Get it? Mishmash? A play on my name? Oh, never mind. Probably only makes sense to the handful of people from my childhood who used to sing “Mish mash/I was taking a bath.”
Some of what’s been going on:
My freelance life is so freaking glamorous.
How glamorous is it? It’s so glamorous that me and my velour sweatpants didn’t leave the house for two whole days this week. (Freelancing is tough work, but I love it more now than I did the first time around. I’ve been meaning to write more about this, but, well, I gotta work.) And then the following morning I needed a break, so I dashed off to le supermarche to do most of the Thanksgiving shopping. Speaking of which…
I remember when Thanksgiving was just jeudi.
Twenty years ago this Thanksgiving (I still can’t believe it’s been that long, where does the time go, feels like it was just yesterday, youth is wasted on the young, etc., etc.) I was in Paris staring at a dead bird at the table with my fellow study abroad classmates wondering why on earth we were carrying on with the tradition. I mean, we were in Paris and we wanted to embrace the local culture, like practicing verlan, smoking Gauloises, and celebrating the beaujolais nouveau (which was just yesterday, en fait). So that day was simply jeudi, non? I don’t remember much about the meal except wondering about the logistics, like a) where did the huge turkey come from and b) did one of the professors or administrators actually cook it in their apartment and c) then take it on the metro and stink up Ligne 1? Who knows. (Turkey = dinde, a great word to repeat over and over again to practice your nasal vowels, if you’re easily amused.)
Newsflash: We’re all gonna die. Pass the potatoes.
Did you see the news that burnt toast and overcooked potatoes can give you cancer? It’s not really breaking news, but I saw another story about it this week. If you’re really looking for a downer of an Internet rabbit hole to fall into, look up acrylamide. Reminds me of this Joe Jackson song.
My rabbit charms the socks off of strangers when she leaves the house.
My vet said that my bunny is one of the friendliest rabbits she’s ever met. My bun, who avoids slippery floors (tile, wood) at all costs at home, hopped around the entire perimeter of the slippery examining room floor exploring every inch. She even licked (?) the corner of the cabinet, so you know it’s true love.
Idiots make stupid decisions everywhere, even in academic libraries.
I returned some overdue books and when I tried to pay in cash at the circulation desk (which they now call access services or something equally ridiculous), they told me they won’t take my money. Come again? My fine was under two dollars, reader. So we go through this whole rigmarole and a half where they want me to put the cash on some kind of campus cash card and give them the card and pay that way (I’m not a student at this school). Oh, but guess what: The stupid machine wasn’t working, of course, so they waived my fee and we all wasted a quarter of an hour. Who makes these decisions?
Putting the biblio back in Michelle in… 2014? Sometime?
So much for writing about books. I miss reading fiction. I miss reading things that aren’t for my degree. I miss reading things for fun without a cloud of guilt hanging over my head. Plus, at the end of the day, all I want to do these days is zone out and watch Taxi and Mary Tyler Moore reruns.
Happy Thanksgiving, whether it’s just jeudi or not. (I’ll just be happy to clean off my kitchen table/workspace for a day and have leftovers over the weekend, you know?)