to other films of a similar genre, but according to the website, it was the most successful film in the history of Japanese cinema, so, you know, it would probably fare pretty well compared to all those other movies. I was totally sucked in, and haven't really been able to get it out of my mind. It was beautiful, in that slightly-fantastic-yet-realistic way, and the story was completely engaging. A young girl, Chihiro, and her family get lost while searching for their new house in a new community, and happen upon an ancient Shinto shrine slash bath house to the gods. I think I lost a little bit of the story for not knowing the cultural significance of a lot of the god characters, but that didn't keep me from getting wrapped up in Chihiro's plight as she fought to save her parents (who are turned to pigs for their gluttony) from the evil sorceress who runs the bathhouse and runs the fantastic other-world environment. Highly recommended.
Photos from Puerto Rico, now up in the photo section of punkly. Marc wrote a pretty concise summary of the trip here on his weblog.
When we watched Say Anything on DVD last weekend, Marc commented that the scene where Lloyd Dobler (John Cusack) is teaching Diane Court (Ione Skye) to drive stick, and they decide to switch places, and instead of getting out of the car, they climb over each other in the middle, was the most erotic scene he had ever seen. In the Director's commentary (with Director Cameron Crowe joined by Cusack and Skye), Skye comments that if the two actors hadn't been dating other people (Cusack had supposedly just "fallen in love," I'm guessing maybe with Lili Taylor??, and Skye was solidly in with Anthony Kiedis at the time), that would have been the night that they'd have gone home together.
Of course, throughout the rest of the commentary, as Crowe and Cusack talk about how brilliant they are, Skye spends most of the time gasping and exclaiming, "Uh! That is so great!" Once in a while, and I think you can imagine the Cusackian glances they're giving her, one or the other of the men throws in a, "and there's the beautiful Ione again..."
Here's a great little snippet of conversation where they try to engage her...
CC: How did you prepare for this, Ione?
IS: Just... I really, you know, I just... isolated, you know, I... uh... I just, you know, I really just, uh... focused. I mean, I knew, this was it, this was the big...
She is then, mercifully, cut off.
1. If I ever do a book tour (and I think I shall, yo, right after I, um... write the book...), I'm cutting the 92nd St. Y right out of the agenda. Sure, the Kaufmann Concert Hall (which I've come to think of as the Blah Blah Auditorium) is swanky and boasts a glowy blue curtain and charmingly random name-dropping along the crown of the room (Ex.: David Moses Einstein), but it's really not the scene I'm going for. If I'm planning a thoroughly degrading kiss-up to this bitch of a city and know that my patrons are coughing up the dough for my "evening with the author," I'm heading straight for either a) Cooper Union's Great Hall (in which case I'd arrange for an accompanying art exhibit prepared entirely by engineering students, but that's really a whole other dream I can tell you about later), b) the auditorium at Washington Irving High School, c) the Beacon Theater, or d) the Metropolitan Museum of Art roof garden. Got it? See you there.
2. When I get there, there's clearly no better choice for Author Introducer (although I suppose it's of dubious necessity since shouldn't a "writer" be able to come up with something clever along the lines of self-introduction?) than the soon-to-be esteemed American novelist, Tony. This became increasingly obvious as we both stifled giggles during the weak back-of-the-book introduction by some graying head of a department from, you guessed it, Princeton University. Incidentally, everything Tony mentioned -- also true.
3. Not only is it not uncool to bring multiple books for the author to sign, it seems to be imperative. I brought two and handed one off to Marc, figuring I wouldn't mind if my copy of The Red Notebook was signed with something clever like, "To Marc, who actually carries a red notebook everywhere he goes, including to my signing, although he refuses to take it out of his bag (you silly boy): It's brilliant to witness this kind of zest for life emanating from a true New Yorker. From one city boy to another. I'll always cherish this moment. Yours, Paul Auster," while my copy of The Book of Illusions would be signed with something along the lines of, "Kate, oh Kate, thank you for bringing your own pencil. That was clever in the most indulgent way. Please don't steal my legions of fans. Couldn't we share? Remember me when we are old... Fondly, Paul Auster." Luckily for the two-hundred people in front of us in line, who seemed to be carrying at least six books each, all anyone seemed to get was a hasty "Paul Auster," incidentally signed with a pen he told me was (I'm paraphrasing) "just fine... I found it on the floor," when I offered up my pencil. I was planning to give him a bookmark I made with the word integrity scrawled across the top, but I suddenly second-guessed myself and hid it in my palm as I reclaimed the book he proffered. I say luckily, of course, because I've heard that an undesignated autograph is more valuable on ebay than a personalized message. Well, Mr. Auster, you've selected your storefront carefully.
4. How can an entire Burritoville just disappear? My first reaction before last night would have been: Does the fact that Burritoville is gone mean that it was never there to begin with? But now I just think the building was torn down. Do you see, Mr. Auster? You're ruining tomorrow's literati.
I'm an assistant nursery school teacher. Marc's mother owns the school, so I'm less an "employee," more a "recipient of piteous compliments." Today we learned the letter C, as in cat, cookie, and Kate. Well, we had to unlearn 'em that last one, but it sounds so much like cake, they were pretty resolved (in fact I am now known selectively as "Miss Cake..."). We also learned about autumn, the time of year when the leaves change color and fall off of the trees, when little kids go back to school, and when, according to Joey, "the whole family goes to the thing and then they throw the thing at the thing and then they win! ...Is it time to paint now?" This, of course, causes an eruption of declarations like, "My family goes to the church, and then we put the dog in its cage!" And: "Miss Kate! Miss Kate! I have a dog and it peed on the floor!"
I can't think of a better way to spend twelve hours a week.
Tonight I'm meeting Marc and Tony at the Y to see Paul Auster, my favorite writer. I read his most recent offering, The Book of Illusions, while we were in Puerto Rico. It's about a man who spends his time trying to distract himself from unfortunate events passed by becoming completely absorbed in the life and films of a silent films actor who vanished decades earlier. Auster's written several haunting novels featuring New York City prominently, and I've thoroughly enjoyed everything I've read by him. I'm pretty excited and I'm wondering if it's uncouth to carry three novels with me for him to sign...
Well, I just finished my first half-day of nursery school. Today I learned how to cover my mouth when I cough, how to sing the alphabet (several times, REALLY LOUDLY), and then we read a book about Peter Pan. I got paid. Just when I was thinking that nursery school is a whole lot better the second time around, some three-year-old told me she was going to kick my ass. So really, it's not all that different from Engineering, except that the metaphors by which I used to live have now all been realized.
Oh yeah, I have a job again.
I just saw a commercial for Ragu Rich and Meaty, and I actually heaved a little. It's meat, in a jar. Not just that -- according to the link, Ragu Rich and Meaty has more meat per jar than any other leading brand of pasta sauce. So, er... bonus.
I swear, I will not follow Push, Nevada. I will not post a link to a message board. I will not mention that there are a bunch of other cryptic Push-related websites around. Whoops, too late.
I owned a pair of Dwayne Wayne glasses, circa 1988. Everything I needed to know about college, I learned from A Different World. And truth be told, Denise Huxtable had the big hair I always wanted.
In response to the most recent round of questioning, we'll probably be in New York through October. No, we still don't know "and then what?" We would both like to stay in New York City (optimally) or New York State (also great). Unfortunately, Marc's company doesn't really have any standing contacts here. About 60% of my possessions are still in boxes, a direct result of the fact that our departure date has been pushed back one month at a time since June. This is finally beginning to create noticable stress for both of us.
I'm back. I came down with some kind of flu in PR, which I attribute to the nasty blanket on the airplane. My sunning was not deterred, however, and so I am thoroughly orange, which is as close to tan as I get. I look like this girl, Maureen, who went to my high school and used to apply this look with a brush. Plus freckles, and lots of 'em. My throat is still sore, and New York is still hot. I'm also still caught up in the ridiculous little soap opera I alluded to in my (forgive me) expletive ridden post in August. Today I spilled the whole story to a good friend, who advised me (I think in summary) that everyone involved is being just a little bit silly, which, naturally, I knew all along, but neglected to treat as such. Unfortunately it's too late to sit everyone down and warn them, and so I'm stewing, looking for a better solution or some kind of magical dissolution of the problem. As a result, I'm back, but I guess I can't say I'm really back.
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a couple of things everyone should know about watercolor painting with three- and four-year olds.Search the know
