Stacy Horn

I was browsing Flickr for pictures of my band, Manhattan Samba, and I came across this one by Marcos Vasconcelos. This is my favorite samba picture ever.

I just love how lightly his fingers hold the drumstick, but the muscles in his forearm show how much strength is really there. And the implication of talent that is in this gesture, and all the hard work and dedication that he must have put in to get there, to be able to grip the drumstick with such subtlety. Actually, I’m assuming this is a guy, but I guess it could be a girl. It looks like a guy though, right?

In other news: I have to give Finney medicine four times a day. Mother of God. I mean Holy Mary Mother of GOD. There’s a pharmacy nearby which will flavor medicine for kids and I found out they will do the same for cats. So I took the medicine there and it is now tuna-flavored. If nothing else, it’s kinda cool that there’s a place that will do that for you.

This was Echo’s home page in 1996. It was designed by my friend Sharleen Smith. I’d love to find the one she did even earlier, which had a New York skyline. It was gorgeous and exciting. This one is great too, though! It would be fun to go back to it and use it now. Wow. I just remembered how excited I was when I started Echo. It was 1989, I was 33 years old and I quit my job and everything. Very scary.

Oh God. I think I know why that just popped into my head. Because lately I’ve been thinking I might do something similar. Something completely life changing. I don’t know what yet, but I was talking to my friend Steven the other night and I said, “I have so few responsiblities, no family. I really can pick up and go anywhere and do anything.” It sucks for me in a way, but something good could come of it. I was trying to think of something to do that would improve one of the many the disastrous situations all over the world. I don’t know what yet, but there must be some way I could help.

Before

This was taken in March, and Alessandra (2nd from the right) was due in June. Yesterday we went back out to brunch. By the way, someone asked when we went out to brunch last and I said, “Last summer,” meaning 2006. “Weren’t we all bundled up?” They asked. “I don’t think so” I answered. “Maybe light jackets?” Here is the evidence, of when we went and the further deterioration of my brain.

After

This was taken yesterday, in front of the same restaurant. That’s Dimitra, Mary, Alessandra and a brand new human human being named Ella. Oh yeah, and I said “last summer” with little Ella right next to me, which would make her almost a year and a half old which she clearly isn’t.

I think Ella is taking this whole “I didn’t exist a little while ago and now here I am, please explain EVERYTHING to me” thing rather well.

It’s the little things. I’ve taken a picture of my lamp to show off my new lampshade. The previous one was a mess and I managed to find a new one that is a much prettier shape, and provides more delicate lighting and color.

My new lampshade will sustain me during my marathon writing session today. I’m going to get a ton of editing and writing done today. That is the plan. Here’s my to-do list. Wish me luck.

– Write.
– Give Finney medicine.
– Eat.
– Call Chris later.
– Admire lampshade.
– I will not look at kittens and puppies on Petfinder.

Update: It’s too freaking hot out. And I have been checking Cute Overload periodically, but getting some work done. Finney medicine given and he doesn’t hate me yet. He forgets seconds later, thank God.

You know how some people have problems with their teeth no matter what they do? Poor Finney is like this. I take him for teeth cleaning once a year, but still he has teeth problems. He just had to have three teeth pulled, the poor baby. Here he is, back, hanging out on the desk and giving me a look like, “Yeah, so, what was that about?” I have to give him this God-awful medicine for ten days now. Please don’t hate me Finn. It makes me think of that line in the Nancy Mitford book The Pursuit of Love. The children felt bad for their dogs who had to stay in the kennel. They worried that they would become bored and lonely and cry, “Oh, why can’t dogs read?”

Why oh why can’t cats talk? I long to explain to him why I have to give him this horrible tasting liquid, and bring him to the vet from time to time even though it scares him so. It breaks my heart.