Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Happy New Year’s Eve

New Year’s Eve, or as I call it, the Last Day of Carbs 2019.

Over the past nine days I have eaten waffles, fries, waffle fries, biscuits and gravy, chips, cookies, pie, garlic bread, a baked potato, and grilled cheese.

I haven’t had any donuts, though. 

I feel awful. None of it has been even a bit satisfying. 

I’m still going out to get donuts right now. 

The Novel: Chapter 14

“The Number 1 Blaylock oil rig, drilling in the south extension of the Five Trees field, blew out at 2:30 P.M. on November 15, 1930.”

Jerry is channeling his inner journalist with this lead for chapter 14. Did you say, as I did, “Wait, what? This takes place in 1930?” The date was mentioned once on the first page, but it’s been a while since I read that. I suppose all those references to antiquated oil drilling technology should have tipped me off.

These last few chapters on “the DTs and Why We Drink: The Evils of Liquor” could have been written for a 1930’s temperance group, while chapter 14 is written for my 1980’s dorm mates who liked to play “I Was So Drunk That ...” 

So we interrupt what little plot there is to have a blowout of an oil well and then a bonus-funded blowout of a bachelor party.

It has a troubling number of typos. Here I give you text verbatim, from a scene when the elder oilman, Preacher, presides over a mock trial of the groom-to-be:

“Silence!” Preacher boomed, “or I’ll ahve y’all shot.”  That was met by Christ [sic] of “shame,” “hang the bastard,” and “naw, hagnings too good for him.” “What od you wnat,” Preacher Demanded.

(You can’t even blame autocorrect for the “Christ” above. He typed that on a manual typewriter, and had he not written “Cries” in pen above it I would have been confused. He didn’t correct anything else.)

Our Hero Joe appears at the end when the groom-to-be urges him to propose to Plucky Girlfriend Mary. 

I can only guess Jerry wrote this novel while drying out, reached the stage of sobriety when he notices he had a lot more fun when drunk, and decided to get drunk and do some typing.

Review: Don’t F**k With Cats (no Spoilers, at the Expense of Clarity)

Netflix decided that since I binge-watched Mindhunter, I had stomach enough to watch (don’t click this link: spoilers) Don’t F**k With Cats. 

I knew nothing about the topic, which was essential. I came close to checking out during the titular scenes in the first episode, but I fast-forwarded instead. I made it well into the second episode, with more fast-forwarding, and then they referenced the events that colored my first visit to Toronto in 1995. 

”That’s it,” I said. “I’m out.” I woke Gary up and told him to avoid it. Then I came back and fast forwarded through that unpleasant bit and got hooked again, especially at the end of the second episode. I woke Gary up again and said I was wrong, he needed to watch this, and that I knew where to fast forward. I actually watched the first two episodes with Gary all over again, because more than once Gary said, “These people are stupid,” and I had to say, “Wait.”

Then the third episode was very satisfying and remarkable, and then it was over. I’m sure someone at Netflix wanted them to bulk it up to an eight-episode series, but it was just right.

Just right, if you are the type of person nastily fascinated by the worst actions of the worst people on earth, which I am: I own it. If you are too, and you don’t mind having your limits tested, you should watch it. Do a shot every time the narrators say “Holy shit” or “What the fuck,” that might make it better.

Sleep Mysteries

Mystery 1: I wear my Fitbit for one reason: to see how much sleep I’m getting. Since Christmas Eve I’ve had a suspiciously good run.

I rarely hit that goal of 7.5 hours of sleep. Usually it’s between four and six hours, with a “full night’s sleep” every three or four days. I don’t use an alarm to wake up, I just wake up when I’m done, and I truly am done. I don’t have insomnia. I have a perfectly adequate amount of somnia, thank you, even after four hours. What you see here is a freakish run of somnia. How on earth does my body know that Christmas is over, I’m on vacation, and I can sleep in?

Mystery 2: I’m still curious about my hypnagogic chicken hallucinations, and what they call REM intrusions, but it seems I can’t get to any information on it now without digging through the chaff about Near Death Experiences. It seems that in addition to narcolepsy (which I don’t have) and Parkinsons (which I don’t have) and insomnia (see above), now they are trying to say my benign little dream chickens might be related to Near Death Experiences. They suggest that someday instead of hallucinating dream chickens, I might hallucinate Dream Jesus before dropping off into the Big Sleep.

It’s not always chickens, but it has never been Jesus, though, or any human figure. Sometimes it’s a disordered idea, for example a few nights ago I “remembered” I’d put a lot of money in a special account, and for a brief moment I considered checking my bank app before I realized I’ve never had any special accounts. 

I don’t think I could confuse a REM intrusion with a Near Death Experience. There’s almost no lag between “The doorway’s blocked by a dog eating a pan of lasagna” and “There is no dog eating a pan of lasagna, time to close my eyes and go to sleep.” If I were to see Jesus, I’m certain I would tell Him, “Jesus? Oh wait - You aren’t real, goodnight.”

Toilet Santa Is Famous

Check out my Facebook friend’s Ugliest Ornament Contest:

I know Toilet Santa’s mass-produced, but what are the odds?

Santa won’t win ugliest ornament, though. Based on early voting, that set of pink-gummed yellow-green teeth in the bottom right has it going away. 

Bald Eagle

It is so hard to shake what you learn as a child. For example, bald eagles: I know they aren’t endangered anymore, but when a young girl goes to Washington D.C. in 1976 and sees a bald eagle at the zoo and hears that there only a few of our nation’s symbols left, and she interprets that to mean there’s only this Eagle at the zoo and his immediate family somewhere in the back, that’s hard to shake.

We’ve gone Eagle watching in our area, but it was an hour drive, and of course there were no Bald Eagles. While they aren’t endangered, they’re rare, right? They’re a Special Occasion Eagle, like when you need to start the baseball season, or raise money for your nature habitat.  

Gary called me Tuesday just after he left the house.

”A bald eagle just flew in front of my car.”

”Impossible,” I said. ”Maybe it was some other kind of eagle.”

”It was a bald eagle. I almost saluted. It took off from the road ahead of me and flew up into a tree.”

I immediately did some research and not only was it a bald eagle, it is the season when bald eagles like to come to the nearby river, and they like to pick roadkill off the roads, and one of my friends just saw one a few streets over a few days back.

It was lucky that Gary didn’t run over it when it was in the road, because there’s be a hefty fine for that. Wait - no - that was back in the seventies. Or maybe not - someone was just in big trouble for shooting one. The laws regarding bald eagles seem very inconsistent.

Weekly Paint Progress: 12/26

This week the vase painting went from this:

to this:

And man, this glazing is going to be slow, because every layer has to dry for a week. I am going to hate these vases so so much.

Merry Christmas

Toilet Santa says Merry Christmas!

Time to eat some Christmas waffles! Enjoy your holidays.

No Review: Cats

We had no plans to see Cats because - I am sure you agree - we have seen enough movies lately, and also because what could be more plotless than a movie based on a book of poetry? However, after reading this article about the flaws in the digitized Cats, I deeply regret not having seen the Beta version of Cats.

I hope someone keeps the early release and turns it into a cult film where everyone throws rice when they see Dame Judi Dench’s wedding ring.

Here’s what I don’t get: everyone seems put off by the celebrities digitized into cats. If they were going for realism, why didn’t they just use real cats? They’ve got a version of Lady and the Tramp with dogs. Get video of cats howling and mewling, then tweak the lips a little digitally to make one of them sing Memory. Make that a trailer and see if it goes over better than Cats 2019. 

Review: Star Wars - The Rise of Skywalker (Spoilers? What Am I, A Monster?)

I remember going on my first date, at fifteen, to see the first Star Wars movie, Star Wars IV: A New Hope. I remember hearing that this was the fourth in a series of nine films, and being confused as to why they didn’t start with number one, and then when they bounced back to number one after number six, I just checked out. I didn’t see Star Wars I, I, or III: I waited for  VII to IX, because otherwise things would be out of order. When this one starts streaming I can watch I - IX all in a row, if I like.

Because I started with that first date at that first movie in 1977, it was a nice bookend to see the last one with my husband of 34 years. And that’s how I felt about the movie: it’s a completion, a tradition, it can be utter garbage as a stand-alone movie, but it isn’t a stand-alone movie, that’s the point. The critics have not been kind, but I feel Star Wars IX should get extra credit for all the good movies in its past. (Again, I skipped I - III.)

At any rate, I don’t want to spoil the plot, so instead I will give you a medical alert. I had read that the lighting effects can cause seizures in people with photo-sensitive epilepsy, and since Gary has epilepsy I wanted to know what specific scene might cause problems. All my Google searches on the subject came back with “Watch out! This movie may cause seizures!” but no further detail.

So, what people with epilepsy need to look out for are two battle scenes, one at the beginning and one at the end. There is no Strobe Gun or any real reason for the flashing that I could see, unless it’s some kind of subterranean storm lightning. It was dark and flashy, and while Gary wasn’t bothered by the beginning scene, he did have to close his eyes once during the scene near the end. You’ve been warned. 

I enjoyed it, but as I say, how could I not? It’s the last Star Wars movie.

Review: Knives Out

There are two things you need to get past to enjoy this movie:

1. One fairly bad accent
2. One fairly unbelievable medical condition 

If you can get past those two things, you will enjoy this movie. I certainly did. There were at least four belly laughs and a chuckle every five minutes. I think I enjoyed this more than any recent movie except for the venerable JoJo Rabbit. 

 

The Novel: Chapter 13

Well ... okay, I guess this did advance the plot. Hero Joe is being set up for murder, but he has no weapon, so this chapter gets a gun in his hands. 

The only thing is, I don’t buy it. The sheriff has the DTs and doesn’t trust himself with his gun, so he gives the gun to Hero Joe. I’d say a better solution would be to take the bullets out of the gun until the DTs pass, or go on sick leave, or just don’t hand over your gun to a random citizen who’s been getting in bar fights.

There are only about four more chapters. This Gun Ex Machina needs to be employed in the next chapter or we are going to run out of novel.

First Christmas Propaganda For Children

I was with friends, and we were talking about Christmas Songs of Our Youth, and I mentioned "the one with Santa running into the Iron Curtain."

No one else remembered it, but I certainly did. I set off to do some research.

First, it wasn't a song, it was a spoken word performance by Red Skelton called the Little Christmas Tree.

Second, it was only distributed on the record album First Christmas Record for Children, specifically the initial release, because it was later removed. No doubt other kids were alarmed that there was literally a giant curtain of iron impeding the path of Santa's flying reindeer. I was concerned enough to ask my Dad.

The Iron Curtain part is about five and a half minutes in. If you have the stomach, skip over the ads but listen to some blatant religious propaganda and heavy moralizing before you get to the anti-communism message.

Weekly Paint Progress: 12/19

I am cheating on this one.

I’ve taken a photo of the still life:

... and used Photoshop to slice it up by primary colors to guide what color I glaze, and how much. (Of course, I’m not making the vase on the right that dull color that blends in to the background.)

Since I’m cheating anyway, I flat out printed the photo and traced it on to the canvas. Judge me if you will. 

And even with cheating, the top right where the arm of the right vase meets the lid is wonky already. Remarkable. Can't even cheat right.

The Return of GlamourSkunk

Remember GlamourSkunk? She visited the raccoon feeding station last year (when we had the color cameras that routinely died three times a year).

Well, perhaps she felt the new stable black and white infrared cameras didn’t do her justice, because we never saw her again after her one visit.

Last week she returned. The image below doesn’t show her spectacular tail, but trust me, this is GlamourSkunk, banded legs and all.

I noticed that Hippopossum returned last week too, after a long absence.

I suppose those two spectacular specimens are can usually rely on their wits or their looks, but when winter comes they like to be by their sugar daddy Gary.

Art Is Open To Interpretation, I Guess

So, this was the end result of the teacups. 

It has its flaws, but I still I went ahead and framed it and told Gary we were giving it to his parents.

This is how he hung it up over at their house.

I’m sure if I had opted for a standard still life, with erect teacups and a bowl that sits on its base, there would have been no problem. Instead, he decided that since there are no visual clues he would just make the objects in the still life defy gravity.

I made him call his parents so they could correct it. He called while I was at work, and because he didn’t listen to my explicit directions, the bowl is now on the bottom. Still wrong.

And it’s even signed, faintly, in the bottom right. I thought the teacups were pretty realistic. Evidently not.

The Novel: Chapter 12

Oh, hallelujah, at long last something happens in Chapter 12.

Chapter 1 established that Our Hero Joe is looking to save Aggie Lawless. And now in chapter 12, the two actually have a conversation, and then there's a riveting bar fight between Joe, Aggie, and the villain Silvertop. On top of all that, at the end the villian plans to murder Aggie and frame Joe for the crime.

It was a really good chapter, a real page-turner. You get a glimpse into Aggie's messed-up head. Kind of fun to be able to page-turn through the actual typewritten, hand-edited pages, too.

I truly had no idea which way things would go in the fight, and I was caught up in it. Very exciting. Perhaps it was a result of being lulled into a stupor by the eleven chapters I had to read to get there.

The plot thickens. Whew.

Egg Foo Young

We were ordering Chinese food when Friend 3 said, "I like Egg Foo Young."

"Good God," I thought, "I love Egg Foo Young. I haven't had it in twenty years. How is this possible?"

For the last twenty years I have gone to Chinese restaurants, scanned every single menu item (except for chop suey and chow mein), and ordered Moo Shu Pork, which is essentially Egg Foo Young only with less egg and more vegetation.

I suppose it's possible that I haven't seen Egg Foo Young on the menu, because truly -- and I say that because I know you won't believe me -- many Saint Louis restaurants serve up our regional variation: the execrable St. Paul sandwich. This is an innocent Egg Foo Young patty served between two slices of bread with dill pickles, mayonnaise, onion, lettuce, and tomato. I don't even like that stuff on a hamburger.

Of course I had some Egg Foo Young immediately, and now even the next day I want some more. Wikipedia describes it as an omelette dish, so I could grab some for breakfast.

The Novel: Chapter 11

This chapter was actually pretty sweet, given it was just about two drunks sitting around drinking and talking about drinking.

It really could stand on its own as a short story. 

I read it, of course, as Jerry’s explanation for why he drank. Fear, it seems, fear that becomes overwhelming when one is sober. (I suppose he must have had anxiety or panic attacks.) Guilt is given as the other reason. I am familiar with excessive guilt, as you know.

Probably the best chapter so far. It would be a nice restful interlude in the plot, if (say it with me) there were a plot.

Ring Trigger

Lately I have felt quite put-upon and under-appreciated, and sulky, and pissy. On the pissiest, sulkiest day at work I was in the lunch checkout and the cashier said to a woman in line: "What a pretty ring."

"Thanks," she said, "I just bought it."

My head snapped up. "Well, now I have to see this ring," I demanded, because I have been thinking about rings.  She flashed a four carat solitaire.

I thought, "Women with rings that big are not standing in line at the TeddyJ cafeteria. Fake." Then I thought, "Hey - I could buy a fake ring for myself. I have all these fingers open now."

I could never buy myself a real ring. In the past I have seen women discuss ruby or emerald rings they are interested in, and then they get on line and the group weighs in on the gems and colors, and how pretty, then eventually the ring is purchased and admired but eventually forgotten. In all this I am a bystander, clamping my mouth shut, thinking, "WHO SPENDS 499 DOLLARS ON A RING?"

And now I know. People who feel five times pissier and sulkier and more put-upon than I. I only felt sufficiently put-upon to spend $98 at Walmart on a 10-karat gold modest CZ ring, plus a snug gold-plate ring that clamps my great grandmother’s wee engagement ring on my pinkie. So now I wear a ring from everyone who ever loved me, including me, plus a great-grandmother.

And my God, the satisfaction I feel is deep, people. Everything has been professionally cleaned, I have found the ideal finger/ring configuration, and it all has meaning - even if the one ring I bought myself only means, "I am a big pouty put-upon baby." 

Plus, now I know what women who wear multiple rings are saying to the world. I will keep my eye out for ladies with big stacks of bling and I will be extra-appreciative.

Weekly Paint Progress: 12/12

This week the dog painting went from this:

to this:

This is the reality, which I have been trying to ignore:

I think I undid everything I liked about last week's version. Still, now there's a cast shadow behind the dog that I don't hate.

I have to say, I have had enough with sitting in front of the canvas and slapping on the paint wherever I guess it should go. Next time I'm going back to glazing, and I am going to make a plan first. I'll take each color, determine where it should be, make a chart, and then paint. I'm going with simple: the pink pitcher and the green pitcher and maybe a plain mug.

Bow

I dropped off some suits at a new dry-cleaners. The Asian proprietor (it's germane) seemed happy to see a new customer, and tried to shake my hand. He had the sniffles so I tried to fist bump instead, then he grasped my fists instead, and it all became quite awkward -- so awkward that he finished it all off by pressing his fingertips together and bowing.

I tried to make up for it when I picked up the suits by shaking his hand. He immediately sneezed.

Pursuing the Art of Helstromism

Helstromism.

It’s a form of fake mind-reading, in which a spectator helps a mentalist find a hidden object. The mentalist is actually guided by involuntary movements of the spectator’s muscles. The involuntary movements are the same that make people believe in Ouija boards.

I’ve wanted to learn how to do this for a long time. I’ve tried it once before but Gary didn’t have the patience. Retired Gary might.

This is now my goal for Christmas break. They say it’s easy to learn. I plan to amaze my friends in the new year.

The Novel: Chapter 10

Well, I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly the hero is dating plucky waitress Mary. They appear to have been dating a while. Their relationship may have blossomed in Chapter 9, which has been lost to the ages.

Chapter 10 opens with a rodeo and a ballgame, which is refreshing because So far the only recreation has been eating flapjacks and snorting coke. But now there’s bear-wrestling and a freak show and a new woman who rides horses. A bronco-busting wumman with a personality. 

I think he’s leading up to an obligatory sex scene. He’s got enough characters for an orgy, and it would be so well-described you feel like you’re there, but it would not advance the plot even if we had one.

Gary's Contribution to the Christmas Tree

Gary commemorated the purchase of the second Toto toilet with his contribution to the Christmas tree.

Marriage is compromise.

Review: The Winter’s Tale

Othello / Tempest mashup: Winter’s Tale.

Like Shakespeare must have used up lines he cut.

The end’s a lot to swallow. Not a fan.

It’s famed for bear pursuits, yet no bears shown!

Still Judi Dench is worth admission price.

.. and I have to give up on the iambic pentameter to talk about a new word I learned: “bed-swerver.” How do you fit “bed-swerver” into iambic pentameter? He has:

But with her most vile principal, that she's
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy
To this their late escape.

So that must be “a BED swerVER.” I don’t know. If I were Shakespeare I would bend the rules for “bed-swerver.”

(And technically, they waved a sheet with an image of a bear on it, but I was looking forward to a full-on bear costume for the “exit, pursued by a bear.”)

Review: Last Christmas

I think I started seeing the trailer for this movie back in September. If you’ve seen the trailer for this movie, you’ve seen all the high points.

I spent most of the movie waiting for the Scenes I Saw in the Trailer When Emma Thompson says X or when Emilia Clarke does Y. 

It was just what you’d expect: a sweet little rom-com. No surprises. Lots of George Michael music. Sweet.

Weekly Paint Progress: 12/5

This week the dog went from this:

to this:

I didn't look at the actual dog and pitcher one time, I just focused on the painting. I don't know. I don't think I'm making any progress with this one. I might just ignore the cast shadow behind the dog, slap some highlights on it and call it a day.

The Novel: Chapter 7 and 8 and 9, Kind Of

(There is no chapter 9, technically. Chapter 8 is extra long, though.)

In Chapter 7, the villain goes on errands to further his villainy. This chapter could have been dispatched with a paragraph. (“Silvertop bought off what passed for the law in town and placed a call to an old friend.”) Oh, and the love interest is further intimidated.

If I were an editor I would have written PLOT? in large red letters at the end of Chapter 7.

At the end of chapter 7 I thought, ”I KNOW I must have met all the characters by now. I have met them, they have all met each other, and if there are any more I will need an insert like I had for War and Peace.”

In Chapter 8, there is a massive flashback to how the main characters met, and then there’s a flash-forward to present day. I would have spilt the chapter and put the present day narrative in Chapter 9.  (I’ve found that it’s important to keep track of if they are in Arkansas or Oklahoma, that seems to mark the time period.)

Strangely, Jerry the journalist is best at writing descriptions of the technicalities of drilling for oil. There is also a page devoted to how to snort coke, clearly written in the eighties before the movies taught us all how to snort coke. 

In the last two pages of Chapter 8, we meet ... a new character. A sympathetic plucky character. Thank God for her. I’m calling those two pages Chapter 9.5.

 

Review: Doctor Sleep

Well, it was creepy.

Not as creepy as the Shining, at all, even remotely.

I preferred the subtly creepy way that in The Shining they made the antagonist be the hotel, as opposed to the heavy-handed creepy way in Doctor Sleep that they made the antagonist be ... be ... be ... well, it’s revealed in the opening scene, so I don’t suppose it would count as a spoiler, but still I won’t share. It isn’t subtle. 

Personally, I didn’t like it. There were some nice callbacks to the old movie, and while most were pleasant, some just took iconic images and cheapened them by overuse. 

 

Mammogram

I rather enjoyed certain parts of this year’s mammogram experience. Not the squishing, of course. Per the squishing, this year the right breast registered no pain but the left breast was a big old baby.

What I like is the positioning. The technician moves and molds me as if I were posing for a graceful sculpture of Liberty Receiving a Mammogram. ”Dip your left shoulder ... move your right heel back ... lift your chin and turn to face me ... drape your right arm here over the machine.” 

And then I hold my breath while they take a photo. If it weren’t for the squishing I could see paying for it.

Review: The Irishman (Cryptic Spoilers)

I really enjoyed Goodfellas, Casino, The Wolf of Wall Street, and The Age of Innocence. 

Some of Scorsese’s other movies I only enjoyed because I watched them on devices where there was a fast-forward button to use when the violence slowed down the plot. If you ask me, not much happened during the shootout in Taxi Driver, and that was a good chunk of that movie.  When I watched Gangs of New York I was so impatient with the boring violence and — endless — pauses — that I fast forwarded through the entire last quarter of the movie. 

The Irishman was the longest movie I have seen in my life, short of Gone With the Wind, and it was very interesting until I realized what it was about, and then it hit the wall. I wasn’t familiar with the real plots of Goodfellas and Casino, so those endings were interesting. An hour into this new movie they introduced a familiar name, and when I saw the sign, and then the house, even, from an article in People a decade ago, I was just waiting for a climax that was no longer a surprise.

When you know the ending, that’s not good, and then when you’ve waited three and a half hours for an ending you know, that’s not an improvement.

I think it will be a good movie for people in about fifty years, when everyone has forgotten about the sign and the house and the characters.