the pieces of my life

Random aside: If you are going to use the windshield wipers to get the snow off the car windshield, while you’re scraping the rest of the car, remember to close the car door first.

Screw him. The question is, Who is Jenny Brown?

jenny brown is in her home directory and types

jenny brown is a senior developer at goamerica communications

jenny brown is feeling much better and after ‘taking the sea air’ is now feeling well

jenny brown is well on the way to planning our autumn production “a jubilee review” and details of auditions etc can be found elsewhere in the newsletter

jenny brown is 14 years old

jenny brown is the alachua county labor party co

jenny brown is a bass solo and they actually made it to ben’s part of the song

jenny brown is keeping adam sane; tad is starting his application process as we speak

jenny brown is a melbourne freelance writer

jenny brown is to replace mr william mott in the 2002/2003 academic year

jenny brown is a video editor at amazon

jenny brown is leaving us

jenny brown is a consultant at flash creative management

jenny brown is a member of the national writers union uaw #1981 and gainesville women’s liberation

jenny brown is selected for the england senior team for a meeting in dunkirk on 2nd december

jenny brown is the senior editor for dvd and video at amazon

jenny brown is the editor

jenny brown is in grade 8 and is also at longreach state high school

jenny brown is the activity and social director

jenny brown is the top seed among women

jenny brown is a writer for racingserver

jenny brown is having one at her house on birch street

Who are you?

You’re almost ready for your scotch and cigarettes. Happy birthday, plauer!

The Thanksgiving meal was truly fabulousness. Really. A turkey extravaganza at its best. And I’m not just saying that because I did 95% of the cooking. I’m saying it because it’s fact (and those of who were there should now chime in and attest to the fabulosity of the meal). Right down to the Martha-inspired centerpieces and the pretty ribbon napkin rings. The only casualty of the evening–surprisingly enough–was the sweet potatoes, not that anyone was ever the wiser. Turns out putting marshmallows on mashed sweet potatoes is overdressing them–at least it is when you forget to pull said sweet potatoes out from under the broiler until the smoke alarm gently suggests that perhaps it is time. But a neat scoop of the knife and all incriminating evidence was down the garbage disposal, and we had lovely naked sweet potatoes. Oh, and the bean casserole didn’t turn out well. I really wanted to do the white-trash thang and make green bean casserole with the mushroom soup and the fried onions (we were deprived of this American delicacy as children), but even though I cooked it the required length of time, the beans remained frozen. Luckily, I had a secondary green bean dish (with fresh green beans, garlic, and parmesan. Mmmm!) that was just fine. Plus the nuts, olives, and St. Andre cheese, the warm spinach dip, the hot apple cider, the mashed potatoes, the sweet potatoes, the stuffing, the homemade rolls, the salad, the cranberry sauce, the apple pie, the pumpkin pie, the truffles, and the ice cream. And many thanks to Shannon who successfully wrangled the turkey wings into their full upright and locked position after I threw up my hands in frustration after that turkey just didn’t want to play with me. But I got even with it. I smeared it with butter and thyme, shoved lemons and onions up its butt, and ate it for dinner. Oh yes I did!

We learned a new thing about the Tweedle Twirp this weekend. And that is, despite the fact that she is the Smartest Brown, she becomes frozen with stupidity when there is music playing. I mean just stopped in her tracks. Like a deer in headlights. When music is on, that girl is Bambi.

Among the many lovely gifts I got, my parents gave me the C.D. Elvis 30 #1 Hits, which of course I had to play over and over again during the course of the weekend. I even have a special dance I do for “A Little Less Conversation.” So, the album was playing for the nth time as Tweeds and I attempted to do the crossword puzzle sans our father’s help. But the Tweedle Twirp just wasn’t having it. “I can’t think when there’s music on,” she said in voice that came awfully close to a whine. And whenever she was particularly stumped, she’d say, “I’m never going to get this if you keep that C.D. on.” After a while, she would quit and amble away, only to come back to help out again until the music–again–infected her brain, once more rendering it worthless. And so we would lather rinse and repeat until, despite “In the Ghetto” and her constant defections, we did manage to complete the New York Times Saturday crossword puzzle (which any crossword aficionado knows is the hardest puzzle of the week). They almost had us at “A place you’ll see a nun,” but, finally, I got “dreidel” and we cheered our brilliance. Oh, those clever New York Times crossword people!.

To continue. Later in the day we decided the family needed to entertain itself in order to make sure we didn’t kill each other (always a fear in the Brown family household). We’d already gone to a movie (Die Another Die, which everyone but the Mama Brown enjoyed) and we’d already watched two–count ’em, two–DVDs (Sullivan’s Travels and Miracle at 34th Street, for those of you playing along at home. Somehow, both Tweeds and I had gone thirtyplus years never having seen Miracle. And yes, even the Littlest Brown is thirtyplus years). No one wanted to play Scrabble (ah, the mighty soul who is willing to take me on in Scrabble). So we played Trivial Pursuit. We played with different sets of cards–the Mama Brown had The ’60s, the Papa Brown, the Vintage Years (1920s-1950s), and the three young ‘uns played with the Know-It-All set, even though it quickly became apparent that we didn’t. Each of us took our turn. But every time the Tweedle Twirp’s turn comes up, she complains that it’s too hard to concentrate with “Heartbreak Hotel” in the background. So instead of doing the logical thing and turning off the music, which would then have forced me into humming the “Jeopardy” tune every time someone took too long to answer, I had to get up to pause the C.D. for Tweeds before she rolled the dice. When her turn was over, I would get back up and turn the music back on. Who knew she was such a sensitive child? And no, the lack of music during her turn didn’t help her win.

I’m sure she’s going to protest this, saying I’ve used creative license or exaggerated the whole thing. Which is fine. She just lies is all. (No, you may not correct my grammar on that sentence. It was intentional. For effect. Ah, hell, these fine points are lost on you people anyway.)

The entire house reeks of oil. Oil, oil, oil. At the gym this morning, oil was oozing from my pores. Thanks to an evening of latke frying (that’s potato pancakes for you goyim out there), my skin isn’t losing that fresh I’m-16-years-old sheen. But people came and ate my latkes (and truffles and oatmeal-cranberry cookies and rugelah…), so I’m a happy Chanukaher.

And speaking of which, a happy Chanukah to all and to all a good night!

Those cute, furry gloves bought in Miami have no relation to things that will keep your hands dry in Boston. Related: Those adorable booties that got you through plenty of Seattle rain provide no traction, not even in the ten feet from your front door to your car door. If you don’t remove the snow from the top of your car, it will slide down and then be snow on your windshield. If you clear the snow from your car while standing under a tree, snow will fall on your head. If you drive ten miles per hour on the highway, someone is going to honk at you.

“Oh, you better watch out, you better let her lie, you better not shout, I’m telling you why, the Tweedle Twirp is coming to town. She’s always always sleeping. She never wants to wake. Don’t even try to get her up, she’ll be a crank for crankiness’ sake.”…Tweeds gets in today and the parents tomorrow for Thanksgiving!…How is it Adam’s the one back in school, but I’m the one who’s gained the freshman 15…Could it have anything to do with the two, count ’em, two Thanksgiving dinners I had yesterday? The one I had a BU during lunch or the one I had at HBS for dinner? (At $30,000 a year, we never, ever turn down we-really-paid-for-it free food from Hah-vahd.) And for the record, the non-Ivy League dinner was far superior… Why didn’t we get a snow shovel sooner?…Now I know the purpose of door mats. I’m guessing snow on the hard wood floors is not ideal…Is there anyone out there who doesn’t know that I’m afraid of driving in snow… Adam hasn’t blogged in an age. I’m getting to the point where I’m considering going into his blog and writing entries for him… We need to go to the grocery store today. Bet it’s going to be empty…. Oy.

Let me give you three truths, and then a multiple-choice quiz:

1. Wilson Farms is known in Boston for having perhaps the best produce in town.

2. Their fresh turkeys, which need to be preordered well in advance, are supposed to be delish.

3. You must pick up your fresh turkey before noon on Wednesday or they give it up for sale.

With this information in hand do you:

A. Compile a careful shopping list and then take advantage of their extended hours and go get the turkey and your other Thanksgiving needs before work on Tuesday?

B. Compile a careful list, give Adam detailed instructions that even he cannot screw up, and then send him midday when he has a break in classes?

C. Compile a careful list that you leave on the dining room table at home, while you take advantage of the extended hours and go within a half hour of closing on Tuesday, to get pushed, shoved, and generally trampled, as you try to guess at what you need, wending a shopping cart through a space hardly bigger than a garden shed, along with 50 gadzillion other people on a mission wielding shopping carts, in a town known for its horrible drivers, cars, shopping carts, and otherwise?

To get a little suspense going, I won’t tell you the right answer.

Well, in all honesty, I can’t say that I wrote a novel in November this year, as I could last year. Because this year, though I did hit 50,000 words (50,220 to be exact at this point), what I’ve got is probably about half of a novel. Last year’s was a self-contained piece–beginning, middle, and end–but this one still needs a lot more to it–including an ending. But now that the race is over, I can stop, take a step back, and perhaps plot out my baby (and if anyone wants to volunteer to read it and give me some guidance on what the hell is working and what isn’t, I’d be thrilled!). I think it’s actually okay. I mean I feel good about most of what I’ve written (okay, some of it is just filler), but it needs more of an arc, and it needs a good punchy–but not happy, I detest happy–ending. I mean what does she do? I’m thinking about making this a tragedy and having her be accepted at HBS at the end. But that’s pretty boring, and while I don’t want a happy ending, I don’t want an ending that will depress everyone (I’m kidding, HBS people! Well, partially, anyway). Writing 50,000 words in a month is really not that hard. In fact, this year, having already done it once, it was surprsingly easy. I never felt like I didn’t go out or didn’t do things to get it done. However, now the really hard part comes. Finishing the damn thing without the pressure of a deadline. Not that I’m a competitive sort or anything. No not me. But writing without having to, well, that’s something else entirely. Although, since I probably need a break from this one, perhaps this would be an excellent time to go back and start rewriting last year’s novel. Now there’s an idea! (Could someone please check in on my occasionally and make sure I’m working on something?)

What is up with Braintree? I mean who frick thought, “Gee, Braintree would be a great name for a city?”… Note to Adam: A blue shirt and khaki pants with a gray sweater over it is still a blue shirt and khaki pants…I may be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. I find myself oddly longing to be shipped off to a warehouse to wrap presents like Santa’s elf on speed. I mean, what will I do with myself? How does the rest of the (American) world keep themselves occupied between Thanksgiving and Christmas?…Note to Martin: Age is only in your head until you start to experience back pain. Then it’s in your head and in your back…Why is Adam’s weblog still getting more hits than mine (don’t you click on that link! This is a test. You need to prove to me that you like me better) when he writes like three sentences once a week? And I know this because I check up on his stats–in a very noncompetitive way, of course… Does anyone else remember when people didn’t count “days till Christmas” but “shopping days till Christmas” and it didn’t include Sundays? Or am I making that up?… I read in a cooking magazine that some people “overdress” their sweet potatoes with marshmallows (or is it smarshmallows?). How can marshmallows ever be considered “overdressed”? What isn’t improved with the addition of marshmallows?…Including today, there are just 12 days–shopping and nonshopping–until Adam’s 30th birthday, unless I counted wrong (how many days until the 8th?). Or are you supposed to count the actual day of birthday in there? I’m never clear on that….Cold-eeze are magic…What the heck are we going to do on New Year’s Eve?…Why do you think our Founding Fathers decided to pick a state name–Massachusetts–that’s so hard to spell?…A sign of blogging too much? I keep trying to put ital tags–<i>and</i>–in my novel instead of just italing.