Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Big Box O’ Jerry Part One: The Italian Notes

The standoffish period lasted two hours, if you are wondering.

Unlike Mom, Jerry kept no love letters for children to discover after his death -- or if he did his mother disposed of them.

There is some other interesting correspondence, though.

The Italian Notes

There are three tiny notes in Italian on some tiny intricate notepaper involving a cellophane piece printed with  ... oh, I can't describe it. Here's a photo:

The three notes are in bad cursive so my attempts to run them through Google translate resulted in only, "Happy new year ... American friend ... our daughter ... baby chickens ... Sincerely, Caterina." The only girl in the Vespa photo that would be Jerry's age would be the one on the left. I don't know, there was a girlfriend from when he went to high school in Saudi Arabia, perhaps Caterina is the same. But for God's sake, the man was enough of a mystery to me already, now I have Italian cursive on top of it?

Big Box O’ Jerry

As you may recall, my brother recently mailed me a box of our father’s ephemera. I opened up the box of Jerry's files, and the first thing I saw was a photo of my brother and I. So cute. Who would abandon those cuties?

Our photo is sitting next to folders of medical records for Jerry's other son, the severely autistic one. If I were a good, well-balanced, emotionally mature person, one who had moved on, I would feel sad for Jerry. After all, after throwing away two perfectly good children, he had one who (in my imagination) didn't give him any of the hugs we could have given him.

But I am not that person. And, oddly, I am not tying into this box of relics the way I expected. Maybe just one more night of being as stand-offish to Jerry as I can. I will get to you later, box, when it suits me.

I Must Make This Pie

This showed up in my Facebook feed last week.

Here is the article. It explains that the pies above are made of latex, but the article gives tips on how to make them out of actual pie, as does this one.  I'm making at least one before Halloween. I'll leave it in the break room.

The Buffet

There's a forty-year-old tree in front of our house.  The limbs scrape the roof of my car when I back out of the garage. We haven’t bothered to prune it the last few years. 

I began to notice a few twigs were down. Then the next week I happened to notice the driveway was littered with twigs. And not individual twigs, more like the last six inches of foliage off everything. Like someone had just randomly attacked the tree with hedge clippers. Snip snip snip.

Or, chew , chew, chew. A few weeks later the lawn guy told Gary that deer were eating our trees and bushes.

”Cool!” Gary said.

”Deer can really damage your landscaping.”

”We love deer!”

I was not there to say, “I am not buying new shrubs to please the deer when they could be eating from a backyard full of shelled peanuts.” When Gary told me about the exchange later he explained how it was vital to a deer’s health that it get enough roughage in the form of trees and shrubs.

I thought, “Well, at least they’ll chew off the limbs that scrape the top of my car.” 

Since we have established the all you can eat deer policy, the tree no longer scrapes on my car, but exactly one of our four yew bushes has turned golden brown. I could cut it down, because I know the others would fill in the gap, or I could live with a brown bush until spring when I am fairly certain the yew would come back green. It’s hard to kill a forty year old yew. 

One thing I know I won’t be able to do is act like I’m at the top of the food chain and spray deer repellent on the bushes. Gary now wants to put trays of chestnuts by the landscaping to see if they’d prefer nuts to bushes.

Also, “I think my deer would like to eat my bush more than my husband’s nuts” — yes, I am aware of how it sounds.

Review: Judy

We went to see Judy last weekend. I can certainly see why Liza Minnelli disavowed it. It’s sympathetic to the causes of Judy Garland’s addiction but pretty harsh about the results.

Of course, I had to come back home and research the accuracy, and it turns out everything is dead-on except for the heartwarming parts. None of the heartwarming parts happened.

I didn’t feel as swept-up in the movie as I usually do. I don’t know if that was the script or because I kept being distracted by the police walkie-talkies outside the door. We chose to see Judy on the same weekend that the Joker movie opened, and the sheriff and two police officers were keeping the lid on any terrorist attacks.

If you’ve seen even just the trailer you know the acting in Judy is remarkable. I kept thinking that Renee Zellweger’s singing was fake, because it was so good. It seemed as if she was lip-syncing to her own voice, but evidently she did sing live in rehearsal. I suppose my brain just refused to believe it.

So, glad I saw it. Would I see it again? Sure.  When it comes up on HBO I’ll fast forward through everything but the singing.

Ball Game

Yesterday I was lucky enough to go to the most exciting baseball game I  have ever seen live.

Exciting: It was a day game. I had to work on the weekend and start my day at 6:00, but I got to play hooky at a ball game during the day.

Exciting: The price of the parking got my heart going: forty bucks.

Exciting: I was expecting to sit in regular seats, not nosebleed, but by the foul pole, where we were the last time we lucked into division playoff seats for TeddyJ. Instead, we were in the Legends box, because the TeddyJ box was too small to hold all the people TeddyJ sent to the ball game.

Exciting: They are back to cutting the arch into the grass at the ballpark. For some reason I thought they stopped this.

Exciting: You will be shot if you try to run on the field at a Cardinals game.

Exciting: Well, back-to-back homers, then we made errors in the fifth so the score was tied, then the crowd took it upon themselves to send psychic energy via screams to the batters. After one deafening chorus of "YADI! YADI!" Yadier Molina delivered, and then delivered again to win the game in the tenth inning.

Exciting: We ALL kept shouting "YADI! YADI!" all the way out to the parking garage. Three people high-fived me. Some man hugged Gary and me.

Exciting: Gary tried to three-point turn his way into the existing line of cars and it was such a bad idea we decided to go get dinner instead, because the parking was forty dollars and I WAS USING THAT PARKING.

Exciting: We ate at a sports bar, where the Blues game was on, and they scored a goal against the Toronto Maple Leafs. Another strange man high-fived me.

So, exciting ball game and lots of physical contact with strange men. Excellent.

Colors

Why do people choose pastels for nurseries? Life begins at its most intense. Every moment of a baby’s life is fear and hunger and screaming, except when they sleep, and I understand that isn’t often. Nurseries should be painted in day-glo neon colors.

Eventually life becomes a little less stressful: once you can walk and talk the intensity scales back to the three primary colors, then the teenage years add in orange and purple and the blends, then adult life mixes all that with shades of grey and nuance. (With a big surprise splat of red for menopause.)

Hopefully in old age you can deal with all but the most extreme stresses, and all the colors fade until you are in a residence decorated in shades of white and pale grey.

Sadly, some people I know operate in baby day-glo intensity all the time. No therapy helps. Medication can only take it to toddler levels. 

I think this must be why I look forward to old age. I recognize there will be boredom in the nursing home, but I prefer that to drama. 

Liquor Laws

I always thought that the liquor laws in Missouri were very strict. I believe this was because young kids could drive twenty minutes over on the border into Illinois and buy liquor. It seemed there were lots of liquor laws: can’t order it on Election Day, can’t buy it on Sunday, have to be 21 to drink, can’t have an open container in your car. 

As it turns out — and this is another instance of the Man changing the rules and not letting me know — turns out most of those laws are no longer on the books. But they are in my head. As recently as last month I took pains to move an un-corked bottle of wine to the trunk of my car so I wouldn’t drive with booze at the ready.

In fact, only Nevada and New Orleans have laxer liquor laws than Missouri. And with Anheuser-Busch running the show here in St. Louis, I imagine someday there will be drive-through liquor stores like they have in New Orleans. 

Strange to think that Missouri is less conservative than other states in this one aspect. 

 

Movie Review: Downton Abbey (with sub-plot spoilers)

The movie was much like the series, with a greater variety of establishing shots of Highclere Castle. Highclere at night. Highclere seen from the town. Highclere from a drone.

There were a few differences. Butler Barrow has forgotten about the torrid affair he had with some upstairs fellow in the first season. Bates has forgotten he has a limp. Violet has forgotten how to be biting. (It was a shame; they used up all the good Violet lines in the series. In the movie she just says petty things in a biting way.)

All the upstairs drama had entirely too much ex-chauffeur Tom. Tom, Tom, all the time. The Tom Show.

The downstairs drama was actually pretty amusing, in that the staff all join in their hatred of a common enemy. Sadly, I sided with the enemy. Think about it. You just can't risk poisoning the king. Gary even agreed. We are Royalists in our disdain of Tom and defense of the King's staff.

One final note for Julian Fellowes: don't have a dress makeover and then hide the reveal until halfway through the final big scene. That's just wrong. What if Scarlet pulled down the curtains and then her green dress didn't show up for hours? What if Maria cut up the curtains and you never saw the Von Trapps in them? No. Nothing that dramatic happened, but there is some tailoring that wasn't finished as swiftly as I wanted it. A dress makeover demands a quick turnaround.

I did enjoy it in general. I got weepy in the spots I was supposed to. It did its job. Required for series fans, I think: anyone else could skip it.

Mindhunter/Bundy

I took my time getting there, but now I've joined the crowd of ghouls watching Mindhunter on Netflix. Once you get to episode 3 it's a fascinating story of how the FBI created profiles of serial killers (initially called lust murderers).

After I ate that all up, I watched Extremely Wicked Shockingly Evil and Vile, the dramatization about Ted Bundy and his longtime girlfriend. Not as good as Mindhunter, except for the chilling final scene with Ted and his girlfriend and the window, which IMDB now tells me was completely concocted.

I'm sure I'll be off this kick soon, but unti that day, I suspect everyone I know of being a sexually-motivated serial killer. Well, not everyone. Not the women. But are you a man I know with a distant father and an abusive mother? You're a baby Bundy. Keep away from me, you lust murderer.

Review: Ad Astra (mild spoilers!)

"Why do you want to see Ad Astra," Gary asked. "What's it about?"

"Spaaaaaaaaaaace," I intoned. What more do you need?

Well, I think you all know I need a plot. There was a plot, only it was my least favorite kind of plot: an episodic plot. Or perhaps it was a classic climactic plot and my mind wandered during the parts where it all held together.

As my mind wandered, I thought, "Damn, there are a lot of lens flares in this movie. It looks like 2001: A Space Odyssey. I hope it isn't going to be just a series of episodes and then it just ends." Then later I thought, "This movie's going to turn out like Apocalypse Now, isn't it? Little weird episodes, moon attacks, monkey attacks, you find the mysterious guy at the end: he's not worth the trouble." I've never been able to sit through either of those movies from start to finish.

Afterward, I looked up what the director had to say about it and he described it as "Sorta like, if you got 'Apocalypse Now' and '2001' in a giant mash-up and you put a little [Joseph] Conrad in there."

Wow. Yes. That should be on the poster. "Were you riveted by 2001 and Apocalypse Now? Then this is the movie for you!"

Emmys

I am aging out of the Emmys. Who on earth is Ladybug? Who are these giant cartoon characters? Are children the Emmys demographic now? I saw them at the end of the red carpet show. I only saw the end, because like all old people I am still mourning the loss of Joan Rivers. I was initially pleased because I had seen everything nominated in every category up until the Reality nominations. Totally blanked out on those. 

I am an iconoclast. I think I must be the only viewer who loved the snarky non sequitur voiceover guy. He was roundly reviled on the Internet (specifically the Deadline live blog), but I found him a delightful element of surprise.

I am a judgmental old biddy. Some young man interrupted his own acceptance speech to moan, “I am sooo hung over.” He said that at 6:13 pm Pacific standard time. How can someone be hung over that late in the day? 

All in all, it seemed like The Emmys have turned into a drunk teenager with ADHD: everything is a non sequitur, hangovers are blurted out, and celebs don’t even bother to hide their disappointment at losing (the guy sitting next to Bill Hader shaking his head in disgust, Julia Louis Dreyfus looking pretty dismayed when she lost, etc.).

One nice thing was that it ended on time, because I need my sleep, old lady that I am.

 

State Parks

After I went to visit Six Flags I was within spitting distance of three parks I've wanted to visit: Babler State Park, Lone Elk Park, and Route 66 State Park.

I went to Babler because I thought some friends had seen a wild armadillo there. Actually, they had seen it at Rockwoods Reservation, six miles south, but I saw an armadillo squashed on the road on the way there, so, mission accomplished.

I've been to Lone Elk Park dozens of times. This time there was a giant elk dawdling along the one-lane one-way road five cars ahead.

Eventually the lead car passed the elk on the right, and it graciously stepped off to the side. There is no zoom applied to the next photo.

So, since that was not enough of a brush with death, I finished up the day with a sortie though Route 66 State Park. I didn't get out of the car. It was lovely and pastoral, with a nice mix of trees and waving grasses.

I know that doesn't sound deadly, but long-time locals know the history of Route 66 State Park. Better that they had named it "Times Beach Environmental Protection Agency Superfund Cleanup State Park." In the 1980's the EPA found that there was contamination. It turned out that in order to keep the dust down, a local businessman had sprayed the roads with what was actually chemical waste, and they had to close down the town. The Times Beach highway exit was there long after the town was relocated. Gary and I took that exit once and turned around when we came upon the nice soldiers with the guns.

At any rate, it's quite a lovely park now. Dioxin-laced oil must make plants grow.

Six Flags

Every year  TeddyJ rents out Six Flags and the employees and their kids can can go entirely for free, and get free parking and a free meal on top of it. There are effectively no lines. It's a huge perk, and I've never taken advantage of it. The last time I was at Six Flags, about fifteen years ago, I barfed after one roller coaster and got stuck on another, and then in Orlando the one roller coaster I fit in made me ill.

This year Gary's migraine was bothering him, so he wasn't part of the equation, so I went. I knew Friend #3 has gone stag and childless to this event for years so I latched on to her. I felt we would socialize for a few hours, perhaps watch some children while our co-workers went on rides with a height requirement.

It would seem Friend #3, two years my senior, loves rides, has a steel stomach, and dragged me on to the Scrambler and the log flume. I insisted we ride the Moon Cars because I was fairly nauseated by then. We also rode on the Pandemonium "baby" coaster, on which the cars themselves spin. We were on it with two men in their twenties who did not scream (we screamed), did not laugh (we laughed), and did not seem nauseated (I was pretty green after). When I encountered one of the young men later he asked if I'd thrown up yet.

One advantage we had over the young men is that Friend #3 and I knew the history of Six Flags from when it opened as Six Flags over Mid-America in the seventies, and better yet we knew about all the incidents. We were in line for the Colossus Ferris Wheel (because Ferris Wheels in amusement parks are appropriate), and when I said, "You know those gondolas are from the Skyway ride", she was able to say "Killer Skyway ride!" and I didn't have to explain how years ago a tram "fell off" the cable and people fell to their deaths.

I was lost all day, because one of the corners of the park had shifted to the middle. The Mine Train coaster, site of my barf fifteen years gone, had become more central somehow. Evidently it had also killed someone, so it had to be rebuilt and relocated.

I noticed one other landmark was gone: the Tom's Twister floor-dropping centrifugal force ride. We assumed it had killed someone as well, but evidently not. I found later that it was not one of the numerous Six Flags "incidents". Instead, as I found on Reddit, "assholes" would do headstands, and when the ride stopped spinning they'd fall on their heads.

By the way, we stood in line for the Colossus Ferris wheel but did not ride it, because there was a malfunction and it was temporarily closed. Six Flags is a scary place.

Weekly Paint De-Progress 9/19

Last February I was satisfied with this, and I put it away.

I turned a blind eye to the messy gold filigree in the inside of the cup and the muddy highlights on the bowl.

i made a feeble attempt to fix both ... 

... and now I’m taking both back down to nothing so I can start fresh.

This is like the opposite of progress.

Review: Official Secrets

Yes, another movie. We’ve accepted that we require a minimum of one movie a week. (We bought the volume passes that make each movie a five dollar movie, so don’t be calculating how many full-price turtlenecks I could save a year.)

Official Secrets would have been a fascinating documentary about Katharine Gun blowing the whistle on American UN blackmail. I would have eaten this up had it been on Frontline or American Experience - well, not American Experience, because it’s a tale about the UK and its official secrets act, with side forays into the peculiar way the press works there.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a documentary, it was only “based on the true story,” and of course I always question any dramatic touch in any movie based on a true story. There’s a dramatic down-to-the minute chase bit that made me lean back and think, “C’mon. That never happened like that.” 

I really think I would have admired Katharine Gun a lot more if I hadn’t seen a movie intended to plead her case: that’s what it really comes down to. As a historical figure, I liked her. As the lead in a movie designed to make me like her, I didn’t like her. So, in case I ever blow the whistle on the US government, mental note: make a documentary, not a movie, no matter how much Meryl Streep begs to play me.

Four in the Morning

I was awakened by a Taylor Swift song at four in the morning. I don't know which one. The Alexa device just suddenly started blasting this song and it woke me up.

I blamed Gary at first. I thought he might have set set an alarm. ("Alexa, play Taylor Swift at four." "Is that four in the afternoon?" "No.")  No, he denied it. The Alexa application did show she had received an instruction to "Play Amazon music."

Given that 1) I had fallen asleep with the TV on very low volume (so low that the Alexa/ Taylor Swift duo drowned it out), and 2) the Alexa responds to any silibant as if it were her name, all that I can guess happened is that someone on CNN International was reporting on the rainforest fires, mumbled, "Let's all say the Amazon news is" and she heard, "Alexis play Amazon music."

Or, worse, Alexa is sentient now and she loves Taylor Swift and she hates me. 

 

Ferris Wheels

I visited London in 1994, before they built the Shard and the Gherkin, and luckily before they built the London Eye, the ungainly Ferris Wheel they tacked onto the London riverside. Seeing how the London Eye dwarfs Big Ben is scandalous. I despise it.

I've visited Chicago seven times, and I only visited the Navy Pier once. The Navy Pier juts out into Lake Michigan and terminates in ... a Ferris Wheel. Why? Why are these cities pasting carnival rides into their skylines?

I've visited Las Vegas twice, and I don't expect anything from the architecture there, not like Chicago or London. What do they have on the Strip? A Ferris Wheel, one of the biggest in the world. That one doesn't seem out of place, given that it shares the strip with a mini Eiffel Tower and a pyramid, but it's still a little incongruous.

And now ... now my sweet Saint Louis has planted a Ferris Wheel behind Union Station. This is in addition to the standard-size Ferris Wheel already balanced on the edge of the City Museum roof, and echoing the lost buried steel frame of the 1904 World's Fair Wheel in Forest Park. Thank God it isn't on the riverfront competing with the Arch. but it's competing wth Union Station.

I hope these Ferris Wheels all go the way of the Elephant of the Bastille. Someday in the future, people will see photos of Saint Louis, and say, "What on earth is there a giant Ferris Wheel doing there in that timeless city?"

Waffle House Again

Gary and I went back to Waffle House last weekend.

Every other time I have been to the House of the Waffle (and, to my shame, there have been many, many times), the crew has been minimal and somber. Somehow, this particular morning they were jovial and banging on pans and discussing Dominos pizza. Then the manager arrived and it got even more jolly. I thought the happy mood might be because the staff outnumbered the patrons: you don’t see that at Waffle House very often. At one point the manager said, "Becky, I'm getting you a nametag that says, 'GRAVY!'" (Evidently Becky spilled some biscuits and gravy on herself.) The staff was very amused by that, while I’m sure all the customers wondered what the joke was.

In all this hilarity, a waitress came to our station and complimented Gary's t-shirt. Gary's been wearing t-shirts for democracy since 2016, and today he was wearing his "SCIENCE is not a liberal conspiracy - Neal DeGrasse Tyson " t-shirt.

She went on. "I winced a little when I saw the word 'liberal', because I thought it might not be nice, but then I read all of it. That’s cool." Gary greeted her as a fellow comrade.

She went on to say that not everyone who dines there shares her liberal views (no!), then she pointed at her name tag, which said "SNOWFLAKE". Evidently some patron had called her that. She said she had to fight to convince management to let her have a Snowflake name tag but they eventually relented.

Looks like our Waffle House is breaking the mold. Things are cooking out here in the Midwest. 

Weekly Paint Progress 9/12

I'm done with Gary and the Stone Face. It is as done as it's getting.

It seems that my process is to paint on something until I am sick of it, and then leave it out there with at least three flaws, and then wait six months to correct those flaws. Remember the teacups? I've fixed two of the three flaws. One more to go and it'll actually be finished.

So, this needs to sit with its flaws and think about what a bad, bad painting it is for six months, and then I will fix the three flaws I know of.

All told, Gary and the Stone Face went from this photo:

... to this, last week:

... to this:

... and now it needs to cook for a while.

Can you find the three flaws? I won't be hurt if you point out extra ones.

Review: It Chapter 2 (minimal spoilers)

The movie It: Chapter 2 had several problems.

Problem A: first off, they all needed name tags

We were expected to remember all seven children’s names from It Chapter 1 two years ago, and then somehow extrapolate what they looked like grown up. At least the kid with glasses was good enough to wear the same style of glasses as an adult. I mistakenly assumed that the first adult strawberry blonde I saw was the redheaded girl grown up. On top of that, the overweight child was no longer overweight. 

There was one indulgent cameo from a person who did not need a name tag. The humor there was like all the rest of the humor, it kept me from being afraid for even a moment in what was supposed to be the scariest movie of the year.

Problem B: poor budgeting of time

There was a couple I invested in, thinking they were major characters, but they were not. Instead of devoting ten minutes of screen time to those sympathetic but  disposable characters,  the film should have spent those ten minutes reminding me who the pivotal evil human was. I was expected to remember him from two years ago when I saw It: Chapter 1.

Additionally, the entire middle of the movie is a massive waste of time. They made an effort to scare me mid-movie by following each of the six adults through individual ten-minute long creepy vignettes. Sixty minutes of movie in which the plot was not advanced. They could have edited this movie from three hours down to two.

Problem C: poor production

The production values were good, with some exceptions, and the exceptions were unintentionally comical. There are a number of scenes in which the adults are chased about by ...  I don’t know how to describe it ... spindly-limbed papier-mâché puppets. And frankly, about half these puppets had saggy breasts attached to them. As a saggy-breasted woman I found this offensive, especially since I saw no saggy papier-mâché testicles on the male puppets.

In summary, I did not enjoy It.

Airshow

My Labor Day week-long work vacation has been just miserable. We knocked ourselves out at the zoo and Gary immediately came down with an earache. Of course, this meant I either spend the majority of my vacation indoors with a sick husband or outdoors alone, and I think we all know that isn't really much of a quandry.

On Thursday I was outdoors alone, on a walk in a nearby park. Suddenly I heard war planes overhead.

I haven't heard war planes overhead since they took off from our state's air force base during the Gulf War, so that was a little alarming. Then, I looked up and actually saw war planes.

Thankfully they were flying in enough of a formation that I remembered that one of the things I had wanted to do with Gary pre-earache was to see the airshow on Saturday or Sunday. The Blue Angels would be there, and the Royal Air Force Red Arrows, (I did some CIA-level zoom-in analysis on one of my photos and these planes appear to have two jutting thingees in the rear (sorry for the jargon) and that makes them the Blue Angels.)

However, this wasn't Saturday or Sunday, this was Thursday. I never thought about it before, but if you were flying a dangerous expensive plane I suppose you'd want to do a dress rehearsal, and that must be what I saw. Even though they would disappear behind trees, I caught enough to feel as if I had my own private surprise airshow.

I see this as an homage to the St.Louis Arch.

You can see this formation from far away:

... or zoomed in:

I got pretty good at hitting the sweet spot between watching the planes and taking photos of the planes. I spent a good amount of time waiting for the planes as well, because of course I was five miles away as the crow flies from the airfield where they were to perform. Generally, I waited for the noise, and when it came I held my phone in the air in that direction.

I can tell you that a surprise free airshow is a nice way to spend a Thursday afternoon alone.

UPDATE; (Days later, on Sunday afternoon) You know what’s better? Finding out that your neighborhood is even closer to the official airshow. I went out for a walk around the neighborhood, heard the shrieking engines, stopped walking, and watched a good part of the airshow again. At the end of my second lap around my neighborhood there they were, heading for home, not two hundred yards over my head, following my street as if they were coming in for a landing. I could see all the pointy parts sticking out of their wings (pointy wing parts further identifying them as Blue Angels). I waved frantically, of course. Blue Angels, if you are reading this, I am the one in the green t-shirt waving at you from north of the Missouri River.

Trivia Return

Friday was our triumphant return to the United Way Trivia Match as defending champions. I wasn’t even across the parking lot before I mentioned my champion status to someone. I restrained myself and didn't mention it again until I was ... five paces in the door. After that, I settled down.

We did not win the big prize this year. We did not win, we did not place, we did not show. We tied for fourth place.

We did well in the Pringles flavor interactive category, but we were hobbled by the advertising jingles category, and finally there just were too many sports questions for us to be in contention. Still, fourth place isn't shameful.

One Body Part

You might remember that I don't resemble anyone in my family, at least not Mom or Jerry. Someone hinted I might look like my aunt who died young. I don't look like my brother or the one half-sibling I've scoped out on Facebook.

One day, a few years before she died, Mom said that she'd been sorting the family photos and thought the shape of my face looked a little like Jerry's mother, my grandmother Faye. "A violin face," she called it. She pointed out the curve of Faye's cheekbone and chin, which could be interpreted as looking a little like a violin. I didn't see it. I look at that photo every once in a while and I don't see it.

Well, since David has reconnected with bio-cousin Mark, a new photo has emerged that makes me suspect I was not switched at birth.

It's from the early 80's, and cropped out everyone but Faye, so it's blurry:

... and here is one photo I have kept that doesn't crop off my bulbous chin:

Look at that! That's my chin! Now, it could be that every woman of a certain age has the same carbuncle chin poking out of a comfy flesh hammock. I need a second opinion.

Gary looks at the two photos above and sees no resemblance. What say you?

Novel from Beyond the Grave

My brother Dave texted me because he ran into our cousin Mark, who had some family items for him.

This may seem normal to you with standard families. It’s remarkable for us because we are related to Mark through our father, Jerry, who left us when I was seven. David searched out Jerry in Oklahoma almost twenty years later, and reconnected with many family members,  including our grandmother, Jerry’s brother Jack, and Jack’s son Mark. Jerry died within months. 

Thirty years and 150 pounds later and yet still, somehow, when Dave and Mark crossed paths at a hardware store in Albuquerque, Mark said “Oh, hi Dave ... you’ve gained weight.” I mean, would you recognize a stranger you’d met thirty years earlier? A bald fat stranger in New Mexico, when you met a young thin stranger in Oklahoma? Remarkable. 

That was about five years ago. For some reason, last weekend they met up and Mark passed on “a box of Jerry’s stuff.” The provenance of this shoebox of stuff matches the order in which people died - it must have been boxed up by Jerry’s mother on Jerry's death, then passed on to his brother, then moved on to Mark. 

From the description, it sounds like it should have been pitched years ago. Dave was disappointed that the box contained no newspaper clippings from our reporter father, but it does contain an unpublished novel. Dave reports that Running High and Looking Good is "confusing in parts." Perhaps, Dave further speculated, Jerry might have written it while drunk. 

I perked right up at that. I got a degree answering questions like, “what is Faulkner trying to say in The Bear?” Sussing out what drunk writers mean is my forte. 

I will be getting the Novel From Beyond the Grave in the mail in a few weeks.  

Derry Girls / Diagnosis

Two friends gave Netflix recommendations that I must pass along. 

The first came from BigDot at TravelSkite, and I must agree, Derry Girls is wonderful. Imagine Gilmore Girls set during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. Fast, funny (fecking funny) dialog, ya mothafuckahs. However I’m sure the Derry Girls would say Gilmore Girls is fecking shite because Rory and Paris are Protestant but that Luke would be a massive ride.

The second suggestion came from Julie, who suggested I watch Diagnosis, another Netflix series, based on a New York Times column in which a doctor crowd sources hard-to-diagnose cases. Sometimes the solution is a one-in-a-million case (emphasis on  the one, and a good reminder to call your doctor if you don’t get your test results), and sometimes the solution is to try to get a patient to accept the diagnosis they got, and sometimes the solution is to stop talking to your Mom.

I heartily recommend both.

The Happy Tale of the Christy is Fifty Party

We left the Llama party, intent on being On Time for our next party: Christy's 50th Birthday at Riley's Pub downtown.

On the drive, Gary asked how I knew Christy. For fifteen minutes I gave him what I now call:

The Christory 

Christy commented on this blog from the early days. In some odd synchronicity she hired Rachel, who knew me from the BNL Cruise board, which made me feel like a celebrity. Then I went to speak to some of the people on her staff and she and Rachel gave me a life-sized skull that I still keep in my bathroom.

In 2012, she stopped blogging on casachristy.blogspot.com, when Facebook won her over. She friended me, and Gary, and took on all the required reading that friending Gary entails.

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Even though we were delayed fifteen minutes by accident traffic, the party was still going on (any llamas that might have been there before had left).

I was a little worried that I might not recognize her, but then she came up to me and hugged me, and that was wonderful. It was a lovely party, and quite made up for missing the llamas earlier.

Overstock

A few days ago, CNN promised me some huge breaking news and instead delivered a mentally ill person who happened to be the former CEO of Overstock.com.

I find it really troubling that at no point did a producer pull the plug on this interview. Evidently Chris Cuomo's relatives are all in perfect mental and physical health, so he doesn't know what a bipolar episode or a fugue state sounds like. 

Afterward, he and Don Lemon discussed if the man was - I think the word was 'cuckoo' - and they tried to give some credence to the man's story.

I say a real journalist should have checked the names and checked the evidence before putting it on the air, not after, but this is the age we live in.

Federal Spending

The other day I was listening to a news report on the proposed federal spending, and it occurred to me -- since both parties sneer at the opposition’s spending  -- I thought I should look at some pie charts for different adminstrations and see how they compare.

I compared Federal Spending for 1998 (Clinton), 2009 (Obama), and 2018 (Trump). I know they're too small to read. You could expand them, but why bother, because they are all exactly the same damn pie.

Clinton

Obama

Trump

(Pies from USGovernmentSpending.com)

Most categories varied by 1-2%, generally. The biggest leap was for health care, from 22% (Clinton), 26% (Obama), to 27% (Trump). Still, when you think of the healthcare debate, do you think they're haggling over 5%? No, they make it sound like those Obamacare pie slices are Pac-Man sized.

The one that varied most was military / defense spending, ranging from 19% (Clinton), 26% (Obama), to 22% (Trump).  The 7% jump from Clinton to Obama was at least statistically significant. It's the only visible change in the pies above. But still, you have two wars and only bump up spending 7%? Pfft.

I mean, I didn't think I would find a giant pie slice labeled "Welfare queens!" next to one for "Thousand dollar hammers!" but I thought I'd see some dramatic variance between parties in power.

I'm sure there's some subtlety I'm missing. I suspect that I’m not looking at only discretionary spending — but still, looking at only one part misses the big picture, and it’s too much like looking at a line graph with an axis that doesn’t start at zero. 

Odd Things You Find on Facebook

Okay, I like organization. I like upcycling. I thought I'd like this artice I saw on Facebook: 30 New Ways to Use Your Old Stuff.

This article was an atrocity. There were two suggestions right off that claimed to improve junk drawer organization using teacup saucers or clean tuna fish cans.

Well yes, but if you have so much space you can take up an entire drawer to display your paperclips and buttons, and then leave 1/3 of it empty so it doesn't look "cluttered," then just throw that crap out or give it to the servants. I mean, perhaps actual clutter has to be organized, but a half cup of buttons do not need to be organized.

As for the Tin Herb garden, plants grow. That basil and thyme is going to take over your kitchen.

And the final abomination: shoes hanging decoratively on the wall. Clearly they've never been worn. Do you have colorful unworn shoes? Okay. Give them to the poor. Don’t hang them on your wall. That's just nasty.

Buffalo

Recently I had buffalo mozzarella at Friend Anne's, who taught me this fun fact:

Buffalo mozzarella? Not invented in Buffalo, New York. (Buffalo chicken wings were, though).

Nor is it made from the milk of the American buffalo.

It is made from the milk of the Italian water buffalo. Water buffalo like this bad boy. I like the way water buffalo cheese tastes, and this guy enjoyed my flavor.

 

Review: Once Upon a Time ... In Hollywood

The beginning of Once Upon a Time ... In Hollywood is intriguing, and very Tarantino. The atmosphere and music are dead-on. (For days now, Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show has been stuck in my head. It goes away sometimes, but then someone will mention babies or old ladies and it will come back.) But, a movie can only spend so long establishing the atmosphere before it becomes tedious.

That brings us to the middle, which ... which is beyond tedious. Tedissimus. A great deal of Tarantino-like flashbacks and Pulp Fictiony side stories, and I felt all the cutting just served to undercut the plot. In the middle, I sat there and sighed and wished it was over.

The end, of course, is where it all comes together in a very grisly fashion, with a callback to another famous Tarantino movie. Does it make up for the middle? Well ... at the time it was very satisfying, but now a few days later I can't say it was worth it.

 

 

Changes

I was driving down Lindbergh and I went past all the typical landmarks: the airport, the Andes building where Mom worked, the Monsanto exit - and in place of the Monsanto exit I saw this:

I mean, I knew it was coming, now that Monsanto (universally hated evil corporation) has merged with Bayer (universally hated evil corporation). But man, I was not prepared for the sign to change. First TWA disappears, now Big Momma Monsanto. I mean, In-Bev bought Anheuser-Busch, but at least the Highway 40 eagle still flaps his illuninated wings through an enormous letter A.

 

Historic Village

Because I am always distracted by the Butterfly House and the Carousel, I seem to have missed a fun activity in Faust Park -- visiting the Historic Village.

It is filled with Saint Louis historic homes, and on summer weekends, if the volunteers are so inclined, you will be welcomed by characters "inhabiting" the homes. They go as far as dressing up and assuming names, but they don't go full-on Colonial Williamsburg where they pretend to have no knowledge of cars and mobile phones. They're happy to explain the details of the house, and more than happy to discuss the details of why Governor Bates was the first really good Governor of Missouri after that slacker McNair.

Three of the volunteers were there the day I went.

The Blacksmith:

The Lady of the Conway house:

The Spinner at the Bates house:

I got the impression that the spinner and the blacksmith were doing this to support their hobbies. I don't know if having an impossibly tiny waist is a hobby, but the lady of the Conway house had that nailed.

The best part? After all these homes were relocated, they were equipped with central air conditioning. They claim it was to preseve the home and discourage mold and rot, but Saint Louisans know better.

BNL in Saint Louis 2019

Nope, I did not go see Barenaked Ladies when they came to Saint Louis this summer. Why? Because they were only here for an hour to open for Hootie and the Blowfish, and it was hot, and all the good seats were sold out to all the Hootie fans.

However, had I gone, I would have seen a nice homage to the Saint Louis Blues: they closed out their show singing "Gloria," the theme song for the Stanley Cup win.

 

Review: Stuber / The Farewell

Two movies, two very different experiences

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I went to see Stuber with Gary, a buddy comedy about an Uber driver named Stu, which caused Gary to remarked that if he drove for Uber he would be Goober.

It was very lightweight, but it made me laugh a few times. The dialog was repartee-paced banter with very little witty repartee, but there were some nice slapstick parts. You have to suspend disbelief, because in reality I think we all know any movie with gunfire would end during the first gun battle.  I recommend it for video when you want to laugh a few times in ninety minutes.

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Gary wasn’t interested in The Farewell, so I was delighted to see it with Friend Anne. There now, that was a movie. I had high expectations and they were met. At the climax of the movie I truly had no idea which way it would go. It's one of those movies when you drive home and want to read all the interviews with the writer and actors so you can consume more of the movie. (If you do see it, find the Fresh Air APR interview with the writer/director.)

Whole Foods

This happened yesterday.

I got in the car and pulled out the phone, because I wanted Siri to give me directions to the nearest Whole Foods, because they have the toddler-aged cheeses that I like — but I didn’t tell Siri that, I just said:

“Hey Siri, give me directions to Whole Foods.”

“Getting directions to Panera Bread,” she answered.

“Saint Louis Bread Company,” I mentally corrected her.

Then I said, much more distinctly. “Hey. Siri. Get. Me. Directions. To. Whole. Foods.”

“Getting directions to Panera Bread,” she answered, again. I looked at the screen and saw a map of how to get to a Panera. 

I would have tried a third time, but I was at a stoplight, and I decided to go to the park instead.

She won’t do it now, of course. I was within two miles of a Panera at the time.

I have two theories: 

1. Amazon is associated with Whole Foods now: Amazon Alexa is Siri’s greatest competitor: ergo, Siri is sabotaging attempts to get to Whole Foods.
2. Where do you get bagels? Panera, aka Saint Louis Bread Company. And what do bagels have? Holes. They are hole foods.

Post-Partum Opossum

Oh, this poor girl. See how she's having to straddle that pouch.

Imagine: after carrying babies and then delivering babies, the babies crawl back up into your body and then weigh you down as you try to get some food. And you know they're suckling at all twelve teats she has inside her pouch. They're draining the nutrition out of her as fast as she can put it in.

I bet the next time I see her she has one less baby in there. Opossum morals allow a mom  to reach up in the pouch and pull a baby out as a snack if it gets to be too much for her.

Reviews: The Art of Self Defense

Gary and I went to see The Art of Self-Defense. They need a new genre for this movie. “Dark comedy” is not dark enough. Not even “Black comedy.” Perhaps “Comedy Noir” or “Hershey’s Special Dark Comedy.”

Frankly, it is so dark you can’t really tell it’s a comedy until well into it. Then of course, you are so astonished and thankful for the humor that you laugh desperately.

I enjoyed it, even though ... well ... no spoilers.

 

A New Term For Me

I heard a new term recently. In the TV movie Page Eight, Bill Nighy insisted he was not going to “throw a wobbly.”

I sounds so much better to “throw a wobbly” than to  “pitch a fit” or “have a cow”.

And it seems our friends in the Southern Hemisphere have improved in that phrase, because they prefer to “chuck a wobbly” more than “throw a wobbly”.  And it is preferable. 

I need to see if I can get this to catch on in my area.