All the Latest

So, this weekend was the famous library booksale. I went Saturday and today, because I am just that much of a dork. And I saved 10 dollars to maybe go back on Wednesday when the dregs are just 10 cents. Book lust ran rampant this weekend...

I replaced many books that I've lent out over time and lost track of, and bought for myself many books that I've borrowed from others (Ali) and loved.

Replaced:
The Bullfighter Checks her Makeup by Susan Orlean
The Bean Trees, Animal Dreams and Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver
A Short History of a Small Place by T.R. Pearson
Bel Canto by Ann Patchett

If you have my copy of any of these, just keep it.

And then I just bought books. 40 books in all. Hopefully enough to hold me to the next library booksale.

Afterward, Michelle, Kathy, Thomas and I came home and cooked a huge breakfast of fresh eggs with tomato, green pepper, onion and cheese; whole wheat belgian waffles; bacon; and toast. And also mimosas. After we were suitably buzzed (what is that morning buzz? Any alcohol before 11 and I'm a space cadet) and full, we retired to the porch and read selections from our new books to one another. It was blissful. Thomas and I think we should do it every year, complete with dramatic readings.

I was thinking today, after watering all the beautiful plants Michelle gave me (ginger lilies, irises, ribbon plant, anemones, daisies and sedum) and trading seeds (nasturtium, echinecia) with Kathy, how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends who share all my deepest loves: books, gardening, laughter, food, movies...even blogging. I have much love for all my friends today, including those in the blogosphere.

In further exciting news, I got a letter from Pat Koballah! He says he wants to buy my car. I think it's love.

Just for Fun

My mom in a Burger King mask.

What's in a Name?

I just wanted to put this here in case someone from the planet Mars was unfamiliar with the terrific egg commercials of the...eighties? early ninties? beyond? As soon as I heard the commercial I stuck my own name in there and have happily been singing the song ever since: The in-credible ed-ible Meg! (This may have something to do with the fact that my sister called me Eggie for the first 6 years of her life). However I'm always concerned that people just think I'm gross and referring to my own promiscuity or sexual preferences or something. Not that I have any promiscuity or sexual preferences to be referring to. Or something.

In addition to Eggie, my family called me Meggers, Meglegs and Meg-onnaise. My sister (Ali) was referred to as Al-a-dind (yeah, I don't know either) which morphed into Dinder, before she forbade us ever to speak of that again. There were actually people in our neighborhood who thought my parents had a 3rd daughter they'd never met named Ali. They only knew Dinder and Meg.

But Meg is short and difficult to come up with a good nickname for. I've been called Meggles and Megling, Megalomaniac, Meggie...but I didn't get one that really stuck until a bartender at Lula's named me Megsie. I've been Megsie for almost 4 years now and it hasn't died off yet. My friend Bryan and his ex-girlfriend Michelle shortened it to Megs and that's my favorite. We so rarely get someone to name us acurately; it feels like a gift. I love nicknames and the affection they imply. I'm so often guilty for making up crazy or cumbersome ones, as if the weirder the nickname, the more I proved my love for a person. I had a friend in high school I called Randiferophyta. Weird or not, it's nice to have one of my own.

I guess you could say that Meg itself is a nickname since my actual name is Meaghan. Shh. Don't tell anyone. No one calls me that at all, except on job interviews, and it's stopped feeling like my name. I'll jump if you call it, but only because I think I'm in trouble. But Meg I named myself,so it's not really a nickname, after a sadistic first grade teacher called me Meaghan W for an entire year. Meaghan W? Are you kidding me?

People often comment on the spelling of Meaghan, and on more than one occasion rather than try to pronounce it, a new teacher has spelled it. Telemarketers call me Me-egg-han (there's nothing worse) and I've often felt that my parents were just feeling indecisive and so stuck in every letter they could think of. For a while, during an unfortunate stint with a crazy last name, I seemed to be trying to cultivate the most difficult name on the planet.

But once an old Irish lady kissed me on the street in DC and told me I spelled it the right way. So that's nice.

The Saga of Pat and Ashley*

*Wilmingtonians will recognize Pat and Ashley as the radio ad personalities for Stevenson Honda/Acura.

Continuing from my previous post about the Burger King, I have come to realize that it is my job in life to love ad personalities that other people find creepy or objectionable. Like Pat and Ashley. When this series of commercials began in 2000 or 2001, Ashley was a college student. She called the (owner?) of Stevenson Honda/Acura because she needed a car. (Did she think she was going to get one on the phone?) Anyway, Pat told her to come on in and hooked her up with a great warranty and financing. She raved about it. A while later, she called Pat up to tell him that she was sending her mom over to him. Then it was a friend. Then, in my favorite installment of Pat and Ashley, she called because she needed a new car for spring break.

We should all be so lucky.

Anyway, in the years since then, Ashley's boyfriends have all gotten their cars from Pat. He's helped out her friends who have bad credit. She tells us that she gets depressed when her friends don't buy their cars from Stevenson, because she just knows that they didn't get the best deal. Once I was actually moved to tears listening to Ashley talk about her new job (of course she needed a new car for it), thinking to myself, "I remember when she got her first car." Sniff.

Anyway, Pat and Ashley have finally dropped the pretense of calling on the phone. I have to say I'm a little sad about that. But it brings to the forefront what I have suspected all along: Pat and Ashley are getting it on. Now Ashley introduces Pat as, "one of my favorite people" and Pat is quick to point out that he "feels the same way." He flirts with her on the air. I am beginning to fear that this whole series of commercials serves as some horrible sexual dialogue between them--that he begs her to tell him about 10 year 100,000 mile warranties when they are in bed.

Still, this does not lessen my love for this campy, overplayed series. I worship Pat Koballah. I have always wanted to meet him. Recently he's begun a series of television commercials, but the man in those commercials claiming to be Pat does not in any way sound like the radio voice I've known and loved for years. I am determined to find out--which is the REAL Pat Koballah? I have searched his website, but found no picture...I will not rest until I know the truth....

I Can See You Like the Filet of Fish Sandwich

Has anyone seen this commercial? The girl is blindfolded and the guy is feeding her strawberries. He starts to feed her french fries and ends up eating them himself. Then, out of nowhere, a knowing voice says, over a picture of the sandwich, "I can see you like the filet of fish sandwich." Is there ANY explanation for this except the one in my dirty, dirty mind? I mean, come on, all sex books advocate the "sensual" evening, the blindfold!! The girl in the commercial is clearly performing some kind of sexual act and THEN! That voice! I can see you like the filet of fish sandwich!! It's driving me crazy. Every time it comes on I start ranting about how there can be NO OTHER EXPLANATION.

McDonalds has had several inexplicable commercials this year, including the one where the guy puts his change in a jar and the whole shelf collapses, when the commercial is for 2 sandwiches for 2 dollars---for which there would be NO change. I feel that they are just trying in vain to compete with Burger King's Greatest Commericals on Earth. I am such a massive fan of the king that I keep his mask in my kitchen for easy access. I can be the king whenever I want. My friends think that this is just a symptom of some mental illness I've developed and that the king commercials are creepy, but that's why I love them. There's a terrific element of creepiness which just makes me want to consume fast food. Or at least pretend to be fast food icons.