Muggy

Yo Quiero Folgers Black Silk. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010As you probably already know, I'm a coffee drinker. 

I wouldn't call myself a "serious" coffee drinker … unless you consider being unresponsive and incoherent prior to ingesting the first cup of coffee on any given calendar day, to be serious.

I drink coffee only in the morning, for example.

Unlike some, who think nothing of quaffing twelve to fifteen cups a day.

If I did that, I'm afraid the voices in my head would no longer be able to communicate rationally. They'd begin talking over one another and that's too much like court reporting for my taste.

I handled it all wrong. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010I've written about this before: when it comes to my favorite non-icy beverage, I admit to a penchant for skating around the edge of Persnickety Pond.

I like demand my coffee fully caffeinated, fresh, hot, strong, and liberally laced with real half & half.

No fat-free nonsense, no preservatives, and no funny flavors.

And I like it in a mug. A great big mug.

A mug that could double as a planter for a venus flytrap.

In late 2008 I became involved in a case that had me working so much, I slept with one eye open, clutching my Week-at-a-Glance organizer in one hand and my cell phone in the other. 

And step lively. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010I briefly considered an IV drip for timely infusions of coffee but ditched the idea (I don't like needles) in favor of keeping my coffee pot set to begin brewing at 5:55 every morning.

Naturally, I blogged about it.

During this time, Erica bought me a mug emblazoned with a bit of saucy rhetoric, to wit: "What Deadline?"

The sentiment resonated.

Of course, said vessel originally had a handle. A very handy handle.

At some point I dropped it on the ceramic tile floor.

A banner year. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010It was an awful moment because there was just something about the shape, size, heft, and shiny finish of that mug that made it my all-time favorite.

And I've loved a mug or two in my day.

"Kill all the lawyers!" is a clever one I bought in 1992, not long after I first became a legal secretary.

And you won't believe! A lawyer once actually gave me a hard time about that mug.

I heart it. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010With a withering glance, I sent him off to read about constitutional law as it pertains to censorship and free speech.

I don't know where I got "1957: A Banner Year!" and, due to being too small for my needs (as in, it holds less than 24 ounces), it really doesn't get used much.

But since this bit of mug-kitsch loudly features not only the year of my birth but also Elvis, TV dinners, Humphrey Bogart, Thrift Stamps, The Saturday Evening Post, and a great big finned Cadillac, I'm all about it.

The cooling tower. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010You'll never guess if I don't tell you straight out that I got the yellow mug with the red heart and happy hashmarks as a souvenir while on a trip to Chicago.

The ginormous orange one (it's larger than it looks in the picture), which reminds me of a cross between Saturn -- well, its rings anyway -- and a nuclear cooling tower, was purchased to replace "What Deadline?" after I broke it.

It was a passable attempt and this mug has seen a lot of action, but orange is not really my color.

Reminds me of Tiger Woods. Cheetah! Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Plus which, if you linger over your java as I am wont to do, this mug acts just like a cooling tower: it cools the coffee one degree.

And I don't like that.  HOT I said! Hot and fresh!

*whipcrack*

So then I bought an animal-print one, which has a twin, two for five dollars on clearance at TJ Maxx. 

It's very tall.

In fact, it's a tad too tall because when I'm sitting in my recliner drinking my coffee in the morning, I'm approximately one-fifth awake. In that state, with a mug that tall, I'm as likely to pour the fresh, hot coffee onto myself or a groggy Javier as to get it into my mouth.

Getting bad with the Bard Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Some time ago I blogged about my acquisition of a Shakespearean Insult mug, which I know for a fact appeals to my blogging buddy Mari. She even bought one for a relative!

The only problem with this mug is, if I read it while imbibing I will spit coffee out my nose.

Even partially awake I cannot fail to guffaw at cracks such as "Infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker," and "Beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave."

From the Konitz "Guess How Much I Love You" collection Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Besides, if I think about Barack Obama that early in the day, I will become queasy.

"I love you to the moon and back" is Erica's mug.

Aww shucks! I bought it for her.

She tends to be treacly. Although Andrew is technically younger, I fear Erica will always be the baby of the family.

Also she has this thing for butterflies, although she attracts wasps.

Only thing is, the Boo is infamous for taking two or three sips and then forgetting about her coffee. I find the cold, sludgy remains staining her cute little cup wherever she was when she set it down never to pick it up again.

The last time I saw Paris was never. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010She may be adopted.

Just yesterday I was at TJ Maxx and saw another of those very tall mugs ... this one featuring the Eiffel Tower.

And I just had to buy it for Audrey. She and I share an insane love of all things French.

She'll only get to use it while visiting here because I don't think I can part with it.

Speaking of Audrey, for Mother's Day she bought me a number of things, each more beautiful and useful than the last (all of my children were wonderful to me on Mother's Day ... but this one kid gave me a mug).

V&A in Newsam Pink Photo Jennifer Weber 2010And not just any mug! This is an exquisite piece of fine bone china from the Victoria & Albert Museum collection.

That would be Queen Victoria.

My mug is the "Newsam Pink" design but there are sixteen in all ... reproductions of wallpapers and fabrics with delectable names like Brompton Rose, Founier Blue, Georgian Trail, and Kilburn Silk.

I do believe my daughter bought the mug at -- where else? -- TJ Maxx, but you can find them online. 

And -- the piece de resistance -- to my delight, right next to the Eiffel Tower mug at TJ Maxx I spotted one just like my dearly de-handled "What Deadline?" mug, only different!

That's right; I don't. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Which was like a dream come true … because although it's different in some ways, it is essentially the SAME MUG!

It feels the same in my hand and holds a huge quantity of coffee and keeps it at just the right temperature all the way to the last gulp.

And what it says is true! Truth in mugs!

I don't do perky.

However, I do pesky. A bit too well.

You've been mugged! Tell me about your favorite(s).

At the corner of Sumter and Gervais

Like a little frosting house. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010One of my more cherished haunts (forgive me) in Columbia is Trinity Episcopal Cemetery. 

Surrounded by soaring skyscrapers and city bustle, the peace of it is otherworldly.

I go there to walk and breathe and ponder. Sometimes I pray.

The resting place of six South Carolina Governors, this is a true churchyard cemetery. The original cathedral was built in 1812 and was miraculously spared when, on his march to the sea in 1865, General Sherman burned one-third of Columbia to the ground.

Perhaps he was too busy playing with matches across the street at the State House.

At any rate, if you're jazzed (as I am) by live oaks with arms so wide and reaching that their canopies are cabled, tombstones that resemble cakes slathered in buttercream, wrought iron as delicate as it is ubiquitous, and the fascinating juxtaposition of the dead reposing among the living, you'd love this cemetery.

I took over a hundred pictures last Monday as the light was fading. Here are a few of my favorites:

Come on in. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

God is in the details. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

And the ages roll. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010
Safe in and night coming on. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Shadows and lace. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

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NO PRIDEFUL THING

by D.W.H.

No prideful thing it is that has taken

A world gone under and its breath sucked out,

To lift our eyes toward splendor, to awaken

Our ears again to songs the sparrows shout;

To fall upon our knees and bless the morning,

The air we breathe as flowers breathe the air,

To clasp the wing of Peace, a bright wing burning

Forgotten within our hearts and hold it there.

We were too rich with wine and food and fashion,

Too lustful for the things that matter not,

Too far away from hearthfires, the fierce passion

Of love that saves a nation from its rot.

But since the clock strikes out the hour still,

There yet is time to sow into the sod

The seeds of brotherhood on field and hill,

To turn, through man-made darkness, back to God. 

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Like a woman: A twelve-step program

Skirts are classic. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Ladies? Today is your lucky day.

This post will help you if you need it and if you'll let it.

Hoping this doesn't come across as a first-class Harpy Harangue (all evidence to the contrary, not my intention), here goes:

1. Proceed at once -- or at the next convenient opportunity -- to your closet or shelves or drawers and remove all of your blue jeans and khaki slacks and capris and even your "dress" pants. Find a big box and put them into it. Put the box in the attic … or better yet, take it to Goodwill. Include your shorts … please. 

If you look good in any or all of these garments, that's bad. Way too obvious. Trust me.

If you look bad in them, that's worse.

Also? You won't be uncomfortable and you won't freeze. I promise.

2. Locate your skirts and dresses that are of a flattering cut and modest length and appropriate fit. If you don't own any, go to Wal-Mart or K-Mart or Stein Mart or Kohl's or TJ Maxx or Burlington Coat Factory or Cato or Belk or Dillard's or Ann Taylor or Talbot's or even the House of Chanel -- if you have that kind of money to spend.  Purchase several skirts and a couple of dresses. Put them on a charge card; for once it's all right. This is serious.

If you hate dressing rooms, go online. You can return just about anything and whatever hassle that entails is often outweighed by the convenience of trying clothing on in your own bedroom, at your leisure.

3. Dedicate an afternoon to perusing your closet for blouses, tops, tanks, shells, cardigans, and jackets that are modest, that fit you well, and that give off a young, feminine, classic vibe. Throw away anything and everything that is frumpy or that screams (or even whispers) "Mamaw."

If you're not sure of any or all of the above, find a friend whose manner of dress bespeaks youth, modesty, vibrancy, and style. Ask her how she does it. Set aside a few hours for her response; she'll be only too happy to share.

If you have no such friend or know no such female, you are in worse shape than I thought. Email me immediately; there is not a moment to lose. We'll work out the logistics as we go.

4. Take the time to work the aforementioned skirts, blouses, tanks, shells, tops, cardigans, jackets, and dresses into flattering, feminine, attractive outfits suitable for all occasions from grocery shopping to attending a wedding or even a funeral. 

(YES! All of those occasions require actual thought about what you wear!)

If you need to add top-half articles to your wardrobe, hit the discount stores and start looking. Don't be afraid of lace, beading, a sprinkling of sequins, softer fabrics, and feminine lines. Again: if you need help, ask for it.

Skirts make a girl feel girly. Photo Jennifer Weber 20095. Next, evaluate your store of accessories. This would include but not be limited to shoes, purses, and jewelry. Take some time to put different items with your new outfits to both make the ensembles pop and to bring your own special wit and charm to the foreground. When you find a mix you like, write down the elements or take a picture of yourself for future reference. 

Yet again: if you need help, ask for it. Don't be stubborn, proud, or shy.

6. Now it is time to take a hard and honest look at your complexion, your hair, your supply of skin/hair care products and cosmetics, and your effective care and use of all of the above. 

Do not make excuses. I don't care who you are or where you live or whether you are married or single or fat or skinny or employed or stay-at-home or keep eighty-five parakeets or are a lion tamer or dwell on the boulevard or in the lane or have a chronic condition or a phobia about looking pretty. Get over it. You live one time and it's a joy to be female and if you're not already doing it, you need to fix yourself up.

7. If you require help in learning to use any or all of the beauty aids your search produced, or if you need to make initial, replacement, or additional beauty-related purchases, I have three words for you: JUST DO IT.  If necessary, ask for help in making your selections. 

8. If your idea of skin care is washing everything with a bar of soap in the shower and working a smear of leftover hand lotion into your face at night, go directly to the nearest department store. Once there, head for the Clinique or Lancome counters -- there are many more than those two; pick one, any one -- and ask the nice saleslady to sell you some basic skincare items. 

Yes, it will be an investment … in YOU. And YOU will immediately begin accruing the myriad benefits of taking excellent care of YOU.

9. Second verse same as the first. As to cosmetics, ask the lady to show you how to employ a drop of moisturizer, a dollop of sunblock, a dab of foundation, a dot of concealer, a swipe of blush, a swoosh of powder, a slide of lipstick, a smudge of eyeshadow, a stick of eyeliner, and a flick of mascara to make yourself look stunning, polished, pulled-together, and … above all … LIKE A WOMAN.

10. On your way out of the store, stop by the perfume counter and buy yourself a bottle of something gorgeous-smelling. Something that makes you feel LIKE A WOMAN. If you're not sure which one to pick, ask for a few samples and take them home. One (or more) of them will surely appeal to you. Make a decision; go back and buy.

Fragrance equals feminine mystique. Photo Jennifer Weber 2009If you are unable to splurge for a prestige fragrance, go to Walgreens or Bath and Body Works, or call your Avon representative. There are some tantalizing fragrances out there that will not strain the budget. The important thing is that wearing perfume makes you feel LIKE A WOMAN. 

(If you're reading this and are thinking about putting in the comments that you are allergic to perfume, please don't. Please. Don't. Thanks ever so.)

11. Buy yourself a hairstyle magazine and look through it. Isolate the styles you like, then narrow those down to ones you think would actually look good on you and that would be easy to maintain. Avoid styles that are super-short as well as those that are trendily outlandish. The idea is to end up looking LIKE A WOMAN. 

If you insist on wearing a hairstyle that takes no effort whatsoever past running your fingers through it as it air-dries, you deserve what you get: to look like someone who is not willing to put forth even a modicum of effort to look LIKE A WOMAN.

12. Remember that none of this need break the bank. Truth be told, you don't have to go near a department store if you'd rather not. You can find what you need at discount outlets and drugstores. You can browse online for hours at Sephora (with its helpful user reviews and wonderful postage-prepaid, no-questions-asked return policy). You can get a good haircut at Great Clips if you show the stylist a picture. A box of hair color will set you back less than ten dollars and is redonkulously easy to use. 

The point is not to end up looking like someone else; the aim is to look LIKE A WOMAN … the one you already are … only much, much better.

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Girls, let's face it: if God created you female (and if you're still reading at this point, my guess is He did), He never intended for you to embrace androgyny. Or for that matter, to go anywhere near it.

In other words, He doesn't want you to look like a man or a boy … from any distance, at any angle, at any age, in any light, for any occasion, in any event, during any activity.

Neither does He want you to reveal even the outline of the secret places of your anatomy to strangers by wearing form-fitting, body-conscious clothing in public.

If you don't care what God, your creator, thinks or wants, that's another subject.

But even that being the case, if you were born female you only help yourself if you commit an appropriate amount of time and energy and money to looking and feeling LIKE A WOMAN.

Skirts let you sparkle. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Sound like a lot to do, especially if you're starting from scratch? Well, chickie … let me tell you how to eat an elephant: one bite at a time. One day at a time … one step at a time. You'll get there. Just make a start.

And trust me: when you do, the men in your life -- all of them -- will appreciate it more than they can ever say. 

What? You wouldn't go to all that trouble to impress a man?

Well, excuse me all to pieces. 

In that case, do it for yourself. 

Because if you are a woman, few things in this earthly life will satisfy you more than traveling deep into the lush mysteries of your own womanly femininity, exploring and exposing your wellspring of hidden allure.

And even if it's all you have to call your own, few experiences compare to the luxury and satisfaction of dressing, looking, smelling, seeming, walking, talking, acting and being LIKE A WOMAN.

Bat-pancakes, anyone?

I love me some Dark Knight.

Those buses must've been empty props because I do believe I saw fiery debris landing between them.

What I can't see is Heath Ledger (RIP) in an old skool nurses' uniform.

At least one smart driver is trying to make a run for it. Maybe he wanted a good table at IHOP.

Five Guys take me Schooping

Five Guys grace Senate Street. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010Some experiences in life are so sublime, you never forget them no matter how many years go by or how many miles you travel or how many mediocre-to-bad experiences follow.

One of those for me will always be a hamburger at Schoop's … which manna-like goodness I have not tasted since Bush "watch my lips" 41 promised no new taxes.

I used to get dressed and drive to Schoop's while expecting, desperate for one of those burgers with the "lacy" edges. I'd sit alone and wolf my feast, hardly pausing to breathe.

Eating for two. Heavenly.

I never dreamed I'd enjoy anything remotely Schoop-like again.

Until I did … last night. At Five Guys on Senate Street in Columbia. 

(Right across from Ruth's Chris … which, as exquisite a dining adventure as I know that restaurant to deliver, I did not wish to exchange for the mouth-watering anticipation of a perfect hamburger.)

All comparisons are odious but let's do it anyway.

Schoop's Hamburgers (est. 1948) is a relatively small chain -- 19 restaurants isolated to Indiana and Illinois -- while Five Guys (est. 1986) currently boasts 550 restaurants in 35 states.

We've been Wonkaed? Photo Jennifer Weber 2010The menu at Schoop's is deeper than the one at Five Guys -- featuring not only burgers but also chicken and tuna and other delicacies such as Polish sausage (an absolute must in the Midwest) and Irish Nachos.

At Schoop's a regular hamburger is a little more expensive than at Five Guys -- $4.39 as opposed to $3.49 -- and at Five Guys there are fifteen different toppings, all of which you can have heaped onto your burger for no additional charge.

And then there are the fries.

I don't remember anything about the fries at Schoop's except they were good and I consumed them lustily after dragging them through a ketchup spill.

I'll never forget Five Guys fries.

How the night unfolded.

TG and I had gone to Barnes & Noble, where we each bought a book and I ordered an extra title for good measure. Then we hopped onto I-26 and headed for charming downtown Columbia.

I wanted to walk around the State House and take pictures of it and of the grounds.

The soaring magnolia trees are studded with dinner-plate-sized blossoms so creamy, they make cream look like tar.

There is a veritable sea of hydrangea bushes; the abundance of their blooms and the vivid colors of their petals is staggering.

The warm night was just cool enough to be bearable and just sticky enough to be Dixie in May … something that will soon be gone with the wind as stifling heat and withering humility become the norm practically until time to pick out a Thanksgiving turkey.

State House magnolia. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010We were hungry. Unwilling to be so predictable as to be homing humans to our usual haunt -- Harper's in Five Points -- we drove around for five minutes or so.

That's when I saw Five Guys just standing there.

Audge had told us Five Guys was an awesome burger joint. Done!

I announced my intention to eat there and TG began looking for a parking space.

After a conversation in the parking lot with a family from St. Louis who wondered if they had located the capital of South Carolina (they had), we went inside.

Something about the look of the grills and the ambient odors made me look up at TG. 

"This is going to be Schoop-like," I said, a throb in my voice.

His brows lifted. His nostrils flared. He nodded.

Our eyes locked and we shared a reverent moment.

Is this your first time to eat at Five Guys?

The young man who stood ready to take our order was beyond sweet and helpful, all the way to precious. After asking us if we'd ever eaten at Five Guys before (How hard can it be? I wondered), he proceeded to explain the menu.

When he got to the fries part, he told us the small size fed two to three people, ergo there was no need for each of us to order fries.

The gallant Joshua. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010I looked at TG again and we laughed. "Unless we both really like fries," I pointed out.

Which we do.

I could eat for two and I can talk for two.

The order-taker (young family man by the name of Joshua, as it turned out), made me a deal. 

Get a single small order of fries, he advised. 

If after you've eaten those you need some more, just let me know and I'll bring you as many as you want, on the house, he vowed.

I told TG to quick pay the bill before they changed their minds, hoping against hope that our memories of dining at Five Guys would involve a wheelbarrow full of fresh, hot, liberally salted french fries.

The long-awaited analysis and upshot.

I won't take you through every slurp and smack but all I can say is, if you dream of hamburgers keeping company with french fries, those dreams will come true at Five Guys.

The fries are made onsite from fresh Idaho potatoes. Nothing is frozen; they don't even have freezers on the premises.

Fry me to the moon. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010They fill your cup with fries, then see fit to throw a whole extra serving down inside the bag, which is delectably grease-spotted when they bring it to your table.

Joshua not only gallantly and expertly served our food; he hot-footed it back inside to fetch us so much ketchup that I felt free to drench my fries with hedonistic abandon.

The hamburger was delicious.

I can honestly say the burger wasn't quite as excellent as a Schoop's -- or at least, the way I remember a Schoop's -- but it was so good that I do believe I will stop dreaming of Schoop's and begin fantasizing about Five Guys.

Q.E.D. y'all.