I apologize for my absence; I've been off having one of the worst weeks of my life.

When I was in the second grade struggling to learn my multiplication tables (which, by the way, didn't stick), I was required to participate daily in a terrible, terrible thing called Mad Minute. We basically had one minute to complete as many math problems as possible. And the irony of it all is that that minute did, in fact, drive me mad. I was so worried about doing well in such a short amount of time that I'd actually end up sitting there staring at the clock for the full minute, pencil in hand, unable to complete a single problem. Even the easy ones, like 1 times 0.

I was so afraid of failing that I failed.

I guess since this experience was almost twenty years ago, it's about time I learn something from it. So I'm doing my best to keep my head down and solve these impossible problems one at a time without letting that goddamn ticking clock get to me. I may end up failing anyway, but hell, this is the best I can do.

And maybe in twenty years I'll learn something from this experience too.

Oh, how I love you.

But, oh, how you make my heart ache.

Fondly,
S.

I cannot stop watching this video. Probably because it's impossible to watch it without grinning like a crazy person.

If I could be anywhere in the world right now, it'd be at MGMT's 2008 performance of "Kids" at SXSW. Right next to that dude with the energy drink. He's probably spilling it everywhere, but who the hell cares? There is music happening! Glorious, original music playing on a boombox while the band jumps around to the beat with a lot of strangers!

Clearly, this is my version of heaven.

MGMT is my husband's new favorite band, and I'm totally there with him. He shared this video with me several weeks ago, and just the thought that he would do such a kind and wonderful thing melts my wicked, hardened heart, and I'm suddenly filled with the urge to ride the elevator down five floors, take his face in my hands, and cover it with kisses. In front of all his coworkers.

Let 'em stare. This is love.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not exactly Suzie Recycle. I mean, it's important and all, and I do have a stash of plastic bags under my sink to last through roughly, I don't know, seven hundred takes of that scene in American Beauty. Not that I think it's okay to send plastic bags flying away in the air, even if it's art. I use 'em for dog poo.

And I do try to avoid obtaining these plastic bags at all costs. More often than not, you'll find me leaving a grocery store attempting to juggle several items in my arms. The sane thing to do would be to invest in a canvas grocery bag, but meh. No bag at all? Even better, right?

I've got my pet issues, but we don't even have a recycle bin at our house. However, through a series of twists and turns, a series that mostly involved my making a big stink about how unacceptable it is for a large advertising agency to have Styrofoam cups in its kitchens (did you know that Styrofoam never biodegrades, EVER?!), I've somehow ended up the head of the Green Committee at TracyLocke. So now I'm in charge of finding a cost-effective solution for the Styrofoam cups. Among other things. And by "other things," I mean it's now my job to collect plastic and glass bottles from four floors, rinse them out, separate them, load them into my car, and drive them to a recycling center.

All this, and I caught myself drying my hands with a paper towel this morning instead of the perfectly good dishtowel we keep beside the kitchen sink for that very purpose. And let's ignore the 200 milk jugs I've thrown away in the past year, yeah?

I suppose it's about time I contact the city of Dallas and let them know that I guess those blue thingies? I'll be needing one. Ideally before my hypocrisy is exposed. Like, say, on the internet.

My younger brother was playing cars
with our nephew on the floor.
"You're loosing your breeches," he said,
pulling the toddler's elastic-waisted jeans
back over his diaper.

He looked up at me, bewildered.
"Why did I just say 'breeches?'''
I had been looking on, smiling.
"It's what Dad used to say to you."