New Eggs and Links Galore

I've been taking a much needed break from my book proposal to make more tiny eggs. A few of these are old ones that I was never quite happy with, and that I've taken some time to revamp. All of these are slated for the Teeny Tiny Art Vendor, a vending machine owned and operated by Kim at Three Graces Gallery in Portsmouth New Hampshire. The Decordova Museum is borrowing the TTAV for an event they are having, and my eggs will be available there. I love the Decordova, and I'm very thankful to Kim for giving me the opportunity to sneak my own work into the Museum. ;) The eggs will be packaged in little boxes, and will come with a tiny set of installation instructions (they hang on the wall like thumbtacks) and a caption that goes with the image. I spent a good portion of yesterday cracking myself up, coming up with these captions.

In her lovely book, A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from my Kitchen Table, Molly Wizenberg (creator of Orangette) wrote a sentence that I love so much, and that fits my own situation so perfectly, that I would like to borrow it here. Molly writes, "When I wrote the essay that follows, the story of the night in the kitchen with the ginger cake, I'd been pickling myself for quite some time in a potent mix of Flannery O'Connor, William Faulkner, and Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City (p. 71)." For my part, the captions I've written for each egg (see below) are clearly the result of the fact that I've been pickling myself for quite some time in a potent mix of Jane Austen (and anything loosely or remotely connected to or associated with Jane Austen), Masterpiece Theater Classics, and most recently, George Eliot.

With her penchant for gossip she was always great fun. And an unflinchingly terrible friend.

Her parents fully expected her to accept the Vicar's offer–a respectable match indeed! But she had other ideas.

Her parents were shocked to learn that their daughter had run off to Paris with the gardener. Nobody else was the least bit surprised.

Have you ever rediscovered something supremely awesome that you'd originally cast aside? I love it when this happens to me. It appeals to that romantic side of me that loves the movie Next Stop Wonderland, where the two main characters, seemingly meant for each other, continually just miss meeting. Well, my latest romance (of this sort) is with The Shins, specifically their 2001 album, Oh Inverted World. I bought it years and years ago, after hearing bits of it in the movie Garden State. But I never really listened to it all the way through, and I finally stowed it away in the dark depths of my cd collection. But I found it again recently and started listening to it. And listening to it again. And again and again and again. It's so amazing, I had no idea, and it's been right here the whole time.

This morning Charley discovered an online article that I swear was crafted by the gods specifically for his particular amusement. Many people are obsessed with bacon, so there's nothing uncanny going on there, but how many people do you know who are also obsessed with and endlessly entertained by skunks? As my husband would say, "Obese skunk plus bacon. Two great things that go great together." I've seen him reread the article about four times already.