It is a truth universally acknowledged

Back when we got channels like USA, my roommate and I saw previews for a new show called "Covert Affairs." It's about a new female agent who works as a spy--okay, okay operative--for the CIA. That sounds strangely familiar, no? Well it didn't matter. I didn't have the channel and certainly wouldn't be watching it so I put it from my mind. Then my roommate went out of town, watched the show, and wrote on my Facebook wall to say she'd enjoyed it. So while I was crocheting yesterday I pulled it up on Hulu and watched the first two episodes--using Hulu and watching female spies counters the old lady-ness of crocheting, you see.

While thankfully there was no mention of aRambaldi and the main character has yet to demonstrate severe daddy issues, I noticed some similarities to my favorite female spy on television.

It seems that all female spies:

• have strong/square jaw lines
• have dimples
• wear a surprising amount of make up
• insist on wearing their hair down whilst fist fighting and other spy-type hijinks
• don't smile. Duh. Spying is a serious business.
• have an innate ability to speak many important languages, including Russian.
• begin their shows with traumas involving ill-fated love affairs.
  

I guess that means I can't be a spy because I would totally put my hair in a ponytail.

I did enjoy the show though. But what's not to enjoy about spies?

Summer Time

and my internet's spotty. So in lieu of a long post enjoy a few pictures from my time at home.

The HCP, naturally,

I keep good company.
(Joseph Smith and Moroni)

The family enjoying a cruise on the Erie Canal (where else)

You've got to love four generation shots.
Especially when your subjects are kind enough to seat themselves in counterclockwise position by age.

Amos.
Getting into some mischief.

Lily and Meg.
Green was the color of the day.

Jillian and Grandpa.
She allowed him to console/amuse her. He did know all the places on interest on the boat tour.

Toby, Catherine, and the red hat.

"Has anyone seen my new red hat?"
Anybody? Anybody?
Bueller?

On a completely unrelated note, I allowed my classmate to talk me into going to Ramona and Beezus with her because it was "in our professional interests." It was completely charming. You know, just in case you have a little girl you need/want to take to a movie.

Internet Viking

As you know, I'm a poor graduate student. In debt up to my ears, crunched for time, and scrounging about for sleep. So I've released my inner Dane. That's right. I've turned to internet viking-cy.

Essentially, it's the same thing as internet piracy (of music infamy), but far less hackneyed and much more in line with my personal pedigree. It started with a school project here or there. A couple of weeks ago,I had to mastermind a modern publishing of Anne of Green Gables, complete with cover design, for my final project. So what was I, unartistic and penniless as I am, to do? I hunted the internet for inspiration and along the way I just happened to find the perfect illustration and a fun new font. The problem was, the font cost $59 dollars and it wasn't exactly something I'd be using day in and day out (if it had been I'd probably have justified the expense). But wouldn't you know that myfonts.com has a preview feature where you can see the phrases you need in each font. And wouldn't it just so happen that my laptop has a screen capturing program? So I admit it, I pillaged away.

But apparently my infamy does not stop there. Because I was blog hopping today and found a hilarious youtube video on the blog of a friend of a friend and so I plundered again, indiscriminately. Enjoy the fruits of my looting.



PS Is this what I'll sound like once I get my Master's in Children's Literature?

A Comedy of Errors

I try to feed the missionaries from our church about once a month. At once a month its really not that onerous (even if at times it gets a little pricey), and with a few mainstay menus in my box of tricks its really not that difficult either. Even then, these dinners have turned into a bit of an event. If my roommates are going to be around, I invite them to join. Then I figure that since I'm already going through the effort of making a big meal, I might as well capitalize on it and I invite a few classmates or ward friends who live nearby. But now that we only have Elders, I also have to invite at least one boy. I know that really shouldn't be an event or a burden, should it? Inviting a boy, however, has become the most difficult thing about feeding the missionaries. Okay not the inviting part, that's easy. No, as it turns out the trick is getting a boy to actually be there.

So last night I was scheduled to feed the Elders. I'd chosen that day in particular because I would be fresh out of school for the summer and had no other plans. Of course it was not to be so easy. Obstacle One: my writing group changes days, so I need to be at Simmons by 8:00. No problem, I thought. I talked with the Elders on Saturday and arranged to have dinner at 5:30. Even if I left the house by 7:15 I should be able to get to Simmons on time. Obstacle Two: would having dinner so early make it more difficult to get a guy there? The Elders didn't think so, they had a 6:15 appointment, but they'd bring him to dinner instead. But just in case, I sidled up to my Home Teacher on Sunday and invited him as well. Sure he said, and I like vegetables. Monday I came up with a menu (heavy on the vegetables), divied out some assignments to roommates and friends who were coming, went grocery shopping, and things looked good to go.

Fast forward: its 5:15 pm, the night of the big event and just about all the food is ready to go without any major hitches. The missionaries arrive and their guy isn't coming. "That's okay," I say, "I invited a spare but he's not here so you can wait on the porch." Fifteen minutes later, dinner's ready to go but we've seen neither hide nor hair of Home Teacher. I decide to give him a call, just to check. Straight to voicemail, which it just so happens is full. I send him a text. No answer.

The Steeple Chase begins in earnest. Three phones, three girls calling and/or texting every guy in the ward with a car who we think may be able to show up for a free and tasty dinner. Finally with the text message "Help us, Obi Wan Kenobi, you are our only hope," I get a biter who says he can be there in about 20 minutes, just as soon as he finishes his work day (proof that you have to know your audience). We give the Elders the good news and they decide to go do some street contacting around the Bunker Hill Monument in the mean time. Sounds great.

We put dinner in the oven on warm and sit twiddling our thumbs. About 15 minutes later one Elder returns. That's right, one. "Have you seen Elder so-and-so?" (Elder so-and-so was there on Exchanges so I don't know his name). "Why no, Elder, we haven't. (Pause) Shouldn't he be with you?" Why yes, yes he should. But he's not. So, I ask if the Elder missing is the one with the phone, because then one of us can call him. Nope the Elder in our area, the one at our house, is the one with the phone. So the Elder begins combing the streets for the missing missionary who's never been to Charlestown before. Then my roommate, decides to go help him and she disappears for a bit. I'm beginning to see a pattern.

Finally, by about 6:15-6:20 roommate returns; Elder So-and-So is found; Boy from ward arrives, disappears to park, and then returns (though Elders came in the first time and so have been sitting in our house unchaperoned); and finally at long last we start dinner. 7:00 the Elders are still chatting and I decide to expedite matters by bringing out the chocolate cake and "suggesting" we get the message at the same time. 7:09 the Message begins. 7:18 handshaking and we push the Elders and Boy out the door, I throw a few things in my backpack and bolt after them, roommate who cooked runs out to go visiting teaching, and poor other roommate and ward friend and ward friend's friend-who's-in-town-visiting are left to clean up.

Yep, another successful dinner in Charlestown.

Pavlov Works

Case in point:

Yesterday evening I was watching a movie, during the course of which a phone rang. Now that alone is not at all abnormal. What was strange, however, was my reaction. Truthfully, I wasn't paying all that much attention to the movie, but as soon as I heard the phone the words "Dane, Falb, Stone" sprang into my mind. Confused? That is how I answer the phones at work (it's the name of our firm). And here we have proof, at last, that I can be trained.

At least I don't salivate.

PS if I ever answer the phone that way when you call, I apologize. But clearly it's not my fault. It's Pavlov's.

Pearls of Wisdom

While researching the life and publishing history of L.M. Montgomery I discovered the following.

Chances a woman has to marry at different ages: 20-25 years, 52 chances; 25-30 years, 18 chances; 30-35 years, 15 1/2 chances; 35-40 years 3 3/4 chances.

The Ladies' Home Journal May 1904

What constitutes a half or a quarter of a chance? If someone asks and then takes it back? At least I have over 37 1/4 chances left . . .

It was conducted oddly enough in Plymouth

Memorial Day may not be the typical day for visiting Plymouth, MA, so naturally that is when I had to go.

Why do things typically?

I did think it was topical. Memorial Day is for remembering those who have gone before, and I spent all day thinking about my long departed forefather John Howland. He probably looked something like this:

You know, he was a big fan of the color orange.

Are you familiar with John Howland? He is best known for falling off of this:

and believe you me, I was loud and proud of being one of his descendants. I even discussed it with the people working on the ship. I bet they never hear about that story.

Of course there are certain other requisites when you're visiting Plymouth.

1. Try to pet a chicken.

Here chick, chick, chicky . . .
Andrea gave it her best shot.

2. Practice your cannon shot.

Clearly the A girls are either beyond practice or not as dedicated as Carly.

3. Proposition a Pligrim.

Well, hello there, Pilgrim.

4. Look at a rock. No not any rock. This rock.

If you look very close you'll see the date 1620 etched onto the stone.

You can tell it's important because it has its own house.

We'd heard from several sources that the Rock itself was really rather small, but our diminished expectations were blown . . . out of the water.

Maybe for my next venture into family history I'll participate in the annual re-enactment of the skirmish at Lexington. And by participate, I mean I'll stand on the sidelines with a cup of tea and pooh-pooh the colonists for their gall, true to my Loyalist blood.

Anyone want to join me?

PS more points are available for those who correctly identify the subject line.