I Forgot One Highlight

Ben and my brother Reed actually discussed vacuum cleaners for a good ten to fifteen minutes. Well, at least that’s what it seemed like to me. I can’t remember exactly how it started, but at one point early on I heard one of them say something like, “Oh, you’re into vacuum cleaners too?” and “Bagless, or bags?” Which, I think it’s safe to say, are remarks I never thought I’d hear, well, anywhere. They talked about the joys of seeing the dirt get sucked up, and I tried to join the conversation by saying that I occasionally enjoyed ironing because I liked seeing the wrinkles come out, but I think we all knew from the ensuing silence, that it wasn’t the same.

Xmas in Iowa

A good time was had by all, and we had all but one sibling present, which hopefully will happen next year. Highlights:
Salt-brined turkey and all that goes with, including pecan pie, made by Lois.
One round of “Compatibility.” We were all too tired to actually finish the game, but Ben and I had a small lead before we went to bed, probably because Dad’s method involved randomly choosing his cards instead of trying hard to consider what cards would be most “compatible” with his partner, my sister Susan.
Completion of an “all-white” puzzle of a map of the world. Ben worked hard to be the “winner” of the puzzle, and doesn’t really care that puzzles aren’t generally considered a competitive sport.
One eighty-eight cent package of balloon rockets in our stocking that we sent flying around the living room. WILD entertainment, best bang for the buck.
A rollicking game of “Lie-brary” which is sort of like dictionary but instead of making up fake definitions you pick a book and make up a fake first line. Lois took the big prize here, working hard for actual convincing definitions as opposed to some of the rest of our attempts at humor, as follows (book titles followed by fake first lines):
Eight Black Horses – “There were eight black horses, but I repeat myself.” – Mark.
A Lost Lady – “Alas, poor lady, I knew her well and now she is lost.” – Reed.
Dr. Spock’s Book of Child Care (circa 1959) – “Dear Reader, Lo these many years have I nurtured a troubled baby to proper psychological health and fitness.” – Ben.
The Gayety of Vision – “The circularity of influences complicate the delineation of events.” – Lois.
The Mountain Man’s Guide to Firearms, Traps and Tools – “If you are already a mountain man, you’re probably aware of your firearms, traps and tools, but if you come from a low-lying area, this is the book for you.” – Me.
And an actual one, from some mystery book: “The lady was extraordinarily naked.”
If this isn’t all hilariously funny to you? You must not have been there.

The Best Holiday Video Card We Ever Got

Okay, it’s also the first and only holiday video card we ever got, and fine, we had to wait a couple hours for it to download, but it’s THAT GOOD. Megan I hope you’re reading, cuz I would very much like to link to it. Yay, you are! Here it is! It’s only a few minutes long, but it has an amazing soundtrack, and lovely images – seriously, it’s really nicely made – but mostly it’s just so damn sweet, I watched parts of it several times and I watched the whole thing twice and it made me well up with happy tears both times. It’s a little love story of a girl and a boy and their dog and their friends, but there’s no girl losing boy or boy losing girl. There’s only getting and joy, and yet, it left me with the inexplicable feeling of time gone by, probably because it has that feeling of old home movies where you just dance around and wave and there’s no dialogue. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t think you have to know Megan and Christopher and Mojo to totally be moved by it, although afterward, you will for sure want to.

Dream Hangovers

Often when I have a bad/weird dream, which is fairly regularly, the following day I feel sort of haunted; images and thoughts of the bad/weirdness recur randomly throughout the day, and don’t go away until the next day. The other night I dreamt that I was in a series of high rise buildings and could not for the life of me find my way out to the street. You know those hotels that have lobbys on the eighth floor and you have to take an elevator and then walk around and find the desk and then take another elevator in an entirely different location to your room? It was like that except imagine that there are a bunch of hotels like this and they’re all interlocking and very modern and all very different and have like, Chanel and Gucci stores and galleries in them (where I can’t afford to shop even in my dreams) and every now and again I can see some light from the street and I try to follow the light but then it goes away again and I’m lost once again. Over and over. The good news is supposed to be that you wake up and then you’re like, oh yay, I’m awake and I know where I am and I know how to, you know, find the street, except all day you still have the feeling that you can’t, even though you can. Similarly, on the more infrequent occasion that I do have a pleasant dream (not last night, I dreamt about a crazy murderess from the fifties and that my best friend could become younger and Chinese at will), I will have a pleasant feeling all day thinking of the dream about my husband who’s half-Ben half-Owen Wilson. Sadly, that is extremely infrequent, and all I can say is I’m happy that whole Ben is there to make it all better.

New Lows in Syndicated TV: Imagine!

Stumbled across “Eye for an Eye” on channel 26 yesterday, which clearly needs little further explanation except that it’s one of those judge shows (have I told y’all how I feel about those judge shows? I’m against.) but the twist is that they find some “fitting” punishment like tossing pies at someone or putting them through a carwash in a convertible with the top down. What could possibly make this show worse than the concept? KATO KAELIN is the host. So while you get pies thrown at you? Kato Kaelin stands by with commentary. Do I even need to go into the new levels of wrong this reaches? Kato Kaelin is famous for being a KOOKY WITNESS and HOUSEGUEST of OJ Simpson. Now he is being monetarily compensated for these talents. Kato Kaelin. Kato Kaelin. Kato Kaelin. I'm sorry. That was me trying to shake it all out of my head.

A Very Federline Christmas

My cousin Matt, unbeknownst to me a lurker here on standBy Bert (I’m outing you!), sent me the hands down funnest Xmas letter this year. I assume it was specially designed for me, but Matt, if you’re reading, I think that’s just plain fun for the whole family. I wish I had a scanner, but since I don’t, picture if you will, a holiday card with not one but two photos, one of the classic Couch-Jumping Tom Cruise, but with a Santa hat, and the caption, “Betsy and Ben, you just don’t understand how much I love Christmas. You just don’t understand…” and another of the Federlines enjoying a cocktail in a tropical location. I feel so… understood!

What, or What What?

Watched about ten minutes of Deal, or No Deal? last night only because there was absolutely nothing on and I was making crafties for the holidays so I needed something to listen to but seriously, this is the entire premise of the show, from what I can tell. A family goes on, and they get a suitcase that has a certain random amount of money in it. Let’s say it has fifty-thousand dollars. So then the host says something like, “The bank will make you another offer for that suitcase. Deal or no deal?” And then the family kind of freaks out about what to do, and then one of them says, um, either Deal, if they want to walk away with the fifty gs or No deal, if they think they might do better to pick another suitcase, one of which is guaranteed to have more money in it but the others of which do not. That’s pretty much it. There are no trivia questions, no eating of worm milkshakes, no nothing else. Deal or no deal. Someone in some big meeting in Hollywood said, I have an idea for a show where all people do is say Deal or no deal, and this actually became real and that someone made a boatload of money. I am completely dumbfounded, and frankly, was forced to turn the TV off and occasionally look up at my bedroom, which, in all honesty, would make a more interesting TV show. I think I’m going to Hollywood to pitch it. Hey, I have this idea for a show. It’s called “Bedroom.” And what it is? Is it’s my bedroom. No you just look at it. You don’t have to pay any actors or writers or anything. Only me. That’s right. Will I take half a million dollars? Deal.

Heartbreak Mountain

Okay, you have to just see the movie. BTW, it’s actually called Brokeback Mountain, for any of you I might have confused. This is the most telling thing I can say about the movie: Went to lunch afterward with Megan and her friend Jeff, and we talked about the movie for most of the lunch. I’m not sure when I’ve ever talked about one movie for a full hour. It’s not because it’s the most brilliant movie ever, although it’s very very good, but I can’t think of anything more heartbreaking than not being able to love the person you love, or barely being able to even understand the kind of love you feel because it’s so untalked about, or not being able to tell people you love, you know, anything about your man, your Ben who spends time on the holiday letter when he could be making art, or surprises you with a Christmas tree when you’re too sick with the same damn cold from a month ago that won’t die to leave the house for an entire 48 hours. And plus also? Jake Gyllenhall and Heath Ledger kissing and looking into each other’s eyes and just plain doing it? Hot. I wanted to be both of them in their little tent. At the same time.

Me vs. The Empty Bottle

Read at a party last night for Brian Costello’s new book, The Enchanters v. Sprawlburg Springs, check it, but an hour at a smoky bar did not help the cold that Ben and I have been trading back and forth since the dawn of time now. Plus, whenever I go out and chat with people, past my bedtime, I get all hopped up and can’t sleep, so I woke up all buzzy around 1:30 and went to watch TV and once again, I revisit the land of middle of the night broadcast TV is a weird one indeed. Infomercials are not getting any less bizarro with time. Jack LaLane has a juicer – the only one with a “pulp catcher.” You know what, I don’t know why, but those two words together disturb me. Also Jack says “Easy to clean!” and then puts it in a dishwasher, which tells me it would not be easy at all for me to clean. Next. YogaBootyBallet anyone? I’m less embarrassed about the copy Hip Hop Body Shop video I had high hopes for in 1989. What about buying real estate for less than seven hundred dollars, no mortgage? “Who wouldn’t want that?” says one of the two guys discussing it as they show pictures of homes that, well, might be as big as my kitchen, and I don’t doubt for one second are all located in the cracky part of Gary, Indiana. Then I landed on the shopping channel and this guy selling gold bracelets mentioned that he had one soldered to his wrist forty years ago. What??? I’m sure I’m forgetting some, but these were the highlights.

Spoo-Kee

So, actually got out of bed at six am today since it seems kind of silly to go to bed at nine and sleep all the way until, you know, seven. Tried to go get the Times at the corner, whadya know, they don’t sell it, although I got a beautiful, moody view of the skyline before the sun came up. Came home, what to do without the Times? I know, it’s online, but there’s no romance in that, so I ate my cereal and decided I may as well get my day started and started printing the holiday letter while I watched the morning news. Peeeouuuwww. (That of course, is the internationally recognized sound of the power going out.) Now me, I’m not the kinda gal who learns after the first, second, or eighth time that you can’t run the lights, computer, printer, electric heater, tv and vcr at the same time around here. Nope, not me, I’m gonna try it again! So but what we usually do is either call the landlord to flip the switch in the basement, or Ben does it if the landlord’s not here. But this morning I have neither the landlord nor Ben, so I ventured downstairs, which is as creepy as promised, the stairs creak, the walls are exposed, there’s no light in the staircase, and there’s all kinds of typically miscellaneous weird stuff you might find in any hundred year old basement. Old frames, rusty hand tools, broken flowerpots, two dressmakers dummies, a hundred years of junk. Anyway, I couldn’t find the box at first – there was one box that looked as old as the house, but I had the good sense not to flip that switch, I’m almost afraid to know what it is (probably something to do with the old gas lights), finally found the one that goes to our apartment and lived to tell.
Will this probably happen again? Yeauh huh.