let the adulation begin: the interview

* dunno what mamie's on about. you love this.

mamie, on her question, which follows: while i realize this is my question, i hate "best" and "worst." i have a student who (seriously) has a panic attack when asked to choose one thing--favorite poet, city, what have you. if you know my mother, though, you know this is a particularly apt dilemma.

what is the best advice your mother ever gave you?

a. never wear shoes when hosting your own party.
b. there's gotta be heat. everything else, at some point, will go to hell. (she said this to a much younger me when i confessed i'd only kissed my boyfriend of 4 months 3 times. right now, to be fair, she and my father are in the outdoor shower at my beach house while we're all in here, pretending nothing out of the ordinary is happening.)
c. make your own money. do something you love that no one can take away from you.
d. if you put all the scraps on a pretty plate and cut all the ugly ends off, you've got a melange. not leftovers.
e. don't try to find a dessert better than champagne. you won't.
f. if you have fifty dollars to your name, spend it on great skin care.


hannah: had to go swimming into the dark and murky past for this one. to clarify, this is my dad's advice, not the words of a rebellious teen picking his nose in an alleyway, or of Blaine, the snooty white-clad character in Sixteen Candles, or of someone who is wealthy and wields some sort of terrible power. thought i'd blocked it all out, but now, thanks to mame, it comes rushing back...

a. cocaine will ruin your nose.
b. never cut corners at the grocery store.
c. if there's not a sign that says you can't, then you can.
d. always carry business cards. yes, even if you are twelve.
e. if there's a law, there's a loophole. find it.
f. don't sign anything without your attorney. yes, even if you are twelve.
g. look like you're meant to be there.

what junk you got in your trunk?

hannah: already regretting this one. i just moved. plus kids. so. sidewalk chalk and stencils, muddy pink ballet flats in a girl's size 13, one small pot, a bag of tennis balls (special! they never get flat), a file folder of letters, the title to mink island (which we all believe to have sunk in the intracoastal a few decades ago), zoloft, and a bottle of concannon.

mamie: aside from the obvious (and, by the way, f off...i just went out to my car and actually looked): a copy of wuthering heights on CD (read by freda dowie, with the help of ken drury), two tampons, a belk credit card bill from 2005 (i cancelled that account two christmases ago), a bottle of torrontes, a signed widespread panic poster that's been ripped in half, and a quilt my aunt minnie made...in case i'm ever camping/picnicking unexpectedly?