Molly Goatwax

Be afraid

Bummer in Bummer, MD

This item was published in yesterday's Police Blotter feature in the Baltimore Sun:

Pikesville

Arrest // A resident of the 3700 block of Valley Mill Drive was awakened about 3 a.m. Sunday and found an intoxicated man asleep on his living room sofa. Police said the intruder, a 30-year-old man from the West Baltimore whose name was not available, was charged with 4th degree burglary. Police said no property was reported stolen, but that the man urinated on the sofa, causing $400 damage.

In loco parentis

I have an empty apartment I need to rent out. It's spacious but at the top of some narrow steps, so it might not suit someone who's older or has massive furniture. My thought was that it would be ideal for a couple of students, so I called the housing office at the nearest college and got directions on how to list my vacancy on their website. I was stopped in my tracks by the college's posted policy of denying enrollment to any non-resident commuter student renting in my neighborhood (and others around the college but not all), unless the dwelling was originally built to be an apartment. My first thought was; are their students that bad? My second thought was; do they drive out to look? Do they determine on a case-by-case basis what is or is not an "apartment"? (Mine is the second and third floors of a hundred-year-old house.) Then I started fuming. While I recognise the college's right as a private school to restrict their students' activities, I feel they are placing an unfair restraint of trade on me. They have thousands of prospective tenants eager to escape the residence halls, and I have an empty apartment. 'Scuze me while I paint up a picket sign.

Politics in our laundry

The eleven year old and I were putting the wash into the dryer and some underpants fell on the floor. I told her to pick them up, but when she referred to the garment as "panties", I corrected her. We don't call underpants by a diminutive in this house, I told her. It doesn't matter if they are hers or mine or Homer the cat's. We demand dignity and respect even to our small clothes because we are feminists! Men don't wear boxies or briefies, do they? While she thought I was being extremely tedious, she agreed. She's just lucky I don't call them "bloomers". She's doubly lucky for never having to wear bloomers under her athletic jumper, a uniform design held over from the 'teens and in place up to my fourth grade year at the Quaker school I attended.

From The Baltimore Sun

When I read the headline; "Mobile Shoe Store Stolen", I was intrigued. Things sure are wacky in Baltimore! Then when I realised that someone made off with 150k worth of shoes by breaking into and stealing a box truck, emptying and abandoning it in an hour and a half, I was impressed. A few questions, however, linger. What is the thief going to do with 1,140 pairs of shoes, socks, shoe inserts and steel-toed boots? S/he must have definitive plans. Were there any German cork soled sandals in the inventory? Who leaves so much merchandise so loosely secured? In what lonely warehouse lot near a maze of highways will I find a mobile beer bar parked?

In Observation

It has come to my notice that today is National Pie Day. Of the suggestions listed to celebrate the proceeedings, I elect to share with you my fondest pie memories as presently such delicacies are not in the regimine. Ah, my mother had an arsenal of killer pies up her sleeve and balls of crisco crust in the freezer. I don't know which I cherished the most. Chess pie, buttermilk pie, shoo-fly, black bottom, mo-lasses pie...then there was oatmeal pie, you woulda swore it was pecan pie, but without pecans. Her merengue stood in picture perfect peaks topping lemon, Key lime and chocolate cream pies. One time she made two banana cream pies and I ate a whole one, knowing all the time I'd get the spanking of my life. ( I didn't quite. She was both miffed and pleased that SOMEONE was paying attention.) The only pie she ever made that I didn't care for was nesselrode, even counting mince, mullberry, green tomato and rhubarb. Nesselrode may have been too rummy for my immature tastes, and she made it most New Year's. Gosh, I miss her. My other favorite pie memory involves my boyfriend-at-the-time baking a sweet potato pie for my estranged-husband-at-the time (they were in the same band ) and substituting firecrackers for birthday candles. "Heh, heh.", said my husband as he plucked the lit firecrackers from his slice. For my birthday next month I may well request a blueberry crumble pie from the punk rock pie-man rather than a cake. As they say, pie is passing from our collective concious at an alarming rate! Go bake a pie and preserve our heritage.

don't stop me now

I don't much like thinking of myself as a "Skip Rat" and had been restraining myself all week from scavenging for the corks from wine bottles in the recycle bins. Harrumph...but! But! I just happened upon all these wine bottles some connoisseur set out with the necks all poking out of the bags and the stoppers just a beggin' to be plucked! Six of them! The rest were screw tops.

I mean, really. This is the most harmless way to channel these compulsions I have on hand.

A minor setback

Last week I got my official Cactus and Succulent Society of Maryland newsletter. It advised me that the January meeting would be today. I got so excited I mutilated this nice Eddie Bauer tee shirt to wear for it:

as seen reposing on a sheet of valentine backs.

But alas, a window pane in my front door broke and I had to get glass for the handy fellow so that our security would not be compromised. At least I have time to put a bit of lace around the neck band to wear to next month's meeting.

Fire in the belly

A heavy snow whumped us today about three inches before combined rain and ice balls compacted the mess. I tried to get out to the bank but the road was about as slidey as my SAAB could handle. It wasn't about me and my SAAB, though. It was about all the panic stricken mothers in minivans sliding all over the 'hood to get their precious blossoms from the cluster of schools near us not smackin' into my SAAB. Yeah, that's it. The biggest injustice is the tot being out from school all throw-uppy-yucky while school gets called, anyway. Or maybe it's that I can't walk down and enjoy the carnival atmosphere the notorious Mout Royal Tavern assumes when the art school lets out for snow. To compensate, I made pozoles. My way. Get your kettle out.

Cube and brown in hot olive oil a pound and a half of pork loin roast with a chopped onion. Add a can of chicken broth and one of chopped tomato and bring to a boil. Throw in a small can of chipoletes-half to be safe, it's real hot!- in arborio. Simmer with two cans of hominey, one of great northern beans and any left over brown rice you got in the fridge from yesterday's hippie stir fry. ( I pause here to stammer and blush ) Let it bubble slow for about an hour and a half. Yum. Stuffs a small family with enough to freeze or take to lunch the next day.

resolution

I refuse to be held hostage by any passive aggressive accountants.......