Is it puce for you?
I'm up here (down here? over here? away from here?) at the school, where all monitors show the background of this site to be a shade of yellow-green that is not the subtle shade of chartreuse I see on most monitors. Instead of straining like a tender shoot of spring words in the black earth, it is just kind of barfy.

Or so I wrote yesterday (which is today, according to the timestamp), but I never finished this entry because I was tutoring a student until 6:15. I will wrap the though up now.

So, I chose a shade of yellow-green that was very daring for me to begin with, and apparently more daring than I knew. Apologies to those whose particular configurations cause them to become seasick when visiting this site.

I'll probably switch to moodier seasonal colours in some wishful dooce-ripping way whenever I finish my semi-resume site. (I will do that this weekend! Birthday and the fact that hair is now growing out of my drain be damned!)

Anyway, the title of the entry is as such because I'm always thinking that "puce" is a shade of yellow-green (or, as in here, more of a green-tinged yellowy matte crust). Puce is red, a dark red, one of the best kind of reds. Alas, it is one letter away from "puke," and so yellow-green comes to mind. So do corn niblets, but everyone has that story.

Snowflake, by the way, will not eat sprouts. When I bought spicy alfalfa and radish sprouts for the first time earlier this week, I finally felt like I'd truly arrived as a vegetarian. I've been eating them with grated swiss in green onion tortillas all week, including the one night where I roasted a little portobello mushroom and green pepper for the mix as well. (See, it all started when I decided that I could reproduce Jason's Deli's portabella wrap. I cannot.)

Why won't my hamster eat sprouts? Should I get a bunny? Did you know that, back when I was getting the first hammies, what I really wanted was a pair of dwarf bunnies, one named Marlowe and the other named either Tennyson or Chaucer. ("Chaucer" seems too obvious now, and -- however much I love "The Lady of Shalott" and "Mariana" -- I'm pretty bored by "The Charge of the Light Brigade." But Marlowe! Mmmmm... Rupert Everett!)

Snowflake should eat her sprouts. This is how mothers must feel when their darlings don't want to wear whatever overpriced outfit that mommy just couldn't resist getting for baby.

Perhaps if I take a bite first...

24 September 2004 |

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