Category: etc.

Okay. Cullen tagged me — and I’m going to try to be better on “tagging follow-through” this year …. once I’m done laughing at that statement.

Anyway …. I’m supposed to name 5 of my quirks, which works out well because I have EXACTLY 5 — and no more. NO MORE, I SAY!

1) I love coffee. Not a quirk, I know, but here’s the thing: I’ve never, ever finished a cup of coffee. Think I’m exaggerating? I’m not. My Beloved will vouch for this. He likes to say, “For you, coffee is not a beverage; it’s an accessory.” Hahaha. Well, I am quite good at carrying it around with that certain artistic nonchalance we all strive for.

But, you see, I do drink it; I do. I just don’t finish it. Ever. I don’t know why. I do try, though. I mean, I always buy the smallest size cup, I never finish it, but because I feel guilty that I never finish it, I’ll put it in the fridge thinking I will finish it later — which I never do, because that would be — let’s face it — disgusting. So, far too often, our fridge becomes what MB calls the “Coffee Cup Graveyard” — old Starbucks cups standing in silent sentinel, a leaky, paper monument to my inability to finish what I start or let things go. It begs questions like “why?” and “what for?” and “seriously — what the !%@#!?! are these doing here??”

Truly, this is a deep, deep mystery.

So “Coffee Cup Graveyard”? I think not. I prefer to call it “Coffee Cup Stonehenge.”

2) I cannot be a passenger in a car that’s going up a steep hill. Sound stupid? Oh, trust me, it IS. Intensely stupid. Because it used to be downhill as well, but I’m (mostly) cured of that. And if you’re thinking “She can’t mean what I think she means.” Oh, I’m sure I do. It’s just this simple: If I’m a passenger in a car and we come upon a very steep hill — and in my defense, it has to be very steep — but don’t ask me what “very steep” is, I just know — I will GET OUT OF THE CAR AND WALK because I am sure we will start sliding furiously backwards and I will lose my voice from all the screaming I will do — which could be viewed as a sign of mistrust — but that all this won’t matter anyway once we hit the bottom of the hill and I’m dead. So I really shouldn’t worry about the screaming part.

How did I get this way, you wonder? Well, once, a very steep — and very evil — hill in Seattle met my friend’s decrepit Volkwagen and decided to play head games with it while I was in the car. It ended ….. unhappily.

And I missed my audition, too.

Stupid, thoughtless hill.

3) I like Lay’s potato chips — too much — so I will only allow myself eat the ones that are nicely folded over on themselves. I like their compact crunchiness. I don’t know. Let’s go with that as the reason why. But look at it this way: More chips for you!!

4) I sleep with a white noise device next to the bed. You know, one of those machines that goes “WHHHHOOOOOSSSSSHHHHH” while you sleep. My parents bought me one when I went away to college — to help me fall asleep in the noisy dorm, I guess. (Never mind that no one sleeps in college. Except during class, of course.) Anyway, seems I got very used to it, verrrry, because I ended up sleeping straight through a fire drill in college — and the fire alarm was on the wall right outside my door. My roommate thought I was dead.

(Not dead, just — whhhhhooooosssshhhhh — sleepin’. )

And, you know, I think it’s so courageous that — even in the face of my recent passing — she still went on that fire drill.

Well, you gotta move on, you know?

5) Now that I’ve lost all credibility as a sane person, let’s go for the coup de grace: I REALLY don’t like sitting next to strangers in movie theaters. Now, I’m sure that lots of people don’t like this, so big whoop, right? Weelll ….. um ….. I’ve been known to …. you know, in the PAST, not LATELY, of course ….spill water on the seat next to me so no one can sit there. Now — I’ve been known to do this more particularly if the movie has started and people whose concept of time is woefully different from mine come lumbering my way with their extra large drinks and their extra large popcorns and their extra large arses needing to squeeze past that extra small space in front of me to get to THE SEAT THEY SIMPLY MUST HAVE — the one next to ME!

“Ohhh, you know what? That one’s wet or something. I mean, I don’t know if you want to sit on that.”

“Oh, really? Ewww. Okay. Thanks for telling us.”

And … off they go.

I know. It’s dreadful. SHAMEFUL. And I truly haven’t done that in a very, very long time. (Now, of course, I’ll never be able to do it again, since I’ve confessed it here. That was dumb, Tracey.)

At least it was water. We all know those seats get a LOT worse. So, I was cleaning them, you see.

Okay. There you have it — my 5 quirks.

Sooooo ….. wanna hang out?

Or an alternate title: “My First Deeply Stupid Comment of 2006.”

Yes, I made a mental note of a few firsts this year.

And although I’ve no doubt that I’ll utter many rank stupidities this year, and though the year is still so young, I’m sure that when the Counting of the Idiocies happens at year’s end, THIS one will still be a standout. I almost hesitate to share it, knowing how it calls into question my existence as a human with a HUMAN brain, but it’s just too good ‘n’ stupid.

I should be proud to start the year so strongly. In fact, this makes me WAY ahead of most of you.

Now, we were driving along — as my nephew used to say when he was 5, “going happily along” — and My Beloved and I ended up in a discussion about the movie “Sling Blade.” A great movie, no? We began to recount certain scenes, of course trying to imitate Carl and failing. Then we reached that pivotal scene near the end and the exchange went something like this:

ME: “…. and it always gets me, because then Carl goes after him with …. with …. some kind of blade!”

HE: (after a short silence, then quietly): A sling blade?

Oh, even typing it, I feel myself shrinking and shriveling. The horror, THE HORROR!!

I’ve been having major problems accessing my site today. This was the earliest I could even log on and then I couldn’t even comment on my own post! What is up with that? Thanks for all the comments on the movie question, really.

Dave in Montana — “Platoon” was My Beloved’s choice, actually. No offense was meant with it, I’m sure.

Personally, I’d replace it with a completely different kind of American movie — oh, say, “To Kill a Mockingbird.”

Also, I think I’d just have to add “Singin’ in the Rain,” THE quintessential American musical.

…. that is, Sal’s GREAT cinematic question to all of us in the comments section of my last post.

I’d put it here, but I’d kind of like to see the answers all in the same place.

Go answer it! (And I’m already revising MY list in my head.)

That Sal’s quite a gal. Thanks, Sal!

I have this fun little book called “Uppity Women of the Renaissance.” I bought it on an utter whim a few years ago because I liked that title. I still do. Anyway, the book offers very brief, amusing histories of, well, uppity women of the Renaissance, well-known and not.

So I thought I’d start a regular series of these, putting these entries up intermittently. I have my favorites that I’ve read several times and it’s tempting to start with those, but instead, I think I’ll just close my eyes, open the book, and see who comes up. Ready? Here I go. Just wait a sec. I have no muzak, so hum “Muskrat Love” to yourselves or something.

Okay. Today’s Uppity Woman is …….

Anna of Austria!

Here’s the entry:

“The Better to Eat Chocolate With”

Every great family worth tabloid-bashing has had a curse and the Hapsburg girls and boys were no exception. The only dynasty to rule for twenty generations without ever having had an actual country, the Hapsburgs’ power began with a small dukedom in Austria and spread like crabgrass across Europe via marriage.

The original curse was pretty meager — something about a pregnant peasant girl and a randy Hapsburg teen. But the true family curse was The Lip (in point of fact, the entire jaw). Populations of good-sized cities could have taken shelter under a Hapsburg chin. Wobbly and red as cherry Jell-o, The Lip made many males of the family look positively moronic. So you can just imagine how Princess Anna of Austria and all the other Hapsburgs Annas, Marys, Elizabeths, and Christines felt when they looked in a mirror.

Among other thankless tasks, Anna married King Louis XIII, produced a Louie heir, and ran France as queen regent from 1643 to 1661. Spanish-born Anna brought new ideas to the French court. Naturally, they all tittered when she first lifted a cup of some dirty brown substance to those Austria-sized lips. But Anna persisted, jutting out a chin that would stun Jay Leno into silence. The drink she introduced — hot chocolate — eventually became the only beverage fit for the Beautiful People to quaff, once she got the hang of adding sugar to it. For ages, the drink was deemed to be an aphrodisiac in the bargain. Ole! for Queen of Chocolate Anna, who gave women of the world the serotonin-loaded solace they so desperately needed.

So here she is, Princess Anna, as painted by the great Peter Paul Rubens, whose portrait of his beautiful daughter graces this site. (Oh, I love Rubens!)

Hmmm … I don’t see a Jay Leno chin. It’s not a great chin sure; I mean, it has a twin, but Lenoesque? Well, maybe Rubens was being kind.

I also notice the distinct lack of a hot chocolate mustache.

Still, thank you, Anna of Austria, for the wondrous, warming goodness that is hot chocolate. How could you know that generations of faces after yours would light up at the sight and smell and taste of your delicious “dirty brown substance.” You really ought to try it with marshmallows or …. ahhhhhh …. a dollop of whipped creme! Er, uhm, if you can.

So, Princess Anna, I will drink some of this happy, creamy nectar THIS VERY EVENING and think of you!

Just dashing off some thoughts here, rather random.

My Beloved and I went to see “King Kong” the other day for a practically paltry $5 apiece. We’re so used to paying at least 9, 10 bucks apiece these days, that we actually asked the bored, mumbly cashier WHY it was so cheap.

“First show of the day,” he muttered without looking at us. The “duh, idiots” part was merely implied. What a nice boy.

Now, let me say: I was never a “King Kong” fan. Always seemed more about screaming and grunting and chest thumping with a creepy bonus threat of rape by an ape than anything else. But that was then, this is NOW. I have to admit: This new version of “King Kong” is just some rip-roaringly good entertaiment.

Great things:

— the ape himself — really phenomenal. I never for a moment thought he wasn’t actually there. I was thoroughly swept up in the absolute reality of a 25-foot gorilla!

— the creepy natives — just really scared the beejezuz outta me.

— the shots of a reimagined 1930’s New York. Not truly real, but even better — kind of magical.

— the backstory at the beginning of the movie. Now, I’ve heard several reviewers say things like “Oh, just show up an hour into it; that’s when you finally see the ape.” To that I say NO! You need to see what’s happening with the Jack Black character and the Naomi Watts character, in particular, to know what’s motivating their decisions. They’re both desperate; but you’ve gotta be desperate or else INSANE to end up on a place called Skull Island. I mean, it ain’t exactly a lazy Sunday afternoon picnic spot.

But also, what “creature” movie worth its salt shows the creature at the very beginning? “Frankenstein” didn’t. “Jaws” didn’t. You saw what he DID, but you didn’t see him. That’s how suspense is built. So DO show up at the beginning and allow the build to happen.

— Naomi Watts. I like her so much as an actress. Loved her in “21 Grams.” I believed every moment of this performance where she’s acting alongside a freaking nonexistent 25-foot gorilla! She moves past the one-dimensional, shrill screaming of Fay Wray and the creepy, sexualized performance of Jessica Lange and imbues the ape-girl relationship some genuine poignancy and heart; you really feel that these two come to understand each other. It sounds almost ridiculous to say it — but you believe the love between the two of them. And that’s — in large part — because of Naomi Watts.

— the T-Rexes and all the rest of the, ah, “critters.” Really squirm-in-your-seat scary. A lady sitting by herself in front of us kept cracking me up — she spent half the movie gasping and jumping out of her seat, then falling back and covering her eyes. Whenever I felt I couldn’t look at the screen, I watched her. She was wildly entertaining.

— the pace of the movie. It’s kind of an intangible, pacing, but every good movie, every good play has it — a spot-on sense of pacing — not too slow, not too fast and nonsensical, but with reasonable, well-timed ebbs and flows. If “Jaws,” for instance, had SHOWN us Jaws right away, it would have been too soon; it would have rushed the pace; we’d have become bored — oh, yawn, HIM? AGAIN?

Our senses adjust, become complacent. We NEED to be kept off-balance, never sure when we’re going to see IT again. We almost need to feel that we’ve EARNED the right to behold the creature. And here, in “King Kong” the comparative quiet of the opening builds substance and anticipation for the thrill of the coming adventure. Not every moment can be or should be a fever pitch moment. Trust me, there are PLENty in this movie. I can honestly say that I didn’t even notice the 3-hour length until I left the theatre and looked at my watch. I was thoroughly engaged. IN A MOVIE ABOUT AN APE, NO LESS! Just a good ol’ rollicking epic adventure.

(But if I might add a wee critique in the midst of this giddy endorsement: Jack Black, I like you, I DO, but someone has to tell you to ease up on that rather freaky, maniacal, “I’m so intense” expression you do. It’s funny, to a degree, but overused, and in some moments, it’s just REALLY out of place. Or maybe you think it’s some kind of emotion intensifier, that look. Oh, Jackie, it’s not. It’s REALLY not. It makes me feel a tad icky, as if you practiced saying “I love you” in the mirror just ONE too many times. So just as someone, it appears, FINALLY got to George Clooney and told him to stop with the annoying Bobble-Headed twitch he had, I do this for you, Jack Black. Oh, and Adrien Brody? Trim just a smidge off that clawlike nose of yours. It’s a little too far gone on a reckless downward path towards your mouth. You must NOT let this happen. Repercussions galore. )

Great Thing #2 —

A book I just finished — “Life of Pi” by Yann Martel.

Read it yet? You SHOULD. A tale, as one character says, to “make you believe in God.” I found it alternately disturbing and horrific and magical and delightful, a curious blend.

In the tiniest of nutshells — it’s the story of a castaway boy left to survive on a lifeboat with a 450-pound Bengal tiger.

But what sounds like a basic adventure tale is so much more. I loved that the book asks you to be innocent, to hurl yourself into wonder, to squelch that inner, jaded voice that wants to say, No — that’s just … just IMPOSSIBLE!

I guess that’s where I’m at right now — with this movie and this book — LOVING being able to believe the impossible, to be swept away.

And shouldn’t great movies and books do that?

Oh — and add to that: FINALLY a book ending simultaneously surprising and satisfying and thought-provoking. (I’ve had rather bad luck with that in my reading this year, er, LAST year. Whatever.)

Thank you, Yann Martel!

So …. see the movie. Read the book. Enjoy ’em both!

Also —

I promise. NO predictions for 2006.

So bless my little soul.

And yours.

Now, I know wha’cher thinkin’ …. so, nooo, I don’t mean me.

No, this kid, Alex Tew, a 21-year-old college student. From an article from Reuters (and because I couldn’t get the link to work — haha, genius!):

He had the brainstorm for his million dollar home page, called, logically enough, www.milliondollarhomepage.com, while lying in bed thinking out how he would pay for university.

The idea: turn his home page into a billboard made up of a million dots, and sell them for a dollar a dot to anyone who wants to put up their logo. A 10 by 10 dot square, roughly the size of a letter of type, costs $100.

He sold a few to his brothers and some friends, and when he had made $1,000, he issued a press release.

That was picked up by the news media, spread around the Internet, and soon advertisers for everything from dating sites to casinos to real estate agents to The Times of London were putting up real cash for pixels, with links to their own sites.

So far they have bought up 911,800 pixels. Tew’s home page now looks like an online Times Square, festooned with a multi-colored confetti of ads.

So THIS is what he came up with. Check it out.

Genius.

(M@ — why do I have the feeling you’d love this one?)

My dreams of being an Olympic figure skater have already been dashed — now THIS, too?

I need a donut.

Oh, wait. I’m sorry. I forgot the tip-o-the-hat to Sheila here. Frankly, because I was too depressed.

Well, my mom didn’t give me the rest of the ensemble. this year. I kept waiting for it, but it didn’t come. With each gift, I held my breath. Still, it didn’t come.

What? Nothing to make my eyes twirl, my heart sink?

There was no sweet fancy sluttiness. OR bitter cheesy grannyness. What was happening? I am programmed to run this gamut. I am always braced for it. I prepare for my role with “positive self-talk” and well-rehearsed, canned reactions. No Method acting here. Oh, no! That would be most unwise. One never wants to be so convincing as to encourage the survival of this strain of gift-giving. And even then, even with my obviously less-than-credible performances over the years, this practice has lingered … and lingered.

But, this year, something threw me off my game, shoved me off the familiar gamut. And when it happened, I was lost, really. I didn’t know what my face was doing. What happened to my canned reactions? I sputtered inelegantly for words. Where were my well-rehearsed words?! I blinked and blinked. I didn’t even know what I was seeing.

It was strange and unprecedented and wondrous because

My mother gave me a ring.

And not just ANY ring.

Let me explain.

My mother has been chronically ill for over 20 years. We do not know what it is. No doctor has gotten to the bottom of it, ever. Not even the Mayo Clinic. She takes painkillers and they don’t kill her pain. She sometimes hallucinates. She remembers things that never happened. She is frequently impossible to talk to. And when you’re able to talk to her, she’s frequently hostile and angry and cruel. I suppose any of us would be, too, in her shoes. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her. I don’t live inside her body; I don’t think inside her mind. I’m not an expert on her pain. I’m simply an expert witness to it. In many ways, my father has not really had a wife for over 20 years, and my siblings and I have not really had a mother.

I don’t say this to garner any pity or sympathy for our situation. I don’t say this for anyone to comment on what might be wrong with her. Oh, please don’t. I am simply stating the facts as I know them.

This is my mother. And for as long as I’ve known her, even before she became ill, she’s rarely succumbed to expressions of deep sentiment.

But this year on Christmas, she gave me The Ring.

The Ring is her ring. Or was her ring. It is an exquisite sapphire and diamond ring, glittering in a perfect, simple, modern setting.

Many years ago, my parents purchased a beautiful, loose sapphire and, shortly thereafter, my dad had a setting designed for it. We all “oohed” and “ahhed” over The Ring and mom wore it with pride, flashing it this way and that. Subtly, of course. She absolutely loved that ring. She was never without it. Her ring.

But on my wedding day, she let me wear it. Borrowed and blue, too, you see. To be honest, I was stunned by the rare, unexpected gesture. She handed it to me quite matter-of-factly, minus showy sentiment, without a trace of tears, but, it was a gesture, nonetheless. As she walked away, I slid it on my finger, flashing it this way and that. Subtly, of course. I liked the way it shimmered through my tears.

And now, all these years later, I sat next to a glowing tree with a small package on my lap. There was greedy chaos in the rest of the room as nephews and nieces practically chewed open their gifts. Now, normally, nothing can tear my mom’s attention from watching her grandkids’ feeding frenzy, but this night, she turned her head away from the pandemonium and stared only at me. Intently. Aware of her gaze, uncomfortable, I thought, “Oh, no. She thinks this is a good one, so I need a good reaction. Crap.” Quickly, I clicked through my pat responses until I settled on a classic: “Ooooh, a ________! How GREAT!”

Slowly, nervously, I began to tug at the paper. There wasn’t enough paper for me to drag this out, especially once Button Baby caught sight of me and decided she had to help. She let out a squeal and two seconds later, the small naked box was in my hands. It wasn’t a jewelry box, so I had no reason to suspect or speculate on its contents. Lifting the lid, I found a drawstring pouch, velvet, too small for almost anything. Almost. I glanced quizzically at my mom and she was stone still. Her eyes were fixed on me, mingling in their blueness pride and joy and fear. I’d never seen that look before and I’ll never forget it.

My hands were clumsy as I opened the pouch. And, of course, tucked inside that little pouch was The Ring.

I recognized it, but I didn’t, because this couldn’t be. It could not be that she was giving this to me! This was her ring. Her special ring. I opened my mouth and …. nothing. Staring at this sparkly thing in my hand, memories flooded back, and I was dumbstruck. Mom’s face had a certain composure, but her eyes, her eyes were naked, defenseless. I looked at her and found my voice, lamely:

“Mom? Mom, I — ”

I crumbled. So did my canned responses.

” — can’t believe –”

I looked at mom and she crumbled, too. Her eyes slowly trickled tears.

“Well, I — I — well, I can’t wear it anymore, so –”

“Mom –”

“– well, I — wanted you to have it.”

“Thank you, Mom — ” I whispered. “It — means a lot to me. I can’t believe it.”

We looked at each other and it was too much. It was overwhelming, mostly unfamiliar, territory. But we’re women and we do know how to cry even if we don’t do it well. So we did our best. I hugged my mom tightly and felt the cool moisture of her cheek.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see My Beloved’s face, wet with tears. I saw Button Baby’s mom, teary too. And then I saw Button Baby, swaying back and forth on her little Mary Janed feet, unaware, smiling a goofy baby smile amidst the chaos. She didn’t know. She was just happy.

The world, it seemed, stood still for this rare, fleet second. Happy, so much happy.

“Thank you, Mom.”