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May. 23rd, 2007 08:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraYesterday was one of those days when I really wished I'd had my tubes tied at twenty-five. Barring that, maybe I can become fabulously wealthy and arrange to be hit by a bus so that my children will discover I've left all my money – the vast and fabled DiLucchio cough drop fortune – to the Doggie Rescue Mission. Tragically squashed in my prime! Nothing for you! Do you hear me? Bupkis, you bratty, ungrateful, entitled little jerks.
In addition to getting into Stanford, Max also heard last week that he got into Brown. But he didn't get any financial aid and this was partly because he told me three days before the financial aid application was due that I needed to provide the Brown financial aid folk with my 2006 federal tax forms. This was way back in March.
Now I'm sorry, but my federal tax forms are very, very complicated because I own a business and do contract work and also because I do my taxes myself – by the time you gather up and organize all the supporting documents and papers, you might as well do them yourself.
And I told that to Max. "I'll get them in when I get them in. But I can't promise to get them in by the deadline."
And I didn't.
So now, of course, I feel totally responsible for the fact that Max didn't get the mercy bucks although I suspect the real reason is because his Dad makes serious cash, and the Brown people probably sat around scratching their heads and wondering, "So why doesn't this kid just hit up his father?"
But I spent hours on the phone with Max Monday listening to him gloomily picking through his options. For whatever reason, Brown turns out to have been his top choice. Huh?
I just wanted to reach through that telephone ether and slap him. Look, kid. You decided to apply to that vastly overpriced school – and it's not that great a school either, it's a kind of holding pattern for the litters of the rich and vapid. If you really need to go there, then fucking borrow against future earnings (I mean – if you think having "Brown" on a resume will increase those future earnings.)
Portobello mushroom, polenta and Elizabeth Hand's compulsively readable new novel Generation Loss for breakfast.
Latter mailed to me by my dear friend Lucius. Elizabeth Hand, let it be known, is part of a group blogging experiment here on LJ.
Former two left over from last night's dinner with the Mouse. The Montrio Bistro has started a very reasonably priced Dinner & a Movie package in conjunction with the Osio (the Anti-Multiplex.) I thought it might be a fun to start taking Robin out a couple of times a month, brush up on his table manners, work on speed-reading (subtitles.)
Last night was our first date. A rather nondescript vegetable soup, steak and fries (renamed frites) for the young Monsieur; afore-mentioned mycological yummy and Eye-talian grits for the old Madam.
Movie we saw was called Year of the Dog. No suntitles. a woman who goes mad following the death of her dog. I liked it. It reminded me – oh dear! – of Annie.
The evening was fun although there were some tense moments regarding manners in the restaurant
In addition to getting into Stanford, Max also heard last week that he got into Brown. But he didn't get any financial aid and this was partly because he told me three days before the financial aid application was due that I needed to provide the Brown financial aid folk with my 2006 federal tax forms. This was way back in March.
Now I'm sorry, but my federal tax forms are very, very complicated because I own a business and do contract work and also because I do my taxes myself – by the time you gather up and organize all the supporting documents and papers, you might as well do them yourself.
And I told that to Max. "I'll get them in when I get them in. But I can't promise to get them in by the deadline."
And I didn't.
So now, of course, I feel totally responsible for the fact that Max didn't get the mercy bucks although I suspect the real reason is because his Dad makes serious cash, and the Brown people probably sat around scratching their heads and wondering, "So why doesn't this kid just hit up his father?"
But I spent hours on the phone with Max Monday listening to him gloomily picking through his options. For whatever reason, Brown turns out to have been his top choice. Huh?
I just wanted to reach through that telephone ether and slap him. Look, kid. You decided to apply to that vastly overpriced school – and it's not that great a school either, it's a kind of holding pattern for the litters of the rich and vapid. If you really need to go there, then fucking borrow against future earnings (I mean – if you think having "Brown" on a resume will increase those future earnings.)
Portobello mushroom, polenta and Elizabeth Hand's compulsively readable new novel Generation Loss for breakfast.
Latter mailed to me by my dear friend Lucius. Elizabeth Hand, let it be known, is part of a group blogging experiment here on LJ.
Former two left over from last night's dinner with the Mouse. The Montrio Bistro has started a very reasonably priced Dinner & a Movie package in conjunction with the Osio (the Anti-Multiplex.) I thought it might be a fun to start taking Robin out a couple of times a month, brush up on his table manners, work on speed-reading (subtitles.)
Last night was our first date. A rather nondescript vegetable soup, steak and fries (renamed frites) for the young Monsieur; afore-mentioned mycological yummy and Eye-talian grits for the old Madam.
Movie we saw was called Year of the Dog. No suntitles. a woman who goes mad following the death of her dog. I liked it. It reminded me – oh dear! – of Annie.
The evening was fun although there were some tense moments regarding manners in the restaurant
