Oh papaya

Papaya, don’t peach.
I made up my rind, I’m keeping my baby spinach.
Papaya, can you pear me? Papaya, can you peel me?
Papaya, peas forgive me, I still lychee you best.


For more Grocery Line poems by me and Fae, visit my post about them or hers.

Rome Revisted

Moving on from HBO’s Rome, and following the trend of sexy big budget period TV series like the Tudors, I give you Spartacus: Blood and Sand.

Two thousand years later we still love to watch a gladiatorial match. Can’t wait, though!

Weblink Wednesdays: Target Women

Sarah Haskins is a genius. Her series Target Women looks at how the media advertises to women, and mocks it mericlessly. In a hilarious, sarcastic way. All of the episodes of Target Women are great, this is one of my personal favourites:

For more wonderful Sarah Haskins, visit The Current.

Dead sexy



Or Eric?


Or, for those of you who’ve read the books…



I have been spending far too much time reading Charlaine Harris books. But, for the record, I’d go for Eric. I always like the emotionally unavailable ones…

The Bell Jar

This is proof that I do normally read “good” books, that I’m not always addicted to fluffy vampire sex novels….

When I was desperately trying to get to 50 books in a year last month, I was sitting on the floor in my sister’s apartment, looking through her collection. They needed to be smaller books, of course, but decent enough that it didn’t look like I’d just read 20 trashy novels to hit the 50.

As we know, I didn’t reach 50 books, but now at least my second book of this year’s attempt will be a classic, Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar.

Anyway, back to Laura’s floor, with her cat Umber-Shrugs rolling around beside me, a mass of orange fur. I picked up this book, thin enough. “What’s this about?” I asked.

“It’s like the female equivalent of The Catcher in the Rye,” my sister replied. Intriguing. Years ago, I went on a “new classic literature” kick and read The Catcher in the Rye, Of Mice and Men, On the Road, The Great Gatsby, 1984 and a few others. And I loved The Catcher in the Rye.

Much like The Catcher in the Rye, The Bell Jar has a very unique voice. The story is told in first person by a character who’s at times both insightful and misguided. However, with The Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caufield’s voice and tone are harder to get used to. In The Bell Jar, Esther Greenwood is both well spoken and proper.

There’s something haunting about The Bell Jar. The novel is considered to be semi-autobiographical for Plath, who killed herself just a month after its publication.

The Bell Jar is the struggle of every woman against propriety and desire. It was written in the sixties, but from the beginning I felt as if it could have been set in the present. The same hot, dusty, dangerous New York city. The same expectations. The same feeling of entrapment.

Esther is a young woman on the brink of success - she has a scholarship, a prestigious internship, an extravagant trip to New York city. At first you only glimpse her apathy and her sense of loss. But as the book continues, it creeps out of the dark shadows and consumes her.

The Bell Jar is a classic - I’m surprised it took me this long to get around to reading it.

It was easy to identify with Plath’s words, perhaps scarily so if you think about it. But here are some favourite parts:

“Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one’s ashes, the grey scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.”

“How could I write about life when I’d never had a love affair or a baby or seen anybody die?”

“The silence depressed me.  It wasn’t the silence of silence.  It was my own silence.”

“So I began to think maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about as numb as a slave in a totalitarian state.”