Monthly Archives: September 2005

Just to be clear: as far as Johnny Depp’s Willy Wonka goes, it’s not so much the chocolate-making genius to which I relate as the tendency to cringe in fear and discomfort at all human contact.

Today this man and I went to see the remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and I loved it far more than I had imagined possible, because I am Willy Wonka as interpreted by Johnny Depp.

At least on the inside I am.

Minus, alas, the cheekbones.

Spring semester of my senior year of college, MIT’s Noam Chomsky, not only a brilliant political mind but also the father of modern linguistics (my field of study), decided to offer an undergraduate class. He had never done so before and he has never done so again. The class was open to students from other universities, so I decided to try it out. There were a dozen students there every Tuesday afternoon, listening to the man who had invented the field and who continued to be one of its chief innovators and pioneers. It was like hearing Darwin lecture, or Shakespeare. Every word out of his mouth was an epiphany.

But that was the semester I’d worked my schedule so that I only had class on Monday afternoon, so I had to drop the course.

This morning I actually said to a friend of mine–I still can’t quite believe that these words passed my lips–“I’m so depressed that William Rehnquist is dead.”

I just can’t wait to see what horror is visited upon us in his place.

Oh, well. At least he suffered.

Okay, I was totally lying. I didn’t catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The instant I put the cap on, I actually ran to the mirror to see how I looked.

Which was, as I have said, stunningly cute.

Two days ago, I jokingly grabbed E.S.’s baseball cap and put it backwards on my own head.

Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was stunned by how cute I looked.

I have not taken the cap off since then.

I feel so old-school.

Wait, I don’t even know what that means.

E.S.’s birthday is this Sunday, and I have been secretly planning to take him on a picnic. It should be taken as a measure of my dedication to this man that I have intended this picnic to take place in Brooklyn.

However, E.S. revealed to me today that his parents are coming into town for his birthday and will be taking us out to their favorite Turkish restaurant. “I wish you’d told me,” I said crossly.

“What do you mean?” he said. “I was talking to them on the phone about it two days ago right in front of you.”

“Oh, was that when you were shrieking at the top of your lungs while I was trying to catch up on back episodes of Six Feet Under?”

I told him about the picnic, and we decided to have it on Monday instead. “The one problem,” I pointed out, “is that the cupcakes I was going to get Saturday night from Sweet Sugar Sunshine would be dry and crusty by Monday. So we can’t have cupcakes.”

E.S. looked disappointed. “We can’t get them Monday morning?”

“Closed for Labor Day.”

His face brightened. “Maybe I could get a sexy redhead to bake me some cupcakes for my birthday.”

I was already going to go to Brooklyn; I wasn’t about to bake cupcakes too. “Where are you going to find somebody like that?” I asked, one eyebrow raised in scorn.

He looked at me as if this were the stupidest question on earth. “Duh. On the internet, of course.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll be celebrating your birthday with Trainer Bob.”

Then we went back to his place and looked at apartments to rent together.