Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Antiques Roadshow

We join Antiques Roadshow currently in progress.

Mr. S______: My wife found this at a Sears Outlet in Saint Charles, Missouri, in 1989. 

Appraiser:  Do you have any idea what it is, or what it might have been used for at one time?

Mr. S______: I did a little research and I know it's some type of electronic tool.

Appraiser:  Well, what you have here is what is known as a "router." You are right, it is a form of power tool, and it was quite popular in 1989. It wasn't as commonly found as an electric screwdriver, but it wasn't exactly rare. They were mass produced by the Black and Decker corporation and sold at Sears Outlets.  Men would use these to make grooves in wood.

Mr. S______: Really? I thought it was used in computer networking.

Appraiser:  Yes, later "router" gained the use we know today, a form of computer equipment. Now, where did you store this item?

Mr. S______: Down in the basement.

Appraiser:  I see the box is in fairly good condition.

Mr. S______: Yes, I never opened it.

Appraiser:  I can see that, the staples are right there on the top of the box. By any chance do you still have the receipt?

Mr. S______: No, I'm afraid I don't.

Appraiser:  If you had, of course, that would go towards establishing the provenance of the item. Now, do you have any idea what this is worth?

Mr. S______: (shaking head) I have NO idea.

Appraiser:  Well, in this mint condition, in the original box, unopened, this 1989 Sears Router would be worth fifteen dollars at auction today.

Mr. S______: (squeals with delight)

Appraiser:  If you had some of the additional router bits, it might be worth even more to a collector.

(Across bottom of screen)
1985 Sears Router, unopened
$15

==============================

To be completely fair, Gary does take all his power tools out of the box once just to plug them in and have them make a noise. "The router goes RRRRRRRR!" Then they go back in the box and are added to the collection in the basement.

(It's Larry at work who has the unopened table saw he bought years ago in his shed.)

Things as They Should Have Been and Other Bullets

• Had Bristol Palin won Dancing With the Stars, she should have taken the award, said, "People, seriously," and given it to whomever didn't win. Think of the positive press. Even her detractors would like her after that. Oh, and when WikiLeaks leaked the diplomatic documents, the German president should have said, "Oh, don't worry about it. Just imagine what we've been saying in our cables about George Bush."
  
  I sweep my hand through the air. Thus have I said, thus should it have been done.

 

• In an unprecedented move, Gary said, "Enh, screw it," this year, and we did not go Black Friday shopping. Instead, I went looking for deals on-line.

I bought these shoes for me:
 
...and this speck, just for me:
 
... and this cheese, also for me:
 

I did all these things instead of paying my real estate tax, personal property tax, Mom's real estate tax, my insurance, or Mom's insurance.Or any of my bills. Oh! Or Christmas shopping. Well, no, I found some good small gifts for the in-laws. I did hang up Inside Christmas (5 minutes), and Gary plugged in Outside Christmas (5 minutes).

• The week to come is not going to be full of cheer, I fear. The dog and I both have important tests. The dog has his blood test for his kidney disease checkup, and my test is the small state version of the Big Test I passed this summer. At least, it will all be over Friday. And I think Friday is when Gary and I should get our Christmas shopping on. We need to bring the Christmas CDs out to the car and sing-along until we get to the mall.

Movie Review: The Informant

The Informant starring Matt Damon

 

Things to love about this movie:

Based on a true story.

Tommy and Dickie Smothers play bit parts.

Matt Damon plays me.

Nominally he plays Mark Whitacre, a dim-witted whistle-blower who can't keep his mouth shut. (Essentially, me.) And he looks like a big puppy all through the movie (see above).

Other characters in the movie say, emphatically, "NO, DO NOT TELL US THIS," and he has to tell them. (Again, me.)

Things not to love so much about this movie:

[SPOILERS]

Eventually they reveal the reason Mark can't keep his mouth shut, and it hits a little too close to home  (only I was eventually vindicated and un-diagnosed).

 Overall:

Such an enjoyable movie. I give it four out of four lesions.

Turkey Day 2010

Morning
Gary asks if I'm still bringing the burgundy pie (cranberries and blueberries) and the Marilyn Monroe dressing. He thinks I should. I say okay.

Late Morning
Gary decides neither pie nor dressing is good enough for his family. They will spend Thanksgiving at home and wait for us to return.

Afternoon
Gary regales his family with tales of how awful the dressing and pie were, and how they should be thankful we didn't bring them.

Evening
Gary comes home and eats burgundy pie. Declares it the BEST PIE HE HAS EVER HAD. Of course, all his words are meaningless to me now.

======================

Oh, and I have a new party idea. Karen has to monitor her blood pressure for a while so she had one of those automated cuffs with her. We all lined up to get our blood pressure taken. It was Instant Party.

I'm seeing a theme party in my future. We'll have blood pressure cuffs, PH strips, blood sugar monitors, and the like. We can give individual prizes, and then an overall health grand prize.

I think this would be a wildly popular party for women of a certain age. It would be like having our colors done! Or our palms read! If only it could somehow reveal things about our personalities. We could bring back humors. It's like an ancient Meyers-Briggs test mixed with horoscopes.

We could serve ... organ meats! I have a great stuffing made with turkey hearts.

UPDATED: Marilyn Monroe's Stuffing Exposed

Gary was fascinated to find that there was a recipe for stuffing witten in Marilyn Monroe's own hand. Here is how that played out.

====================

Interior, bedroom. Gary is waving his Blackberry in front of his wife's face.

Gary (shrieking): Look at this! We have to bring this to my parents on Thanksgiving!

Ellen: We should test it out first - wait. This is just a photo of a handwritten recipe.

Gary: We could decipher it!

Ellen (Looking at her iPhone): Too late. Somebody already did it.

Gary: Awww. That's no fun.

Ellen: Hm. It's stuffing, but this recipe says you can serve it as dressing too.

Cut to kitchen, evening before Thanksgiving.

Ellen: Do you want the rest of this pound of giblets? The recipe only calls for half a pound.

Gary: Of course! I love giblets! Put the whole pound in!

Ellen: Turkey livers? And hearts? (She waits until he goes back to watching Stargate and she tosses the extra turkey organs in the trash.)

Montage of Ellen chopping and scraping and mixing with her hands and hard-boiling eggs and chopping them.  Close-up of Ellen's disgusted face as she takes water-logged sourdough bread and wrings the water out with her hands. Close-up of Ellen's hands, filled with what looks like sourdough mucus. We see the completed dressing go into the oven.

The timer goes off and she scoops out a morsel for Gary to try. She takes care to get a representative morsel, one with raisins, Parmesan, walnuts, ground beef, sourdough and turkey hearts.

Gary: Ah! Gack! God! (Gary spits dressing into his hand.) God! That is the most awful thing I have ever eaten! (Continues to spit.) Gah! You must have made it wrong!

Ellen (coolly, as Gary goes to wash out his mouth at the kitchen sink): I followed the recipe exactly. It's a disgusting recipe. (Pauses thoughtfully) I'm going to do a little more research and see if anyone actually cooked this recipe.

End Scene.

===========================

And the people at the New York Times did. All I can see that they did differently is they cooked it as a stuffing, I cooked it as a dressing.

Here is their finished product:

 

Here is mine:

 

So, because I am a glutton for punishment, and because I am competitive, and because if professional food artists at the New York Times can make this then why can't I; I am taking that little Corningware bit and cooking it even longer. But first I'm chopping everything up so it's in New York Times dimensions. Wait ... I have a seasoned cast iron skillet. I'm putting it in there. And the rest I'm stuffing into a bird after Thanksgiving to see if that has an effect.

I feel like I'm on Mythbusters with this recipe. Next up: I try to find a 1950's era-stove to cook it in.

If it doesn't work, I promise to re-title this MARILYN MONROE: BUSTED!

============================

Update: well, turns out I didn't cook it long enough. I'd used the formula you see for modern recipes: Heat at 350 until hot. Instead, put it in a cast iron skillet and cook for another 90 minutes after that.I'd considered putting chicken stock on top, since most recipes call for that, but I did not. And a good thing too: it does turn "gelatinous" as the Times says. Yet still fluffy. It tastes nothing like what you might find inside a bird. It tastes like spicy liver and onions. With notes of raisin nut bread.

I actually am going to bring it to the in-laws. We can see if they all spit it out simultaneously.

A Modest Proposal

Once a year my GP gropes my breasts. I don't like it, but I let him. The GP also makes my husband get naked down to his socks, because of Gary's family history of skin cancer. This is unpleasant, not as unpleasant as a prostate exam, or my yearly vaginal exam by the crotch doctor.

Afterward, I'm glad to know our chances of getting cancer are reduced. Of course, I'd say my chances of getting cancer are slim anyway. We don't have very much cancer amongst my blood relatives. Still, every once in a while my GPs palms-front breast grope leads to a mammography, and they beam radiation at my flattened boobs.

I imagine I could say these tests are excessive and invasive, especially because I really doubt I'm at risk. Do I look like someone with cancer? It's pretty obvious I'm healthy.

Still, sometimes we let ourselves be violated by professionals to ensure our continued safety. So I say we give these TSA folks white jackets, stitch Doctor in front of their names, and pay them ten times as much.

That's expensive, though. Even better, we combine a breast exam with security screening. The security line leads into a waiting room (and we always expect a one - two hour wait there anyway). Then a nurse comes in and asks us to put on the paper clothes, walk though the Naked X-Ray Machine, and get a free breast exam. It would be like the MammoMobile, but at the airport. Afterward you get dressed and head for your gate. Everyone on the plane would be done with a tedious health chore and checked for explosives.

What about men? Men could get prostate exams / anal bomb checks. Kids would be inspected for measles, maybe. That requires a little nudity. Then, and this is the best part, we could bill our insurance.

Saint Louis! Number One Most Dangerous City!

Yes, I am automatically edgy and sophisticated because I live in Saint Louis, Most Dangerous City in the USA.

Only, no one lives in the five-square-miles designated as Saint Louis proper, which is why we won "Most Dangerous City." Say you go downtown to a Cards game, where you are murdered and stuffed in a dumpster. After the game, all your friends return to the suburbs (i.e.: anything not marked "Saint Louis" on the map below). All your murderer's friends leave the game, some go home to East Saint Louis Illinois, some go to the suburbs, and the only people left in Saint Louis proper are you, the murderer and his mom and dad. That's a 1:3 murder ratio right there.

 

You may think your friends who live in Saint Louis actually live inside the border of the city, but instead we live in the suburbs, which would be just a neighborhood in the city if Saint Louis were permitted to get bigger, which it isn't. Its growth was stunted at 5 miles.

Hint: if you suspect someone you know "from Saint Louis" doesn't really live IN the city, do what we do: ask what high school he or she attended.

If that person answers, "Soldan" or "Vashon" they might be from the city. They are cool.
If that person answers, "I didn't go to high school here," they aren't really FROM Saint Louis. (Well, it's true.) However, they might live IN the city.
If that person answers, "East Saint Louis High," lie down, because you are about to be murdered by your friend. Of course, that's a generalization, my husband was born in East Saint Louis and he isn't a murderer. (He didn't go to high school there.)

The Riverfront Times reports that O'Fallon MO, on the left up there, has the second-lowest crime rate in the nation. I live and work comfortably right between the two. I'm a little disappointed this Colonie New York place is safer than O'Fallon because it goes against all laws of symmetry. It violates poetic justice. Someone from O'Fallon should sneak up to Colonie and kill someone to screw up their ratio.

Seventy Degrees in November

It was, truly, seventy degrees today. Weather.com should have just put up a banner that read:

You can either hang Christmas lights or clean up leaves! God will punish those who stay inside today.

We cleaned up leaves. I am exhausted and leaf mold is up my nose and I have mud in my sinuses. I keep thinking that Gary and I are too old for this, and I wonder how my neighbors can have such tidy lawns. Then I realize they have children who are sent out every afternoon to collect the leaves.

If any of you are young and landscaping a house, I recommend you bear one child per bush, two children per tree. This may seem excessive to some, but remember twenty percent of those children will have asthma or allergies and will not really be able to pull their weight.

Actually, I wonder now if perhaps acreage should factor in. If you are having the kids to maintain the landscaping you should be able to get them to mow the lawn, too.

This. That. The Other.

• We got enough sleep Saturday that we've accomplished some yard work.

This is the best tool ever invented:

It's a clamping chain saw. Imagine a pair of power scissors. You clamp on to a tree limb, a shrub stump; the tool goes "chomp chomp chomp nerrrrr" and is sawed through. Visceral.

• I've decided I am kin with Joe Biden. He is a soul sibling. Man just says what's on his mind. Not always prudent, but sincere. I imagine he makes people uncomfortable too. I need to be in politics instead of where I am.
• I pay people to rake Mom's leaves. They do not rake them. In contrast, I frequently call service people so I can offer them money to do similar work and they do not even call back. "Call me with an estimate" is the last thing I say to most of these people. Oddly, everyone seems to have the same problem. Perhaps it takes money to make money. They may not have money to drive down the block to Mom's house to evaluate the job. Tiresome.

Spunky Goes Out Half-Naked

I called Gary right before my pedicure and made dinner plans for immediately after.

You see where this is going.

Of course I was cast out of Snooty West County Salon in the shoes of shame, the flip-flops of poor planning, the little disposable thongs you get to protect your pedicure in case you didn't bring open-toed shoes to wear home.

 

(But Spunky Labia International Toe Porn Superstar makes those paper shoes look good, doesn't she? it's like when they have lovely models wear really ugly glasses. Like, say, my ugly glasses.

 )

So Spunky said, "I'm gorgeous, I can wear want I want, anywhere I want," and she wore her paper pedicure "shoes" out into the cold, picked up The Husband at work, and they went to Gulf Shores for dinner. Spunky almost pulled it off, but as they were leaving, The Husband looked down and said, "WHAT is THAT on your FEET?"

Spunky was not ashamed. Spunky was drunk on whipped cream and beignets. And she's Spunky, damnit! Soon all of West County will be wearing the pedicure flip-flops. No Shirt? No Shoes? No Service?Does not pertain to icons like Spunky.

Sad Hoarder

Aw, man. I brought a guy to Mom's to discuss clearing out the remaining flotsam.

Any flotsam Dave or I might want has long been claimed. This leaves a house full of spoons and occasional tables, rolling carts and picture frames, a living lesson on the difference between antique and vintage.

To take this step I had to admit, "Nothing in this house has value to me." I can't get past the other hoader hangup: surely this has value to someone else.

No.

He gently rambled through the house, with runninng commentary."Well, that's a TV and VCR, but flat screens are so cheap now no one will buy it. And a VCR ... even poor people have DVD players now. But, is that a vaccuum cleaner? That's the best thing I've seen so far. That'll sell."

I heard myself doing the hoarder replay, "Dave got that Major Matt Mason doll because our father worked at NASA, but he never played with it." Luckily, I stopped myself there, but I could have given the whole Jerry / David reunion story.

I did not say, "Stop, we must stop, I'm feeling agitated." So I'm not a total hoarder. But, it made me sad to think that things Mom found so useful (like the toilet-plunger device she cobbled to help her brush her teeth) won't be used by others.

I Love Passing Tests

I've been dizzy. It's one of the reasons I took off Thursday. Thursday was also Veterans Day, which was the reason the pizza delivery man thought I was taking off.

"No," I said, "I'm really dizzy."

"Like when you lie down or get up?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"I've had that too lately."

Now, I'm not sure what the Pizza Man meant by that. I'm also never sure what Gary means by that when he says the same thing.

Could be: "We are all frail. I know your fears, my sister, and I stand by your side in the human condition."
Could be: "If we both have this it isn't serious."
Could be: "You aren't sick. You are Normal."

I think the last one is what Gary means when he tells me, "I'm dizzy all the time! Everybody gets dizzy when they roll over in bed!"

This is why I found my yearly check-up at my primary neurologist so satisfying today.

I went in and said, "I'm dizzy."

He asked me to describe "dizzy," and he asked, "What makes you dizzy?"

"Lying down in bed, getting out of bed, lying with a hard pillow under my neck, looking up ..."

"Hop up on the table, please."

He had me recline on my elbow, he took my skull, tilted it up and over to a specific spot. My brain spun immediately.

"Whoa! I'm so dizz -"

"Look up here! At my hand."

Which I did, assuming that he was fixing my eye on a point so I wouldn't vomit, but of course he wasn't, he was checking if my eyes were twitching, which I assume they were, because that seems to be the test for benign paroxysmal positional vertigo (BPPV).

Then he had me lie down, tilted my head at some specific angle: whoosh! Brain slosh, look up at my hand, same deal.

Then I sat down in a chair, he tilted, slosh, twitch. Mental note: Never tilt my head at those angles.

He asked if I'd had this dizziness before, and I said sure, back two years ago when I started the drug. "I assumed it was the drug, but the clinical trial doctor said it was ... some position thing - oh!"

That's the difference between being told you have benign positional vertigo and having someone prove it to you by positioning your head. That's the difference between having a doctor say "benign" as in "Your vertigo is benign, stop complaining," and "I'm not even doing an MRI for this, it's so benign."

I came out of that appointment feeling like I am SUPPOSED to have BPPV. That something would be wrong if I DIDN'T have it. That it can be completely controlled as long as I don't let that doctor ever touch my skull again. (There are other treatments, but this is the one I'm going for. It goes away on its own, eventually.)

He's such a good doctor. I'm delighted with him. He makes me feel so textbook. Like the Normal version of Sick.

Oh, and I Helped Cure Cancer Saturday Night

I don't really care who gets the money when I play trivia, but this past Saturday the Cancer People (don't know which organization) got the benefit of my $20 entrance fee to a trivia match.

And then I got $15 back because our table won first place.

 

Left to right: Anne, Me (not to be confused with this woman ), and Marcia (don't recognize her? Diet and exercise for a year made her skinny).

It was a very satisfying win. Of course, you can tell by the Cheeto level this was taken early in the evening before we actually won.

And, speaking of food, I think I've been at three trivia matches: at the first, I had no idea people brought food. I brought nothing. The second, I brought an appropriate amount of food. This time, I went junk food shopping with Gary, knowing he would get any leftovers. So, now we have more Chicken in a Biskit than anyone would ever want.

Of course, silver is a good addition to any table.

What Have I Been Doing The Last Three Days

Jack. Specifically, Jack Diddly-Squat, of the Outer Boston Squats.

I got enough sleep with the sick day I took Thursday, then from Friday 8 pm to Saturday at 2 pm that I had energy to think about doing things. Not enough to really do them, of course, because then I did things today and I'm wiped.  And by "I did things" I mean I put water in the Scooba, set it on the floor, and hit the button.

Well, I did also clean the stove and rearrange the pans and answer TWELVE PHONE CALLS in one hour and six minutes from Gary, who was grocery shopping "for" me, so I could make food for his work Thanksgiving feast.

"Ellen! What type of bacon do you want?"

"Normal bacon."

"I'll have to go to Schnucks. This Dierbergs doesn't have Hormel Bacon."

(Minutes later.) "Okay, I found the Hormel bacon. It's in a cardboard box."

This went ON. And I know I shouldn't complain, because I could have said, "No, YOU have to make food for your work feast," but I like having a speciality on standing request. (Cream of Broccoli Soup - I'm just throwing in the Pig Candy Bacon for fun.)

My work husband Tim always brings a Dip, called only Tim's Dip, and he makes many other glorious foods but The Dip is his signature piece.

What about you all? What are your signature pieces?

Bidet

This was the bidet in the master bath at the Four Seasons Suite.

 

I was disappointed. In my mind, a bidet is like an automated car wash for your nethers. This was a faucet, and it was positioned so that when I used it on my behind, yes, the water rushed past my bottom, moistened my previously SPOTLESS toilet-papered anus, rushed a little up into my rectum and moistened that area and then gravity brought the mix back down over my vulva and into the bowl. So, essentially, not a win. Like if a tsunami hit Belarus and then all the debris washes up in Poland, even closer to France, where you don't want it to be. Essentially the bidet wiped my ass back to front.

But. (heh) Then I read up on Wikipedia Bidets and found No, You're Doing It Wrong. First, "For a thorough cleaning, the user should use a hand to scrub the area with soap after wetting, then rinse. A dedicated towel or wipe is often available for drying."  And, look, the towel is right there in the photo. I used toilet paper to scrub, not my hand, thank you.

Another thing: if I want my front bits clean afterward I'm supposed to mount the bidet facing the wall. Never crossed my mind. Never. I know. When I think of all the positions I got myself into in my tub in my youth, when I could have just said, "Mom, could we get a bidet?"

Anyway, then the bidet link lead to the vastly superior Toilets in Japan  Wikipedia page. My automated car wash bidet is evidently called a "Washlet."

"The washlet can replace toilet paper completely, but many users opt to use both wash and paper in combination—although use of paper may be omitted for cleaning of the vulva. Some wipe before washing, some wash before wiping, some wash only, and some wipe only—each according to his/her taste."  [Ed. - I blame the translation for that.] 

"Recently, researchers have added medical sensors into these toilets, which can measure the blood sugar based on the urine, and also measure the pulse, blood pressure, and the body fat content of the user."

I can't wait till my toilet can say, "It appears you've had some asparagus today, Miss Ellen. You've lost weight, haven't you? Looks like you've got a bladder infection. Way to go, sister."

But the best part of the Japanese page was the part on the Sound Princess.

I LOVE that the Japanese made a fake courtesy flush machine to save water. And I especially love it that no one uses it.

How to Ruin a Joke

1) A few years ago, when Spalding Gray died and I found my friends didn't know who Spalding Gray was, I rented Swimming to Cambodia. They refused to watch it after half an hour.

"He smirks right before he's about to say something funny."

That was their complaint. So, telegraph it, that's one way to ruin a joke.

2) I know people who laugh at the end of their own jokes. And they laugh louder and longer than anyone else. Usually these jokes are at the expense of someone else, and the jokers are the only ones laughing.

So, don't laugh after your own jokes. That's another way to ruin a joke.

3) I always ruin a joke when I start to giggle before the punch line. It's awful. You all think I have a really deadpan sense of humor, don't you? That's because you haven't heard me try to tell a joke. I am usually purple and clapping and shrieking NO NO LISTEN THIS IS FUNNY. And the snot comes out my nose, which is distracting.

So, no laughing before the end of a joke. That's how I always ruin a joke.

This is why I just don't understand why I find Chelsea Handler funny. Sometimes she isn't funny, such as when she does skits on her show. And I was a little hesitant to see her stage show, because I didn't find any of her YouTube clips funny.

But when she's just sitting and laughing at the other comedians on her show, or telling her sidekick to shut UP, or during this live show when she's doubled over trying not to pee on herself because she's telling a humiliating story about her ex-boyfriend the president of E!, she's really funny.

And it's because she breaks all three rules: she laughs before, during, and after the joke. It's hysterical.

Also, she's dirty. We encountered a fellow TeddyJ employee at the who had just come from the concert, and she asked, "Was that not the filthiest show you have ever seen?" I rubbed my crotch in response. I could have pantomimed having my head pumped during fellatio, but I felt that would be inappropriate.

(Evidently Wilma read the Chelsea Handler review here, and just from the two [expletives] she felt she needed to tell Gary she did not approve. She doesn't like women with foul mouths. Sigh.)

I've Been Busy and I Forgot to Tell You ...

Yeah, I've been busy this week. Trip to Albuquerque, saw BNL, trip to Chicago, saw Steven Page, trip downtown, saw Chelsea Handler, trip to Loop, saw BNL. Some things slipped through the cracks.

Slipped Through the Cracks in Albuquerque: The day we left for Albuquerque was a Breaking News Day. Breaking News: Toner cartridges in cargo found to contain explosives. Ever wondered if there's a "softer" version of CNN in airports? One with air crashes censored out, for example? No. I watched a 10 minute montage of PETN blowing up planes.

Slipped Through the Cracks in Chicago:We have become too dependent on the GPS. The Tom Tom GPS will not work in downtown Chicago. Don't fall into the same trap. Always scout out your route first.

Slipped Through the Cracks at the Four Seasons: Those people take care of you. Well, once your prove you are One of Them. Caroline and I walked into the anteroom where they separate the Wheat from the Chaff, and we were obviously chaff. I was carrying a Walmart plastic bag and Caroline her large Sonic cup. After we proved we were headed, yes, for the Four Seasons, they welcomed us with free fondue and cake and smoked meats. AND because of Daylight Saving Time we got an extra hour for our money.

Slipped Through the Cracks at the Chelsea Handler Show:  My purse. Seriously, there are big-ass cracks under the seats at the Scott-Trade center, and my purse with my iPhone plummeted from row K to the cement below. Luckily the iPhone was cushioned by the $200 CASH I'd forgotten to put it in the safe. Of course, all I knew was that my purse was suddenly gone, and we had to wait till everyone cleared out for them to find it, (but not tell me), put it in Guest Services, then have me describe it. Sickening stress.

Slipped Through the Cracks at the BNL Saint Louis Show: I don't know why, but this show was so much better than the New Mexico show. And, the best part? Tiny the drum tech sang the "Steve" part on Eraser. I was going to flash him but Gary held my arms down.

See, this is what happens when you don't stop and smell the roses. You miss the details.

People of Saint Louis

Arise and go now to the Barenaked Ladies show at the Pageant. If you are young and Above It All, know that they are paired with Jukebox the Ghost. I am exhausted with the week of fun I have had, and I am going. Do not let a 48 year old woman shame you.

 

 

 

 

7:30 (actually 8:30)

These women WAKE UP AT THE CRACK OF DAWN. We went to bed at 2 am and then now they're up BECAUSE THEIR CHILDREN ARE AWAKE OOO OOO MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK IS SYNCHRONIZED WITH MAHHHHH BABIES.

 

awesome!

I just used the instructions my daddy gave me years ago to play roulette. Pocketed half my winnings, let the rest ride. I won 55 dollars and got back my 20.

 

I like this gambling thing. Why doesnt everyone do this?

Series 7 bed party

Download IMG_0058.MOV

Series 7 Party

So, Caroline and Marcia are singing "If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it."

Evidently there is Kareoke in the Dowtown Schnucks Culinaria.

So far we said goodbye to President Grant at the bar. I recommend the bacon tequila if you don't like the taste of alcohol.

NOW my party animal friends are watching MTV like they've never seen a 51 inch tv before. I'm leaving for the Chelsea Handler Show, and I'm sure they're going to take a nap.

Bacon tequila

Goldilocks Goes to a Show

Introduction

Goldilocks went to a show. "This show is too polished and professional!" she exclaimed.
Then she tried another show. "This show is too unrehearsed and awkward!" she complained.
And neither show was just right, but damn that opening act was adorable.

BNL Show

 

First off, I have never seen such a sparsely-attended BNL show. Alburquerqians of my acquaintance explained it wasn't promoted at all. Still, everyone in the band was heard from, everyone sang a song, Jim played the piano (see figure 1), Ed played the drums (see figure 2), Kevin did a strip tease (see figure 3-a, b).

 
Figure 1.

 
Figure 2.

 
Figure 3a.

 
Figure 3b.

(An aside: you'll note that prior to Figure 3b a PETA protester doused Ed in red paint. Actually, that's Gary's new enemy, the red gel light.)

 

Such sweet boys. They appear to enjoy themselves so, especially Jim, The Quiet One. (Isn't there a scene in That Thing You Do when Tom Hanks assigns a personality to each kid in the band? "You, you're The Quiet One!")

 

It was very happy, polished, rehearsed. And of course that's my complaint. A few years back they introduced an adorable dance sequence to the tune of Angry People. It WAS adorable. It WAS adorable the first three times I saw it.  And now, the sad Sound of Your Voice is augmented with a little do-wop parody set piece. It's just too cute. Ugh. That decision makes the balance tip from art into entertainment. Too polished, too perfect, too cute.

Still, at the end of the show the tiny audience was on its feet and storming the stage.

Steven Page

 

First off, I have never seen such a sparsely-attended Steven Page show. You'd think that would make it intimate, but you'd be wrong.

He began by saying "If you're a BNL fan, this will be like coming home and finding your Mom making out with her new boyfriend."

No. It was like coming home and finding Mom making out with her new boyfriend who doesn't really seem to like her all that much. He put a lot of effort into interacting with his new band, which was difficult because they wouldn't make eye contact with him.

I think the piano player MAY have chuckled once at something Steven said and then Steven turned his back entirely on his audience and sang half a song directly to the pianist.

Look at these people. They should be behind a curtain or a bandstand or in a boom box. Smile at our boy. Smile. We like him. Why don't you? Is it the drugs? What's going on up there?

 

He sang very well, though I think he missed the note at the end of Tonight is the Night I Fell Asleep at the Wheel, which I had just heard Ed hit days earlier. But the note I've missed is the high note in the chorus of It's All Been Done, and it was there. Ah.

I was happy to hear the songs from the new CD, which had one particularly vile review. The reviewer didn't judge the songs as music, but as reflections of Steven's life choices. Of course, I judge them by how well they reflect my life choices. I love A New Shore (been there recently) but not so much Clifton Springs (been there, done that, twenty eight years ago).

Still, everyone else loved the old songs, clapped politely at the new songs, and swarmed the stage at the end when he played Brian Wilson.

 

My Favorite?

I'm going to cheat. My favorite was Steven's opening act, Kate Miller Heidke. She left her band back in Australia. She brought her husband, who didn't speak yet still acknowledged her presence on the stage.

 

Sort of an operatic version of Regina Spektor, yet funny, not dour, but not overly cute.

New hotel complaint

The last three hotels I've stayed at pulled this stunt with the foot of the bed.

A strip of colorful fabric runs along the bottom of the bed. It's kind of oriental in that when you get into bed you are reminded of the bound feet of Chinese women.

Eggs Benedict, Continued

So, after I finished the Eggs Benedict, we explored the resort. It's in southwest pueblo style, as is everything in Albuquerque.

 

 Victorian House trapped in a Pueblo body

We got all excited exploring the resort because these signs suggested there might be wildlife.

 

There WAS some type of red insect that chattered as it flew; I don't know what it was even after researching it for 90 minutes. And when I get to this next part, you'll see why I'm stalling.

So here we were encroaching on the sacred lands, on this trail, right about here:

 

... and my body decided to reject the Eggs Benedict which I THOUGHT were sitting comfortably in my lower GI tract.

Of course, I turned on my heel and started back for the hotel. The hotel, far, far away.

 

Along the way I communed with nature.

 

Nearby scrub-brush: "Hi!"

Brain: "Ignore the scrub-brush."

Bowels: "Oh, hi there, scrub! You look helpful."

Feet: (Move faster.)

Brain: "No no no no no."

Bowels: "Could I go over by those bush --"

Brain: "NO."

Bowels:"Please?"

Brain: "NO!"

Bowels: "Plllleeeeease."

Brain: "...maybe."

And you know as soon as that thought enters your brain, even as speculation, you are doomed.

 

Yes, he took a photo of me wading into the brush. Then he looked discreetly away as I made my contribution to the desert ecosystem. 

Then the next day, we attempted the same trail, again saw no wildlife, and this time Gary was the one heading back for the hotel. I was left outside to look for wildlife and there was none. There weren't even hummingbirds in the Hummingbird Garden. And then I realized, there are no wild animals here, so there are no animals that I could blame for my scat.

Scientists, analyzing my deposit: "What type of animal dropping is this in the weeds? It isn't a puma ... or a coyote."

"Cougar?"

"Only if it's a really big fat one."

"We might have a new non-native species making its habitat here. We'll have to clear it out." And then countless government resources would be wasted trying to track my spore back to Missouri. I'm confessing here so if the New Mexico balance of nature is destroyed, you know who to blame.

Of course, by the time I came out of my own private resort toilet, Gary had found these disposable waste baggies:

 

I Want This Actress To Star in the Story of My Life

What's this about an actress, you say. Why no more Albuquerque info? 1) It will take a little time to do justice to the Continuing Saga of The Eggs Benedict. 2) I'd tell you about the BNL concert, but I'm following up the BNL concert in Albuquerque with a Steven Page concert Wednesday and then another BNL concert Sunday. I promised a five paragraph compare and contrast essay on my week-long BNL - ex-BNL - BNL sandwich.

So, instead, here's more about my chin.

We watched Paris, je t'aime last week, a charming collection of short films set in Paris. (The charm was offset each time we screamed, "Been there!" at a familiar neighborhood.)

The final film stars Margo Martindale.

 

She must star in the movie based on my life story. First of all, the resemblance is uncanny. She has it all - the fuzzy fine hair, the face flesh, the bosom, the sloping shoulders. 

Second, she has already captured my personality. See below.

(If you can't see the video below, go to http://videos.sapo.pt/PURgOM4QTleLIsTW1bQ3  If you don't have the patience to watch the whole six-minute short film, at least watch what she does in the elevator at 3 minutes and 33 seconds in.)

That is me. In fact, they don't even have to make a movie of my life, they can just show that.

Let Apple know!

Dear Apple. Please disable the iPhone 4 feature that allows us to take photos of ourselves. I always forget to switch back, then a few days later I go to take a photo and I see this.