ME (exasperated): I don’t know. It’s like I can hear his hairiness.
HE: His audible chest hair?
ME: Yes!
HE: The gentle rustling?
ME: Exactly!!
appropriately, a valentine
If you are not watching 82-year-old Cloris Leachman dance up a comedic diva storm on “Dancing With The Stars,” then you are missing out big time, Peaches. You really are. Almost the only reason to watch the show, for me. Tonight, an epic, dramatic, Norma-Desmond-ish tango. At one point, she lifted one of her 82-year-old legs — straight up — and was dragged or twirled or whatever across the dance floor on the other leg. Good Lord. I don’t think I could even do that and I am at least 62 years younger than she is. The audience was on its feet for her at the end. She deserved it.
So what does this all mean, you ask? It means that I am basically in love with Cloris Leachman right now and no one could be more surprised than I at my new twittery crush on a member of the geriatric set. But how can I help it, I implore you? She is hilarious, inspiring, and a little pistol of a dancer. Okay. Really? I want her to be my gammie. My raunchy, raucous gammie. But with hot chocolate and cookies. Please, Cloris Leachman. I don’t have any gammies left and even when I did have them, well, I barely knew them and they weren’t nearly as fun as you, and I’m pretty sure that their four legs combined could not do what just one of your legs did tonight. And I don’t even know what the heck that means, I’m just so gobsmacked by you. What I’m saying, Cloris Leachman, is I have an opening in my life for someone just like you.
Be my little vixen gammie.
muslim day parade 2008
where i display exemplary sportsmanship
30-10.
Take that, Patriots.
Blehh.
quiet
I know I’ve been more quiet than usual on this blog lately. We are, collectively, in the midst of some perilous, scary times and some of us are going through perilous, scary times personally. That’s where we are. I mentioned our situation months ago on this blog and just don’t have the energy to get into it right now. If you read it then, you may remember; if you didn’t, well, I’m sorry you’re in the dark a bit.
Sometimes I put pressure on myself to stay mostly lighthearted on this blog. Not that I don’t write about anything else. I do. I know. But, actually, my “default” public setting is to find the humor in things or be silly or whimsical, blah, blah, hoodie blah. It’s a childhood thing. The only way I really got positive attention, so I guess I think it’s the only way people will “like” me. I mean, I’ve gotten emails from time to time from people complaining that I didn’t write a funny post about this or a funny run-down of that, and, well, uhm, sorry. Sometimes it just ain’t there, but there are people who expect it. And it’s always the people who never comment. Weird. They email me and I’m like, “Who ARE you?? I have no relationship with you at all.”
This may sound strange, but that kind of response — the jokey thing — is so kneejerk for me that I have some level of contempt for it. The deeper or more emotional things I write are agonizing and nearly impossible for me to get out. They hurt me — a lot — but I think they’re good for me. I have to think that or I’d never ever write them. I really don’t know why I’m talking about this now or how this is germaine to where I started here. Hm. Well. I guess it’s just that my “default” is failing me right now and I can’t find the words to talk about what’s really going on.
“We” are fine, MB and I. That’s not what I’m referring to. It’s everything else that’s happening to life around us. I actually started a post about it and I’m trying to finish it, but who knows? For me, it’s nearly impossible to write coherently about what I’m going through when I’m in the midst of it. At least, not without sounding like a whiny schlump.
So please bear with me. There are pressing things outside of cyber space. And if you’re the praying type, maybe you wouldn’t mind sending one heavenward for us. I’d appreciate it.
although ….
…. there are two exceptions to my newfound fair-weather fanniness:
~ I will never root for the Patriots.
~ I will never, ever root for the Oakland Raiders. You can’t be a native San Diegan — as I am — and ever root for the evil blackhearted Raiders. Too much history. Too much bad blood. And I’ve seen firsthand how incredibly rude and aggressive their fans are whenever they come to town. That doesn’t fly in SD. We’re just not like that here. If I know the Raiders are coming to town, I hunker down. Literally. Don’t go outside. Oakland Raider fans are acting like wankers and pillaging our city. They’re rude and menacing and large groups of them always end up causing hubbubs, getting arrested, being featured prominently on the local evening news. Every single time. Not my kind of team. Not my kind of people. It’s a game. Let’s not assault people, ‘mkay?
where i decide to become a fair-weather fan
It’s hard to be a Chargers fan. They’re the perennial underdogs. Even when they supposedly have a great team — like this year, last year, other years — they’re still underdogs somehow. We don’t get no respect. We don’t get no superlatives or hyperboles. We get “Oh, the Chargers.” And just because I’m whining doesn’t mean it’s not true, you know.
So we’re playing the Dolphins right now, who were, oh, something like 1-15 last year. I mean, they were truly truly sad. We, on the other hand, had the potential to go to the Super Bowl. Didn’t happen — it was a heartbreaker — but the potential was there. And right now, these Dolphins are kicking our taut little football bottoms. I just can’t take the heartbreak anymore. I mean, I think my aorta actually hurts. So to solve this looming coronary crisis, I’ve decided to be a fair-weather fan. It will work like this: Basically, I will root for whoever the winner turns out to be. If we win this game, I rooted for us. If Miami wins, I rooted for them. We won’t know who I rooted for until the game is over. So it’s proactively retroactive. It’s also disloyal, flaky, dubious, and shameful.
You know, all those ingredients that make up the spicy bouillabaisse that is me.
So, uhm …. GO TEAMS!!!
another best thing in the world ever
Okay. So the title is contradictory. I know. “Best” is best. How can there be another best thing ever? There just is. A while back, I said that this was the best thing in the world ever. And it is. It’s just that this is, too. If your well of cheer is dry, this will fill it up. I guarantee it. I do.
“Little handpainted people, left in London to fend for themselves”:
I am completely in love with the mind behind this whole thing. Genius.