Pseudo kudos

I have been frustrated this week, you guys. And I find that I deal with pretty much any negative emotion in my life in one specific way: I want to go sleepy bye bye. Sad, mad, frustrated? My answer to that is a date with Mr. Sandman.

So, this week, I have been frustrated and therefore super tired. I went to bed at 9pm last night and woke up at 8 this morning and I could have slept longer, I am not going to lie. When I am tired, my communication skills go out the window. Like last night at dinner.


Nordic Boy: I'm really glad I could finish that new flooring in one weekend. That makes the summer time line for other projects so much easier.
Me: Totally. You deserve cooties for that.
Nordic Boy: Hey, what?
Me: Kudos. I mean kudos.
Him: "Kudos?" You never say kudos. Why are you saying kudos?
Me: I think I should start. Kudos for you-dohs!
Him: Wow.
Me: I feel like poop right now. It's how I'm dealing.
Him: You feel like pooh-dohs?
Me: Now you're feeling me.

Band, Brunch, Blazer, Beach

This weekend felt like summer. FINALLY.


On Friday night, I went to see a band called Harry and the Potters. The teenagers dressed in their punky Harry Potter garb were too cute for words. Wizard rock is silly, and fun, and pretty awesome; I am not afraid to say it, people. My favorite part of the evening was a conversation I had with a teenager in line. We were talking about going to see bands play, and about whether one should get one's hand stamped on the back of the hand, or on the inside of the wrist.

Me: To me, the inside of the wrist is what you do. Because then you don't have to worry about it washing off when you wash your hands.
Her: I guess you're right. But I don't know.
Me: Why?
Her: If you put it on the inside of your wrist...you know, that's where Voldemort puts the Dark Mark on people.
Me: Yeah. Well, I hadn't thought of that.

On Saturday, Biogirl and I headed out of town to have brunch at the Salish Lodge. I ordered a three-egg omelet that I am pretty sure was either an 8-egg omelet or a three-egg omelet using eggs from a pterodactyl. We then walked around the Snolqualmie Falls (drenched in freezing mist! so refreshing) and said howdy to the mountains before heading back to Seattle. We coined a phrase for the act of walking off a large meal: beef strollin' off. Because we are geniuses.

And, just because we do live in Seattle where we have city, and mountains, and forest, and beaches, all within a one hour driving radius, we decided to do them all and ended up in Discovery Park where we hiked our way down to the beach. The best thing about this was that since this was totally unplanned, I was wearing a fancy-brunch appropriate outfit. Not a hike-through-the-woods-and-the-beach outfit. I did have enough foresight to bring along a pair of Converse with me, so at least I wasn't the crazy lady hiking in heels, but I was wearing, well, something like this.

So yes. I went hiking in a blazer. I know I am anti-fleece and clothes in the REI family make me have hives, but that? That was just ridiculous.

Biogirl and I see each other often, but it isn't often that we just spend a day together. When was the last time you spent a whole day with a friend, just hanging out, shooting the shit, doing whatever you feel like?

The next day, Biogirl and I tagged along with Nordic Boy to the hardware store and shopped to get her some gardening tools. Nordic Boy was long-suffering with our tomfoolery (him: "you should get this tool because you can use the whole length of it and not just the tip." Us: giggle giggle "Not just the tip! I hate it when they don't use the length of it!" giggle giggle) and then Nordic Boy and I walked to get some ice cream and then he lamented that he had missed the beach with us the day before, so I packed him up in the car and took him back to the beach. The beach, two days in a row. SUMMER, EFFERS.

I am all in for summer! Bring it!

Consumables #42

Movies!


Marwencol
This is one of those movies where explaining what it's about just would seem to take away from seeing it. I had sort of avoided seeing it for a while because I just kept hearing about it and hearing about it and sometimes when I hear about something so much, what people have said about it is more in my head than what I am actually seeing. So I waited, and I'm glad I did. It was beautiful and pretty awesome.

The September Issue
Every time I see Anna Wintour, I want to say "watch out, your face is going to stay like that" but it is way too late. That lady has cornered the market on having the most consistent stankface of all times. I am shocked that she has parlayed this ability into an entire career. Watching beautiful clothes being paraded in front of you all day long and making a poopoo face at all of them is apparently a jillion dollar job.

Thomas Jefferson
I watched the Ken Burns documentary on Tommy J, and for some reason my Netflix instant queue kept telling me that it was starring Gwyneth Paltrow which it most definitely does not. She does do some voiceover, reading from sources by Jefferson's graddaughter, but it's not even noticeable. Ossie Davis is totally the narrator for 98% of the thing, but Netflix doesn't care about that.

Easy A
I sort of loved this movie. Don't hate me.

Picasso and Braque Go to the Movies
The relationship between film and cubism. You will either find this riveting or the world's biggest snoozefest.

Books!

Kneebone Boy, by Ellen Potter
Potter once again does a great job of creating a world that does not contain magic or fantasy elements at all, but yet has all the weirdness and imagination that one could hope for. Two brothers and a sister, the Hardscrabble siblings, go to visit their nutty aunt who lives in a life-size play castle next to a real castle in which, legend has it, a sort of feral boy once lived, and maybe still does.

Revolver, by Marcus Sedgwick
A sort of Cormac McCarthy book for teens, the story begins somewhere near the Arctic Circle in the early 1900s. Teenage Sig finds his father frozen on the ice outside their cabin. He brings the body inside and sends his stepmother and sister to get help. As he waits, a gruff stranger knocks on the door and demands to know where Sig's father has hidden some gold that he is owed. Sig doesn't know where the gold is, but he does know where his father kept his revolver. Suspenseful and spare.

Hound Dog True, by Linda Urban
Mattie idolizes her favorite uncle, who everyone calls Uncle Potluck. Uncle Potluck is the custodian at Mattie's new school, and she decides to be his apprentice. I loved the characters in this book, especially the adults, who are less-than-perfect but very loving and who do the best they can with what they have. Not many books out there about working class families who are functional, and I appreciated it for that alone, although that's not the only good thing about it.

Everybody Sees the Ants, by A.S. King
In order to escape from a dad who is distant, a mom who is ineffectual, the memory of a beloved grandma who has died, and a kid at school who has terrorized him since he was in elementary school, Lucky escapes each night in dreams. When he sleeps, he travels to Vietnam where his MIA/POW grandfather has been since 1972 and Lucky tries to rescue him, night after night. Another novel where realism is never compromised but the imagined world feels just as real, this one was pretty brutal in its depiction of bullying. No after-school-special-ish-ness here.

Have a great weekend, peoples!

Because their names just have always sounded dirty to me

Email exchange of the week.


(Concerning the announcement from JK Rowling this week. The one that I really wanted to mean a prequel series, but turned out to be something I am way less excited about).

Friend: Are you bummed? Or is it enough that there will be "additional material?"

Me: BOO!

Friend: You're going to end up a star of the HP fanfic community.

Me: Only if it's slash fanfic. Dobby and Barty Crouch, together at last!

Friend: HA I would so read that.

Me: "Just give me a piece of clothing, Barty! Just one!"

Friend: Oh lords. That is hilarious.


Because I am here to entertain in totally inappropriate ways.

Love Makes Things Better. Also, Badly Sung 80s Songs.

Listen, just because my heart's a little bit broke doesn't mean that I can't go out and belt some tunes in front of lots of people and scare them a little bit, right? It's like chocolate after a Dementor attack. It really helps.


Here are some things I did this weekend to help me not think about my hurty heart.

On Friday night, I went to a party at this place, where every last cheesy song in the world was sung with abandon, despite the fact that I have a bit of a cough. You want to know what? My version of Take on Me by A-ha is hideous, people. HIDEOUS. Unless perhaps you make yourself believe that I meant to do it in the style of Yoko Ono. Which I could have been doing, totally on purpose. You'll never know for sure.

Two of the things that Nordic Boy has never done in the many years that I have known him: (1) get sloppy drunk. (2) sing karaoke. I have a dream that one day I shall see these two things happen simultaneously in one spectacular night of awesomeness. Alas, Friday night was not that night. I have seen him bust out such lovely renditions of songs such as "Tiny Dancer" or "Fuck the Pain Away" by Peaches in the privacy of our own home, but he has yet to unleash his talent onto the world at large. Some day, my friends. Some day.

On Saturday I met up with Delium for lunch and afterward we were at my house where he noticed an old photo of me, Alli, and Map where I was wearing a favorite Esprit shirt under a Benetton sweater with my teenage acid washed jeans. "I totally remember that outfit!" he said. I love that I have friends from ye olden days that can say stuff like that to me.

That afternoon, I went to a "summer barbecue" at the Soggy Librarian's house. I put that in quotes because it was raining and in the upper 40s that day, at least when we first arrived. That didn't stop us from pretending it was summer, especially when it stopped raining and got up to a balmy 50 degrees or so. We barbecued and played cornhole in the wet grass. You will not defeat us, Seattle.

That night, Biogirl, Nordic Boy and I went out to dinner where I ate way too much. Like, Thanksgiving too much. It was worth the belly ache though.

Sunday, I spent the first half of my day over at Biogirl's house, where we came up with some cockamamie theory that perhaps what a good relationship needs is less talking. We came to this conclusion after about three hours of talking, so I am not sure if that proves the theory or doesn't.

I then went on a walk around Green Lake with my friend M, who is awesome for many reasons, not the least of which is that she has chickens who lay delicious eggs and she gives them away to her friends. Score! She is also just super kind. What is better than super kind? I can't think of many things.

I came home to find that all of the furniture in our guest room had been moved out into our dining area, and Nordic Boy had installed beautiful cork flooring in the guest room. And then we danced on the new floor to "Electricity" by OMD, and Nordic Boy made up a hilarious new dance that we dubbed "The Level" and we did that until I almost puked laughing. This is why I love coming home.

I called my my dad, and he told me about something funny that my mom said that day, and he could barely tell it, he was laughing so much, and I could hear my mom laughing in the background too, and I hope that when we are in our 80s Nordic Boy and I can make each other laugh like that still.

We then made a cozy dinner and watched a movie and were in bed by 11.

Thanks, weekend.

Dropped Like It's Hot

A long time ago, I wrote a post about cutting a friend out of your life. In Fiji, there is a name for doing this. It's called Friendcutting. As in, I friendcutted his sorry ass.


I wrote it in a way that was for the cutter, not the cuttee. To encourage folks that yes, it's ok to cut a friend out if they are being a shitty friend. But what about when you're the shitty friend? And you get cut out? What's that like?

The short answer? It sucks, dudes. It sucks bad.

I'm not talking about drifting apart in a mutual fashion, or when someone moves away and you don't talk to them quite as much as you used to. I am talking about a conscious, intentional decision. They don't want you as a friend. They have decided. They don't tell you they have decided. They just stop calling you. This has happened to me three major times in my life.

First of all, I guess I should say that I am most definitely a friend-person. The place that friendships occupy in my life is near the very center. I define myself in terms of the company I keep and how much love I have, related to me or not. My parents are my parents, but they are also dear friends. Nordic Boy is so for sure my friend. Also, Biogirl is my family, and so are my other dear friends. Close friend or family, it's really one unit in my mind. I acknowledge that not everyone sees friendship in this way. Perhaps that's part of my problem, but we won't go there.

I have friends that I have known since we were both sporting the Huggies. I have high school friends, and dance school friends, and college friends. I have friends from every job I have ever had. I have neighbor friends. I have coworker friends. I have ex-boyfriend friends. I have blog friends (hi you guys!). This is not to brag about how many friends I have. I'm just trying to say that I am not one to leave people behind. If you're my friend, I cherish you. I'm in it for the long haul. I'm not fair weather.

I remember the first time I consciously went AWOL on a friend of mine. I am not proud of it, but I did it. It was a college friend: Megan. In our late teens and early 20s Megan and I had whooped it up. Then, something changed for Megan. She had a lot of things going on, and I tried to be there for her. I tried to make her laugh when she was down, and she told me that was insensitive. I tried to call her when she needed me, but she would tell me that she wanted to be alone. When I left her alone, she said that I was never there for her. When something good happened to me, she told me it made her feel worse about her life. When I was sad, she told me I was being a drag. I could not win. Finally, I realized (oh, youth, when it took me years to realize crap like this) that perhaps the shitty friend was not the Man in the Mirror. I remember it hit me, right in the face, and it was a SHOCKER, and I am not even being sarcastic. Maybe Megan was the shitty friend? Say WUT?

Picture me, slapping myself on the forehead in realization, in a "gee I coulda had a V-8!" sort of way.

Here's the part I am not proud of. I had called Megan this one time, and she made all sorts of pronouncements about all the things I could never do right, and I remember so clearly thinking "I am never ever calling you again." And after I hung up, that's exactly what happened. I never called Megan again. I just dropped off the face of the earth and didn't return any of her phone calls, or emails (we by this time lived on opposite coasts so I never ran into her at parties). No "peace out!" Nothing. I may have sent her a holiday card or a birthday card for a couple of years after that, but other than that, I ratcheted that mess down from full-on friendship to lukewarm acquaintance. I still had the audacity to sign her birthday cards "xxoo" like we were still in friend-love, but clearly, I was out of there. See ya, sucker.

I try to think of this situation when friends of mine disappear on me. You might think this would make me feel worse because that would mean that I am the Megan, a terrible friend who someone just can't frigging stand anymore. But no. In my way (I am nothing if not a glass-half-full kind of lady), it makes me think that the dropper is too scared to tell me, the droppee, that they just don't want to hang anymore. I could have tried to fix things with Megan, but I didn't. I put in no effort to communicate with her about what I thought was ailing the friendship. That was my responsibility and I didn't do it. I was the coward there, not her.

At the time I knew Megan, I had never had a friend drop me like that before, so I didn't really know what that would feel like. Soon after, I got my first taste. This time, it was my friend Kayla. I didn't know there was anything wrong between Kayla and me. And I would like to flag that sentence. I didn't know there was anything wrong between Kayla and me. The reason I am flagging? Because this is a MAJOR CHARACTER FLAW OF MINE. If you don't tell me or show me you are troubled? I always assume you are fine. If you seem happy, I believe you. This is because I grew up in the land of Midwest Bigmouths, where people tell you their troubles whether you want to know or not. No one is politely hiding that shit behind a genteel veneer of courteousness. If someone has a problem with you, you will KNOW. I have tried to get better about reading people who aren't so good at that, especially because Seattle is renowned for its genteel veneer of courteousness, but so far, I still suck at it. Anyway, so Kayla had been acting the way that she always had, and so I was going along, tra la la, we are friends, and then bam. She was gone. This time, I got a hold of her and asked her about it, and with some coaxing, she told me what was wrong. And turns out, I was being a shitty friend. In my own defense, I did not realize this and had she told me what she needed from me a long time ago, I would have been able to be a better friend. But now, it was too late. She was over it, I was so ten minutes ago, and flush. Down the toilet I went, our friendship with it.

Since then, I have been cut out two more times by people I thought would be in my life for my whole life. Each time broke my heart worse than the last. The number of them that don't hurt when I think about them? Goose egg, baby.

So now that I have been on this super awesome train wreck three times in my adult life, I feel like I have a lot of things about it figured out.

1. The genteel veneer of courteousness is like a foreign language that I am starting to learn, but so far my level of understanding is on par with only being able to say the phrase "donde esta la biblioteca" while traveling in the middle of Barcelona without a map and what I really need is to go number 2 really badly but I don't know how to say that and all I can ask for is the damn biblioteca. I continue to try to study this language but it is slow going. I at least can tell my friends that I suck at this though, so they are appropriately warned, so that is something.

2. I try really way hard to be a good friend. I think I try harder than most. Sometimes though, I just don't cut it. So I get cut. Sometimes trying just isn't even the point. Getting cut is just the way it bes sometimes.

Ok, maybe that's it. I haven't learned a lot of things. I have apparently only learned two things. Which is better than no things, but still. It's kind of a shit sandwich and I wish I could say I have learned a bit more that just two things. I know more about Kim Kardashian's upcoming nuptials than I do about dealing with losing a friend. (a) She is marrying someone really tall. (b) Her sister wants her to get a prenup. (c) His name is Chris something. There. Three things. Whereas traumatic life experience? Only two things. That's really very distressing.

Wait. Maybe I have a third thing. I am hesitant about the third thing, because I am not sure it's right. But Ima say it anyway. When I get cut, I just let the person go. Like almost immediately. Because if you don't want me around, who am I to argue? It's your choice. It's like in a romantic relationship, if someone wants to leave, isn't trying to talk them into staying, well...pathetic? I feel like there is a possibility that I am supposed to Make a Stand in these types of situations. Is that how people do? They Make a Stand? Or Fight for the Friendship? People aren't acting all dramatic like that, are they? That's what I am asking you, blog friends. Am I being a bad cuttee? Am I supposed to be hanging on to someone's leg while they try to walk out the door? Because I have never done that, and I am just realizing, after train wreck number three, that maybe I should have been doing that. But if that's true, I just don't know if I have it in me. I just don't know if I am cut from leg-hanging cloth. I am much more a "hey, still love you, I'll be over here. If you want to call me up, I will always take the call, but I'm not going to call you and have you hang up on my ass over and over again" kind of lady. But is that what we're supposed to do for love these days? Because if so, I have been doing it all wrong.

I just don't want to go through train wreck number four, you guys. I am getting too old for this shit. I am Dear Abbying you. If someone friend-cuts you, let go or no?

How Now, Whiney Cow

Most awesome conversation I have heard lately, between a mom and her daughter, about 5 years old.


Kid: Mmmmmmmm.
Mom: Was that a moo? Like a cow? Good job!
Kid: No. I was whining. Mmmmmmm.
Mom: Oh. Well, stop it then.
Kid: Mmmmmmmmm.
Mom: Stop whining!
Kid: It was a moo that time.

Why I will make a great retired person

Most of my weekends are full of activity. Every once in a while, my calendar is totally open, which means I get to do whatever I wish. This weekend was such a weekend, and I find it telling that "whatever I wish" is decidedly geriatric.


Here was my Saturday.

1. Woke up at 7am, because, you know, that's sleeping in.

2. Had a cup of tea and literally counted my leftover change and rolled it up.

3. Did laundry, dishes, vacuumed, dusted, and paid bills all before 10am.

4. Wandered over to Biogirl's house.

5. Had a leisurely brunch with the bff.

6. Went into the garden store next to the brunch place.

7. Went on a stroll around Green Lake.

8. Found the Parfait ice cream truck, and had a scoop in the sun.

9. Complained to each other about the cafe chairs on the sidewalk we ended up sitting in (her: "this cuts off my circulation in the back of my legs!" me: "these chairs make my butt fall asleep!")

10. Came home and watched David McCullough being interviewed on tv while ironing Nordic Boy's work shirts.

11. Read a book, while listening to Vivaldi.

12. Looked at some old photos of friends I miss and felt terribly nostalgic.

13. Opened up all my windows, put my feet up on my couch, and "rested my eyes."

14. Made a simple dinner of rice, beans and veggies with Nordic Boy.

15. Watched a movie under a blanket and ate cherries for dessert.

16. Did a crossword in bed.

I really hope my generation will be able to retire, because I am seriously going to rock that shit.

Consumables #41

Two Consumables in one week! I should be paid extra for that!


1. Witches of the East End, by Melissa de la Cruz

At Book Expo there were all sorts of publishers there with galley copies of upcoming books, handing them out to people who might be able to add to the buzz.* Oh yes, I am so important, I can create buzz. Not really, but you think I am going to tell those suckers that? How would I get a gigantic boxful of galleys to bring home with me then? Anyway, I picked this one up from my pile at random, and also a little bit because I am familiar with de la Cruz's teen stuff (this is her first novel for adults). This one is set in the Hamptons, and stars a family of three witches. With all the zombies and vampires running around literary land (and now fairies too), seeing a good old fashioned witch was sort of refreshing. It was still super frothy and would appeal to teens even more than her teen books, I think, because the story was like her teen stuff, only with plenty of the sexy bidness. Which makes it a novel for adults, but let's face it, teens want books with the sexy bidness in it too.

2. Home improvement shows

Nordic Boy watches home improvement shows sometimes, and they make him, out of anger, pop an o-ring. (This is a favorite phrase of Nordic Boy's. To pop one's o-ring. That means to get rageful. It has to do with plumbing. Trust me, he tells me it's hill-air). It drives him to a poopy pants state when someone Norm Abrams like, who has the fanciest tools around that will laser draw all your cuts for you and then execute those cuts with a press of a button, does this and then says something like "and there you go! Once you learn that trick, you can make mitered joints in seconds!" I found Nordic Boy yelling at the screen last night: "THAT IS NOT A TRICK! THAT IS NOT A TRICK! AUTOMATION DID IT FOR YOU! YOUR VIEWERS CAN'T AFFORD THAT SAW! THAT IS NOT CRAFTSMANSHIP! GAHHHHH!" I don't know why he puts himself through that. Maybe it's the same part of the brain that causes me to watch the Bachelorette, which makes me pop an o-ring.

3. The Bachelorette

OMG, you guys. I really was so ready to not watch the shitstorm anymore. And then I got sick, and watched all the teevees, and saw an episode. And now I am back in. GODDAMN ME. But come on, the guy who wore a Zorro mask for the first few episodes, so that she would fall in love with the Real Him? And how she had spent probably a collective 4 or 5 hours in some guy named Bentley's presence (cue Jon Cryer as Duckie: "his name is Bentley? That's a car, not a name!") and when he left the show, she TOOK TO HER BED because she was devastated by the loss! I don't do the Real Housewives, or the Jersey Shore, or anything like that, but this one: I just can't not look at it. I can't. O-ring be damned.
4. I don't really find celebrities hot. I don't know why, I just don't. I never watch a movie and think "ooh, Ryan Reynolds, homina homina." Instead, I think, really? Ryan Reynolds? Why? I just don't think that I can have a crush on anyone based solely on their looks. So, no fantasizing about McDreamy or McSteamy or McFeely (wait, that's the Mister Rogers guy) or whatever. I do, however, have friend crushes. Like, I have looked at people and thought "we would so totally be friends." For instance, I am convinced in a completely (well 98%) non-stalker-ish way that Amy Poehler and I would be total besties. I also feel that Kate Winslet and/or Emma Thompson (I don't know, the two of them have to come in a set, right?) and I could have a pint together, no probs. I have always found Ewan McGregor completely charming in interviews and like him in a non-hubba-hubba way.*** I couldn't make you a long list like that, but I could make you a list. The latest friend-crush I have? Luke Burbank and Jen Andrews on TBTL. I listen to their podcast on my way to work in the morning and am pretty sure I am conducting an imaginary friendship with both of them.

5. I know this has made its way around the intertubes a bunch, but my fake friends Luke and Jen play the audio from this often, and it makes me laugh every. fucking. time.



*I am sure I must have mentioned the dude that my friends and I eavesdropped on at Coastal Kitchen this one time, where he was obviously on a date, and trying to impress his lady friend with high falutin' intellectual talk** and our favorite quote from this 21st century Keats was on the subject of his artwork and the effect that he wanted it to have on the world. "I just want to make a dent in the buzz, man," he said. A dent. In the buzz. Oh, lady, if you ended up bedding that dude later, I just don't even know what to say to you.

**otherwise known as jibber jabber

***homina homina and hubba hubba in one post! Just wanted to point that out in case you missed it.

Later gators. Tell me, who is your imaginary celebrity friend?
 

Consumables #40, or "Have You Ever Read that Ray Bradbury story?"

There are a lot of people in my city obsessed with the weather. I can't hold myself apart from this- I am as guilty as anyone. I check the weather reports obsessively, and do a disproportionately jubilant dance whenever the sun decides to show itself. I have made valiant efforts to not talk about it so dang much, and although I want full credit for mostly succeeding at this, I also have to dock points for the fact that I would actually, in complete seriousness, describe my efforts as "valiant."


This obsession with talking about weather amongst my Seattle peoples is highest in spring time. I think we can partly blame this on the Facebooks and the Tweeters, as we can blame almost anything. Springtime is when many other places in the US are telling us via their Facebook and Twitter statuses about sunshine, and flowers, and putting on shorts. Seattle has to wait longer than most other places for these sentiments, and so looking at those statuses all day long makes us hemmorage agitation.

This is the paragraph where I disclaim the pants off of all that I am saying and acknowlege all the messy scary weatherness in the news. Places that are not Seattle are being tornadoed to Kingdom Come and I know I am a horrible person for talking about a measly lack of sunshine. But trust me, Seattle during the month of May is full of horrible people just like me. Just know that I am aware of our collective disgustingness. Thanks.

My friend and coworker the Soggy Librarian and I have a special weather-complainant bond. As I said I have valiantly cut down on the weather drama, but that does not extend to my conversations with TSL. She is in the ok-to-whine zone. And part of what makes her be in that zone is her dedication to her weather rage. She actually makes weather rage sort of fun. It doesn't even feel whiney. It feels like a sport. How many ways can she and I complain about the lack of sunshine? Turns out, millions of ways. Millions.

This year, TSL has extended the weather rage into full on storytelling. It starts like this. "Have you ever read that Ray Bradbury story?" Then she'll tell you the summary of "All Summer in a Day," a story that takes place on another planet, where the residents only see the sun for one day out of seven years, or some crazy shit like that. The rest of the time it rains. So basically, the "other planet" is Seattle. Whenever she brings this up, everyone around her says "Wow. That is so us." And we bond in our feelings of Vitamin D deficiency. There is one character in the story who is from Earth. All her little kid friends have never seen the sun, but she has, and she misses it badly. And when the day finally comes where the sun will come out? Her bastard friends lock her in a closet and she MISSES THE WHOLE THING. Because kids are little angels, that's why. Oh Ray Bradbury. Such a joyful sort.

This weekend was the first weekend of sun that Seattle saw in for-freaking-ever. People were planning for this weekend like it was their prom or something. And you know what happened? I got sick with the worst cold. Right on the sunny days! Like, right on them. Square on the nuts.

And thanks to TSL, I could wallow in the misery of not being out in the sun by thinking of that Ray Bradbury story. I AM THE LOCKED IN THE CLOSET GIRL! Not to be confused with the Locked in the Closet boy, R. Kelly. I don't think even Ray Bradbury could have dreamed that guy up.

So I spent most of the sunny days in my house, under a blanket, sipping soup and watching movies. Boo hoo!

Here's what I watched. It's a lot of movies. I was sick for a while.

My Date with Drew
A documentary in which this dude wins $1100 on a game show. He decides to give himself 30 days with this budget witht the goal of ending up on a date with his childhood crush, Drew Barrymore. He manages to go the whole movie trying to get in touch with Drew in all kinds of ways. And bee-tee-dubs, he somehow never comes off as a stalker, which is pretty impressive.

Restrepo
A pair of embedded journalists document a group of soldiers deployed in the mountains of Afghanistan, in an area that is known for being one of the most dangerous for American soldiers.

Following Sean
In 1969, filmmaker Ralph Arlyck makes a short film where he interviews Sean, a 4 year old. Sean lives in the Haight with his hippy parents, and talks frankly about things like the fact that he already smokes pot. The movie got a lot of attention back then and caused lots of people to speculate about what would happen to Sean when he grew up. This movie finds Sean as an adult to answer that question.

Dear Zachary
Movies don't tend to make me have nightmares. Not ghosts, or zombies, or even serial killers. This one made me have nightmares. A few years ago, the filmmaker's lifelong friend, Andrew, was murdered by his ex-girlfriend. After his murder, the ex-girlfriend gave birth to a child that was fathered by Andrew. The filmmaker travels across North America interviewing as many people as possible that ever knew Andrew so that he could give the finished movie, full of remembrances, to Andrew's son Zachary. Things go downhill from there. Like, as heartbreaking as that sounds, it gets so much more heartbreaking.

Between the Folds
Documentary about crazy cool origami art. What more is there to say?

Last Dance
Documentary about the collaboration between Maurice Sendak and Pilobilus. If you know anything about Sendak, and about Pilobolus, you know that they are both cranky but awesome entities. Half the fun is seeing who can out-cranky the other. The collaboration's result is an abstract(ish) dance piece about the Holocaust. The thing I liked seeing was the rehearsal and creative process. If you're wanting to see the actual finished piece, they don't really show much of that. I can see how that might bug some viewers, but I was ok with it.

Purple Rain
Ok, I hadn't seen this in years, and I saw it now and I was totally appalled. Prince beats up Appelonia! Like, full on smacks her up. And pushes her down, and threatens to beat her up some more. And Jerome throws a mouthy woman in a DUMPSTER. And Prince identifies with his domestic abuser father and never really rejects that whole mess, even at the end. And lots of other jacked up shit. I mean, I know I shouldn't expect Prince to be the model of gender equality or anything, but COME ON. This was way, way, waaaaay over the line. I sort of can't get over it.

Kings of Pastry
Fancy pastry chefs competing to become MOFs (highest culinary honor in France- you thought I said MOFOs didn't you?). The pastries in this were r'dick. I have to say though, they didn't look tasty to me. They were amazing, but they didn't make my mouth water or anything. It was more like an amazing sculptural feat than anything else. Then again, I think the best dessert ever made is probably, oh, like an ice cream sandwich or something. That's how I do. MOF that shit.

127 Hours
I know we're not supposed to like James Franco anymore, but I still do.

The Next Three Days
I was mad that the Elizabeth Banks character was so...not assertive. But not too mad, because how much am I really going to get riled about a Russell Crowe thriller? Not that much.

Red Dawn
Patrick Swayze never looked like a teen, even when he was a teen. He must have spawned onto this earth as a thirty year old man, I swear.

Bridesmaids
Ok, I'm cheating- I saw this in the theater a week ago. I thought is was adorbs.

Gotham

I'm back to the land of grey skies and polite people. Hi Seattle!


Here is what I have to say about my trip to New York.

There are two things I love in life. Well, more than two, obviously, but in the long list of things I love, these two would be near the tippiest top of the list. One! Walking. Two! Art of all kinds. You know what New York is all about? Walking and art of all kinds. Nordic Boy has this same list of loves, but also has a third thing, and that is buildings, parks, bridges. Man made structures, if you will. We were in hog heaven. I get annoyed with the New Yorkers who are all "nothing but nothing is better than New York and anyplace else might as well be a festering boil on a donkey's ass" but goddamn it. It's got things I love so much it hurts. So FINE.

Relatedly, I always find it a little annoying when New Yorkers brag about the quality of their bagels. Yes, YES, you have better bagels than everywhere else, we HEAR YOU. Yet what was the first thing we did when we woke up that first morning? Get our asses to Absolute Bagels. And stood in a long line. Because oh my god. Bagel bliss.

You know how, in tv shows that are set in New York, people are always somehow running into people they know everywhere? Like in Seinfeld, or Sex in the City, or Friends (and yes I can make a reference that is less than 5 years old but just not right now)? I always feel sort of skeptical about that. In all of those masses of people, like you are really going to keep running into crazy Joe Davola everywhere? What EVS. Biogirl and I used to work together when we were in college, and we had this cuckoo boss. Let's call her Rowena. After we both quit that job, we always wondered what would happen on the day that we run into Rowena somewhere. It's sort of bound to happen, right? We dreaded the awkwardness that would ensue. We had the same social circle as Rowena at one time, and we frequent the same sorts of places, and Seattle ain't that big. This was over 10 years ago, and we have never run into Rowena. Ever. So in New York? People are running into each other everywhere? Well, as it turns out, I found that they do. First of all, Nordic Boy and I kept running into my friend Linda everywhere we went. Linda was in town from Seattle to attend Book Expo (as was I), but we saw her everywhere. We were walking in Central Park- hey Linda! And walking near Madison Square Garden- there's Linda! It was buh-nay-nuts. Also, the first day I went to Book Expo (which was attended by about 20,000 people, no lie), I looked up and who was walking by me but E. Lockhart. Ms. Lockhart is the fine author of one of my all-time favorite teen books, and I got the chance to eat dinner with her a couple of months ago when she came to my liberry. So although I don't know her, I sort of know her. Anyway, I chatted with her and she was awesome because she remembered me (or she was awesome because she pretended really well to remember me; I will accept either one as a testament to awesomeness). Then! As I was walking around the joint, I stopped at the Minnesota University Press booth to snag a free copy of the new Ellen Willis book. The rep at the booth and I had a 10 minute conversation about the book, and Ellen, and suchlike. The whole time, I was thinking: do I know you, booth guy? I think I know you. I had a name tag the size of a saucer on a lanyard around my neck (so stylish) stating my full name and where I was from, so I figured if I knew this dude, he could clearly see my name and hence recognize me. He had no such name billboard on his person. I walked away from that conversation and later it clicked. Biogirl's friend from when she lived in California, who I am now friends with too, in a Facebook sort of way: that was that lady's husband. Who I met many times when visiting Biogirl in California, and hung out with, and got into hijinks with. I wanted to be mad that he didn't remember me, but I didn't remember him really either so I guess that wouldn't be fair.

THE POINT IS. I ran into people I knew among the throngs of people in New York. So maybe it makes sense that Carrie keeps running into Big and Aidan everywhere.

Nordic Boy and I also felt super proud of ourselves for accidentally showing up at Moma during their free-admission night. Ha ha! Saving money! We then promptly went to their cafe and ordered a lemonade and an apple cider and didn't look at the prices and paid $20 for that. Rookie mistake.

Trump Tower is gaudy, y'all. I know, this is shocking news.

There were some celebrity sightings, which are totally boring, but let me just tell you one. Ok, two. I saw Mrs. Brady. And that lady is so short and tiny, you guys. And her head is really big. That is not a nice thing to say, but I just have to. Also, Mike Holmes. The only reason that one is interesting (if you even know who he is at all, which likely you may not) is that he was walking down a Manhattan street totally dressed in his get-up- the one he wears on his show. I always wonder with people who wear the same thing on their show all the time: do they dress like that every day? Like, did Captian Kangaroo wear that red jacket to go to the Olive Garden or Kmart or anything? Well, Mike Holmes is committed to his outfit. I just want you to know that.

Speaking of Kmart, Nordic Boy was totally fascinated with the entrance to Kmart in the subway. Like, in an out-of-proportional way. Leave it to a midwest kid to be that impressed with a Kmart.

We saw The Motherfucker with the Hat, which was good, except for the Motherfucker with the unsilent cell phone sitting right behind us. THREE TIMES. The cell phone rang three separate times.

When we saw How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, there was a row of teen girls behind us that were having the straight up vapors over Daniel Radcliffe. Like I thought there might be fainting. And whenever there was cause to clap at the end of a song, these girls screamed so loud that it blew our hair forward. I didn't know that humans could make sounds that loud. Turns out, the powerful mix of Harry Potter and teen girl hormones is a magical amplification system.

Best New York moment: a sunny day, in front of a beautiful little cafe. Tables are set up on the sidewalk, people are eating. Things are happy. An old woman wearing a bedazzled headwrap and Sophia Loren sunglasses walks by and loudly says, to no one in particular: "I don't know WHY we have to always have this kind of SHIT right on the sidewalk. GAWD."

Saw the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I wanted to lick the clothes.

Also wandered in to the Cooper Hewitt design museum, which was showing an exhibit of Van Cleef and Arpels gigantic brooches and other ridiculous jewels. The crowd in the museum was even better to look at than the exhibit. It was like me and Nordic Boy were lost in a sea of Mrs. Howells.

Going to New York can kind of wig me out a little bit, seeing as how I spent the first 20 years of my life basically being told I was going to end up living there by all of my mentors. Then I did live there for dance school for a while, and when I left, it was only for a breif period- at least that's what I thought at the time. It was like my adulthood was geographically a given in my mind until I was about 20 years old. I never thought to picture myself anywhere else. The vision of my future adulthood that I always had in my head as a kid was me living my life in New York. No one questioned that around me, and the adults in my world actively steered me in this direction, so I didn't question it either. So when I go there now, it can feel strange. To be so far from what I was literally trained to be. I don't have regrets about where my life has ended up- I am happy with who I am now and how I've chosen to do something totally different. But being there, especially in certain specific spots (Lincoln Center is particularly ouchie, for example), it's not regret I feel, but it's something equally uncomfortable. A queasy feeling in my stomach, and sometimes a little mist in my eyeball area. Who was that kid that I used to be? Where did that all go? Whatever the answer, there is no going back. And that can be hard to process for me. I don't think I have ever reconciled that for myself. I don't think I'm supposed to.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled Seattle-ness.

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Nooh Yawk

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In the cab

Me: Well! That was great! Honestly. I was really thoroughly impressed with Harry Potter in that.

Nordic Boy: Apparently not impressed enough to stop calling him Harry Potter.

Me: Whoops.

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Expecto Patronum

Sitting in the ultra nosebleed seats, waiting for "How to Succeed in Business" to start. There sure are a lot of teens here, and they seem awfully excited to see John Laroquette. I hope they won't be too disappointed when they realize they have to sit through lots and lots of Daniel Radcliffe. Someone should have warned them about that.

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Park Centrally

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Squared

Sunset at Washington Square. Perfect weather, perfect evening.

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Getting High

In love with a sunny day at the Highline Park in Chelsea.

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Lordy

Best pierogis evahhhhh. B&H in the East Village.

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Getting the Bird

Let's go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art! Let me just consult my walking map here. Where is that museum again?

Thanks, helpful NY bird. Poop marks the spot.

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My new demographic?

Just went to the most old-ladiest thing ever.

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Getting Appley

Got to New York just in time for a warm dusk walk with my dude. No coat! No tights! On either of us! Suck it, Seattle.

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Hosed

Well, you did me proud, my friends. I now have a list as long as my arm of places to get good grub in New York. Granted, I sort of forgot that one can't spit without hitting a restaurant in New York, so I realize the question was kind of overkill, but still. I appreciate it, and although I won't be able to hit them all (I only have one stomach and so much time after all), I shall be prepared, much like a culinary boy scout.


Here's what's going on with me.

1. I went to another roller derby match. What was notable about this was that after the match (game? match? round?), it was raining, and my friends wanted to go out, and I didn't go, because it was cold and raining. I have become that person who just wants to go home when it rains, which is the kiss of death if you live in Seattle. I want it on the record (you keep a record, don't you?) that I went home, but didn't say it was because of the rain. My streak of not being whiny about weather stands and I want full credit for that.

2. I went to the Nordstrom hosiery department (ha ha, hosiery) and there was a long line at the register. Apparently Sunday was Buy Some Legtubes Day. In front of me was a girl about 14 years old. She was buying Spanx. The Nordstrom worker was a lady, probably about 70, with big hair and Liberace rings on her fingers. This is the conversation I heard.

Liberace: Oh, HONEY. Is this your very first pair of Spanx?

Girl: (quietly) Yes.

Liberace: Let me tell you, you will LOVE THEM. I love mine. They feel like someone is just HOLDING YOU TIGHT. You know what I mean? Ha ha.

Girl: (slowly evaporating into thin air)

Liberace: I think they work best if you just don't WEAR UNDERWEAR. That's the best. They feel better on your bottom. Nothing gets BUNCHED UP, you know?

Girl: (bursting into flame)

Liberace: If you DO have to wear underwear though, make sure it's the silky kind. You may be too young- are you wearing silky ones yet? Or still cottony?

Girl: (shriveling up like a prune)

Liberace: You don't have to tell me. Just don't wear underwear. No one will know, honey! I'm not wearing any right now, and you can't tell, right?

It went on forever. It was like Rowan Atkinson in Love, Actually merged with the grandma in Sixteen Candles.

3. I realized that the last three times I got my haircut, my stylist did not listen to me, and I walked out of there with boring hair each and every time. Thricely. I think three times is enough chances, don't you? This weekend, I went to a new person, in a fancier salon, and I sat in the chair and for the first 5 minutes, I straight up bossed her. I may or may not have acted like a crazy person. However, I got a good haircut. I think I may have gotten it from instilling fear, but I got it. I am hoping my bossy voice was at least nice-ish, like a certain someone I know.

A girl has to eat

Your assignment: tell me where I should eat in New York. Click on comments and type it up! Or email me!

DO IT.

Consumables #39

Here's what my brain et lately.

Books!


Lost and Found, by Shaun Tan
I adore Shaun Tan. The end.

Emily, Alone by Stewart O'Nan
Character study to the max. Emily is a widow who spends her days thinking about her life and her death, hanging with her beloved dog, meeting up with her pal Arlene for buffet, and keeping contact with her kids and grandkids. I like how kind O'Nan is to his characters, and how Emily is a person who spends most of her time alone, but isn't lonely.

The Sexy Book of Sexy Sex, by Kristen Schaal and Rich Blomquist
I didn't quite know what this book was going to be, and I still don't.

Movies!

Eyes of Tammy Faye
Documentary about Tammy Faye. I thought it was sad, on a lot of levels. Yes, it was campy too, but mostly sad.

Agora
Sound editing drove me crackers on this. Either the characters were whispering (volume up, turn it up!) or mobs were screaming (ahhh! turn it down! down!). Every five seconds. I had to stop watching because I was having thumb-on-remote fatigue.

Fast Runner
I love this movie. Love, love, love.
TV!

Dancing with the Stars
I'm going to tell you a little secret. I keep my eyes glued to the professionals for this show, not the stars. It's sort of like watching with half a brain, or with one eye shut. I just block out Ralph Macchio or Kirstie Alley and focus on the dancers. And I also lean heavily on the fast forward button. Really I think I probably watch about 10 full minutes of an hour long show.

Music!

Pat Benatar's Love is a Battlefield came on when we were making dinner the other night. After a few moments of silence, this was said.
 
Nordic Boy: I really love this song.
Me: Me too!
Nordic Boy: Like, not ironically. I just really love it, for real.
Me: (with relief) ME TOO.
Nordic Boy: (nodding thoughtfully) I'm glad we've had this moment.
Me: Me too.
 

Like a Record Baby

Sheet, it's already Wednesday. Keep meaning to post, but the world keeps spinning and me along with it.


On the up side, I think spring is finally coming out from behind the clouds. A little. Maybe. Sometimes.

Other awesome stuff in my world lately:

1. Biogirl threw a birthday party for herself wherein we played Celebrity. During the charades round, she busted out a Michael Jackson imitation that included a "whoo!" that could not be contained escaping from her lips. And really, who can blame her? What is MJ without his whoo?

2. Nordic Boy did a coy rendition of Marilyn Monroe during the charades round as well. Holding his imaginary skirt down, batting his eyes, making a Marilyn mouth, the whole bit. It held about 5% of the silliness that he can muster up, but still, it blew the partygoers away. I love seeing how people who don't know him well react to how much of a clown he really is- I enjoy their reaction so much more than his actual clownishness. When you first get to know him you would so never guess it, with that serious face of his, so people get such a kick out of it when he is funny all of a sudden. It seems out of nowhere. I want to say dudes, you have no idea.

3. A story was told about how, in a fit of road rage, our friend Rob yelled out the nonsensical but hilarious phrase "Jesus Tits!" at someone in another car. Need I say that this is a new favorite for us?

4. Spent an evening with some library coworker friends and no one talked about work, not ONCE. It was a sweet, sweet miracle.

5. Got a Sunday morning serenade from Nordic Boy. It was a full voice (loud ass) rendition of "You Spin Me Right Round." With dancing. It was quite a sight.
6. Spent a sunny Saturday literally tiptoeing through the tulips in Skagit Valley. It spun me right round baby right round.

Old Kid on the Block

When I was in 12th grade I had a friend named Emma who loved New Kids on the Block. That's right, we weren't 13, or 8. We were in the twelfth grade. Not only that, NKOTB (oh yes, I am abbreviating it, yo) was on the wane, so cool points were in the negative numbers. And let me rephrase my first statement. I was in 12th grade. Emma was a year older than me. Technically an adult. She also happened to be the smartest person (in the conventional sense anyway) that I knew at the time. In a world where not many people left my town, and hardly anyone I knew left the state, she graduated from our less-than-awesome public high school in our less-than-middle-class town and went to the Ivy League. I remember that I used to tease her relentlessly about her NKOTB fixation, and the summer before she left for college, I bought her a cheap-o NKOTB keychain as a joke and she took that shit to college and put her dorm room key on it and was like Hi, college smarty bluebloods, I am from FLINT and I have an unabashed love for Tigerbeat boys and also IN YOUR FACE.


You kind of have to love a girl like that.

Emma took the teasing in stride and not only that, she bought me a matching keychain which I used for a few months in a startling premonition of pre-hipsterism. I didn't like NKOTB, but I was a teen and I was being funny and shut up all you ironic mustache dudes of the 21st century, I got your uncool-coolness before you were out of Huggies. I look back on that and try not to roll my eyes at myself, but it's hard. Anyway, Emma educated me about the basics of NKOTB. Because of her, I know the songs, I know their names, I know that she had Jon picked out for herself (the Shy One) while she couldn't decide whether Donnie (the Bad Boy) or Jordan (the Hot One) was her choice for me, should I be in need of her arranging my marriage. She did not let my gagging noises hinder her pure, true love in the slightest. She was impervious to teen cynical rays, which wow. That's kind of a superpower.

During the spring of my senior year, Mike was one of my closest friends. Mike was not my first gay male friend (it may sound stereotypical but I grew up in theater and dance so I think I knew more gay men than straight ones when I was little, no lie) but he probably was my first gay boyfriend. By that I don't mean that we were dating, but rather that we did a lot of stuff together, just the pair of us. My first actual gay boyfriend was Aaron, a super hot theater boy who I dated in 11th grade theater camp who wouldn't make out with me and I couldn't figure out why until the he came out after high school and all our awkward dates became crystal clear. But I digress. Mike won two tickets to see NKOTB in concert from some sort of contest. I don't know that Mike was a particular fan either, but come on, it was a free show. Also, it is probable that he could not deny the NKOTB teen-gay-cuteness. Mike shopped around for someone to go to this concert with, especially me. To which I said, um, no. Sitting in Emma's room listening to Hanging Tough while I yelled in pain was one thing. Going to a concert? In public? Where people wouldn't KNOW that I was being ironic? I couldn't get with that.

I remember the NKOTB date search becoming a thing. If only Emma wasn't off playing polo in college or whatever they do in the Ivy League, she would have been all over it. I called her and told her about Mike's tickets and she almost cried. For real. She almost cried. I could tell that she thought this was a travesty that we, a couple of ingrates, had tickets, but she begged me to go.

You see where this is going, don't you? I went.

Mike drove me to the stadium, and I remember that we talked about whether or not I was going to prom (Mike wanted me to but I had a strict No Prom Policy), and the juicy details of my romance with a band boy in his early 20s, and who of our friends were going to hook up during the last show we were in of the year. We also got into a big talk about my upcoming graduation (Mike was a year younger than me), and how I was going to leave for college and how we were going to still be friends forevah, promise. There was tension because Mike wasn't really out (in that way where everyone knew he was gay but he hadn't actually said it himself yet) and in the car he was trying to tell me, and I was trying to encourage him, but he just couldn't do it. It turned into a kind of melancholy talk, and Mike and I were seldom melancholy with each other.

We arrived at the venue and suddenly we were awash in a sea of screaming 12-year-old girls and their moms who drove them there. Yep. Tween girls and middle-aged ladies. And us. Me in my Cure t-shirt and Mike in his non-girlness. We looked at each other, wondered what we were doing there, shrugged, and went to our seats. Our really good contest-winning seats.

By the time we got to our seats, my melancholy had started to get to me. It was a few weeks before my high school graduation, and the NKOTB concert day was the first day that I started to get really strong nostalgia-in-advance about leaving. I didn't want to leave Mike, I was in a semi-adult relationship, I was growing up. Looking around at all the 12-year-olds, I felt ancient, as only a 17-year-old can. Kid stuff was fading too fast, and being there just made it more dramatic. Not that my high school self needed fuel to increase drama levels.

Then the concert started, and you know how it started? Indoor freaking fireworks.

I had never really been to a concert like that before. Keep in mind that the first concert I ever went to was Dizzy Gillespie. The second was Neil Young. Neither known for fireworks. The biggest concert I had gone to up until then was a Madonna concert in the 9th grade, and that had lots of costume changes, but that was more theatrical than spectacle. NKOTB? I have to admit it. At least to my 12th grade eye, it was amazeballs.

Fireworks, huge dance numbers (come on, you know me, I love a dance number), a big harness thing that carried the singers high above the crowd, and you guys, there were explosions. It blew my hair back.

Being all ironical went out. the. window. Eye rolling ceased. It was like a tidal wave of cheese washed over us all, and we were helpless to resist it. Mike and I got up out of our seats, and we danced, and whooped, and jumped, and sang (thank you Emma, for learning me those lyrics), and hugged, and acted like the kids we were, and just fucking embraced it. I think about that night as I write this and it's so full of how much Mike and I loved each other and how much fun we had and how young we were and how beautiful a night it was.

You heard me. NKOTB was a beautiful thing.

After the show was over, we didn't really talk about the experience. It was as if we had seen each other naked and we just silently agreed that it had been fun, but we were never going to speak of it again.

After the concert, I had gone back to my regularly scheduled NKOTB surliness and never came back out of it. Years later I would tell people at parties about the time I had gone to the concert, like a badge of horrible honor. "That's the worst concert you've ever been to?" I would say, "well, get this- I saw New Kids on the Block!" and my friends would nod at me with a "wow, you win" look in their eye. I treat this concert like an episode of The Office: funny because it's embarrassing.

Last week, I turned my tv on, and you know who was on? New Kids on the Block. Not only that, but apparently they are now teamed up with the Backstreet Boys into a Giant Supergroup Boyband Blob of Doom. I thought "oh jeeeeez" and started to watch them, and I was surprised to find that I found the whole thing super endearing. They are all probably in their 40s now, and you know what? They don't care that they are middle-aged dudes. They still have their motherfucking explosions, and their gelled hair, and their dance numbers, and their tidal wave of cheese. They don't give a good goddamn if they are getting creaky in the knees. Screw it.

I always wonder about the older ladies that still turn into mush when they see Donny Osmond, or David Cassidy, or whatever. The feminist in me thinks STOP GOING GOOGOO OVER SOME RANDOM DUDE AND MAKING AN ASS OF YOURSELF. But when I watched NKOTB the other night, I could relate to those ladies. Not because of the dudes, but it made me remember that concert, and not like I had been telling it at parties. It made me really remember it. Me and my pal Mike, being kids. Throwing our hands in the air, waving them like we just don't care. I didn't care about being cerebral, I didn't care about what it looked like, I wasn't doing anything but acting a fool with my best friend. I guess I'm one of those googoo older ladies now, in a way.

Emma, you were sort of right. Well, you were still wrong, but sort of right. Ok, yes, you were right. Goddamn it.

Next time you feel embarrassed about secretly enjoying something cheesy, just let go. Seriously, let go. Be silly, and love it, and just stop being critical for five minutes.  Like these guys.

A hundred times

Thanks to those of you who emailed me your weirdo childhood earworms yesterday. I think my favorite story was from Delium, who reminded me of this story: when he was a kid, he and his friends found some sort of coupon that you could send in to get a free pair of ladies underwear from Hanes or something. Which, hi marketing executive who thought of that, you have basically thought up a great way for kids like Delium to play pranks on each other, among other nefarious things. Delium and his friends filled out the coupon with another friend's name and address, thus ordering him some girl undies. Somehow, they knew when the package arrived, and thus began the taunt: Joe got silkies in the may-ell! Joe got silkies in the may-ell!


And so now, Oocha has left the building, but the hot and happening tune "Silkies in the Mail" has taken up residence in my brain. Thanks, Delium!

*****

When my siblings and I were little, we would tend to scarf down our meals, as tiny scruffy rugrats can do. Little kids are very busy and need to get back to important business like ordering silkies for each other, so we have to power lunch, don't you know. My dad used to try to remind us to eat slower by telling us that we had to chew each bite a hundred times. This would make us laugh hysterically because as kids we were a really easy comedic audience. "A hundred times? Daddy, you're crazy!" we would giggle and giggle. But of course then we would try our hardest to see if we really could chew our bites a hundred times, which of course we couldn't, but at least we were chewing more often so who's the crazy one now?

The other day, I tried to work this psychological magic on an adult. Namely, my Nordic Boy. He was leaving for Portland for biznass like he does every week, and right before he left, I said the following.

Me: Call me when you get there.
Him: Yep!
Me: And other times when you're there too.
Him: Uh, yeah.
Me: In fact, why don't you call me a hundred times?
Him: What?
Me: While you're gone, in the next few days. Call me a hundred times.
Him: (silence)
Turns out, the hundred times thing doesn't work on adults. Either as incentive or as comedy. Just in case you were thinking of taking my dad's schtick on the road.

Oocha

I have an earworm today, and it's driving me ker-azy.


As you know, I have a good memory when it comes to my childhood. Actually, a great memory, if I do say so myself. I hardly ever have times when I can't remember something that happened to me. But yesterday I did, and now I can't stop thinking about it.

Last night, Nordic Boy was going to have ice cream for dessert. I was freezing my nuts off so I declined to join. I was rifling through the fridge, looking for a snack, when I came across a lone cinammon roll in the freezer. It was one of my mom's famous cinnamon rolls that I had been saving, like gold, because that's what it is. I looked at it, and thought about heating and eating, but I held out. I need it to last as long as possible.

Seeing that cinammon roll though? Triggered something weird in my memory. Because I said to Nordic Boy the following phrase:

"Oocha ate a seen-ah-meen roll! Ha- haaaa!"

I said it like it was a taunt. Like a little kid tease. In the same sing-song way that a kid might sing to another kid. Like Nelson from The Simpsons.

Nordic Boy: What did you say?
Me: Oocha ate a cinnamon roll, ha- haaa!"
Nordic Boy: What is that, a song?
Me: No.
Nordic Boy: Who is Oocha?
Me: This kid who used to play soccer with my brother when we were little. We called him Oocha.
Nordic Boy: Why?
Me: I have no idea. That wasn't his name. We just made it up?
Nordic Boy: And you'd tease him about eating a cinnamon roll?
Me: Totally. We would chant it. It was nice teasing, he would laugh. But whenever he would walk by we would sing that.
Nordic Boy: Well, yeah, it was nice teasing. It doesn't make sense. How is eating a cinnamon roll a taunt? That's the least lethal teasing I have ever heard.
Me: I don't know what it means. But we sang it constantly.
Nordic Boy: And I really want to know where the hell you got Oocha from.
Me: Me too!

Why did we call that kid Oocha? And why the weird song? OMG THIS IS KILLING ME.

It's all I can think, over and over, in the back of my mind. Oocha ate a cinnamon roll, ha-haaa!

That's what I am thinking today. That is all.

Sunlove

Me: Look at all the people riding their bikes and gardening and walking around outside!
Biogirl: The first sunny Saturday and people are going bananas trying to soak it up before it's gone again.
Me: Totally.
Biogirl: What's Nordic Boy doing today?
Me: Going to the dump.
Biogirl: Everyone has their own way of being excited by spring, I suppose.

*****

Ways in which my weekend rocketh mine hizzy outeth.


1. Sun! Sun! Sun! It was in the mid-sixties, people! And dry! And sun! You should have seen all the Seattle vampires squinting! Love.

2. Biogirl and I went up north and stood around on the grounds of a winery. As you do. There was grass, and ducks, and middle aged white dudes in Tommy Bahama outfits. It felt anthropological.

3. Had a lovely lunch at Cafe Flora.

4. Went with Biogirl to the ice cream joint where we got yelled at that one time. The workers there were super nice today. I felt suspicious of this, like it was a trap or something.

5. Went to Seward Park with Nordic Boy and walked the loop.

6. Walked over to my neighborhood book store and chatted with the booksellers. I love that I have friendly neighborhood booksellers.

7. Walked over to Greenlake, and on the way home, ran into lovely Linda and her cute doggie. I also love walking down the street and seeing friendly faces.

8. Got all the weekly chores done. Groceries, menu planning, laundry, cleaning, bills, done. Look y'all, I am a grown up!

9. Sat on my stoop and talked to my folks on the phone, barefooted. Did I mention there was sun?

10. TURNED THE HEAT OFF.

It's now Monday and back to rain, but that's ok. I'm still feeling weekend afterglow. I'll be back to my regularly scheduled rain rage tomorrow.

Consumables #38

You know how, when you go swimming in a cold lake or ocean for a while, and then you get out of the water and sit in the sun and that super pleasant feeling of warming up and drying out happens? There is a moment when every Seattle-ite feels that very thing, amplified. After months of rain, mist, sprinkles, storms, gray, wind, and just WET, a day will come along (or, let's face it, maybe just part of a day) where it is warm, with clear skies and sunshine, and there are mountains everywhere you look, and the water is a deep steely blue, and the buildings looked scrubbed and glisteny, and you realize just how SOAKED you have been for so long. So so long. I remember growing up in the Midwest when that spring feeling would finally come after being in a deep freeze for months on end. It's similar to that feeling, but different. The Seattle spring feeling is more about moisture and sun. In a Midwest winter, you are much colder, it's true, but you still have cold sunny days sometimes. And snowy days can feel super dry. Out here, we are soggy and sun-deprived. And then, all of a sudden, we're not. And it feels delightful.


That was the feeling I had this morning. Walking down the street on my way to work, everything just looked gorg-wah to me. The sky, the water, the shiny building where I work. And that made me think about my awesome co-workers, who really do amazing things every single day for the people of my city no matter who those people are, and the art I get to see, well everywhere I look, really, and my beloved loved ones who make me laugh so much each day, and my Nordic Boy who kicks ass, and ... birds in the sky you know how I feel...

I am totally getting UNSOGGIFIED, people. And yes, I know it's probably annoying. And it will rain again in about 5 minutes. La la la. Whatevs.

Consuming lately? Ah yes, that.

I finished watching all of The Wire again. I think we should have a therapy session about who broke your heart the most in that show. For me, it was Dukie. Seeing it a second time, he still tore my shit up. Who was it for you? There are so many to choose from.

On the brighter side, while I was watching it all again, there was just something so familiar to me about Prez. What else has he been in? Where have I seen him before? Finally, I looked him up on good old IMDB. You guys, guess what? I KNEW THAT GUY. Like, I knew him in real life. It was a long time ago, in the early 90s when we were both little bitty fresh-faced youngsters, but he dated a friend of mine. That frigging BLEW MY MIND. This is what happens when you were an arty/theater nerd. Every once in a while, you see someone like that, and it never ceases to be banana-nut-cheerios. Look at that! He's Prez! Shut up!

The Killing
Sometimes when things are set in cities that I know well, I can get distracted by location shots and trying to figure out if they are actually on location in the city that they say they are in, and if so, where are they exactly? Since this show takes place in Seattle, but is shot in Vancouver, it bugs me. THAT AIN'T SEATTLE! I want to say, when basically I just need to get over it. Oh, yeah, and also, the show is pretty good. If that's what you want to know.

Party Down
Hilarious.

Parks and Recreation
I think I am Leslie Knope in some ways, you guys. Seriously. I'm pretty sure I am.

Neverwhere
Fucked up underground Wizard of Oz story. There were things about it I loved (come on, you just have to love Neil Gaiman, it's like, a librarian law or something), and a few things about it I didn't. The good news is that the things I didn't love, I still felt engaged with. Like, I wanted to argue those things with someone. I hate not caring about what I'm reading, and that wasn't the case here.

Disreputable History of Frankie Landau Banks
I got to hang a bit with E. Lockhart last week because she was doing an event at my library. It reminded me how much this book rocked it. Plus, she's a nice lady. Nothing worse than meeting an author that you admire and finding them to be unbearable.

Robyn
I have kind of been only listening to Robyn this week. I don't know what that says about my mood, but I am on an all-Robyn diet of some sort.

Hope you're having a great week!

Things to yell out

#1
As you know, I don't sleep much. Or rather, I don't sleep well. Never have since my teens. My insomnia has no long term patterns, just short term ones. This past week the pattern is me, getting up to visit the loo at 3 am. And it's always at 3am. I don't see a clock from my side of the bed, but when I wake up, get up, walk around the bed to get to the hallway, I look at Nordic Boy's clock and it says 3am. Not 2:57. Not 3:01. Three. I told Nordic Boy about this, and although he pretended to believe me, I don't know if he really did. A couple of nights ago, when I got up, he sat up, looked at the clock, saw 3am and said yelled "HOLEE SHIT." Which made me almost crap my pants with fear because I didn't even know he was awake.

#2
Last week, Nordic Boy was driving us to work, and traffic was pretty light. This one car merged, perfectly and at very appropriate speeds, in front of this SUV. I don't know why, but the SUV person went berserkers. She pressed on that horn and held it. And held it. And held it. HOW DARE YOU MERGE APPROPRIATELY? said the horn. And then Nordic Boy said, in a cheerful voice: "You do it, lady! That's right! Take every last ounce of calm and tranquility that you may have had this morning and wring it out before you get to work! All of your patience must be spent by 8am! Wring it out! Your co-workers will love you for it! Wring it all out, I say! WRING IT!" You probably had to be there, but I about died when he did that.

#3
Biogirl was taking out her trash over the weekend, and she opened her front door to find some neighborhood Christians canvassing for Jesus. She wasn't expecting them to be standing there, so in her surprise, she yelled out in fright: "JESUS!"

#4
The canvassing Christians came to our house too, only we weren't home to yell the savior's name to their faces. They did leave us a pamphlet, which included a drawing of Jesus only really it looks more like James Brolin in his "Hotel" days, wearing a nightie. Since we got it, Nordic Boy has taken to putting that photo wherever I am. In my bag, or next to my toothbrush. Last night, when I had sort of forgotten about Nightgown James Brolin, I got ready for bed. Each night, when I am washing my face, Nordic Boy gets whatever book I am reading, and my phone, and puts them on my nightstand for me with the light on next to it. And now, apparently, James comes along too.

Happy Monday everyone! Holee shit! Wring it! Jesus!

Playground Day

I am about to get mushy. I'm just warning you. Ready? Ok.


This past weekend Nordic Boy and I celebrated our 97 billionth anniversary. See, we were barely out of puberty when we met each other and started our shared partnership of zany hijinks so when we say we want to grow old together, hell, we are well on our merry way compared to where we started up. Because of the way in which we met and the years following that and all the aforementioned hijinks that have ensued, plus also we are lazy, we only celebrate one anniversary. The day we met. It's just easier. Plus it also makes sense in a poetical romantical sort of way because we were joined at the hip since the day we laid eyes on each other, even though there were times early on when we weren't dating.

I was out to dinner with a bunch of friends last week, and one of them asked another one of them the story of how they met their partner. She told us the story, and when probed for more detail, she said that there were things that she just couldn't remember any more, because she and her husband had met around 35 years ago. Although Nordic Boy and I have not been together for 35 years, I could relate to that. Part of why we don't celebrate other milestones is that it's hard to remember them all. Also, when you've been together for a really long time, and seen each other through so many ups and downs, it's hard to know when things actually start. When did we start to love each other? The first time we said so? The first time we laughed really hard together? When we decided to move in? It's all such a long continuum that when we want to pinpoint a day to commemorate, it's not so easy. It's not just one day that needs commemorating. It's all the days. And when did all the days start? The day we met.

During that same dinner with friends, one of them asked me if, when I first met Nordic Boy, did I "just know." This is something that gets asked to couples a lot, at least from what I see. "Did you just know?" Sometimes I say yes to that question, and sometimes I say no. Not because I am a filthy liar, but because that question seems kind of unanswerable to me. Trying to put myself into the frame of mind of my 19-year-old self, meeting Nordic Boy for the first time- kind of impossible. On the one hand, when I met him I was kind of sprung and totally infatuated in a way that I had never been before or since. On the other hand, did I think- the moment we met- that we would still be yukking it up almost 2 decades later? No, I didn't. I wasn't thinking about decades then. I couldn't see past lunch then. Still can't, to be honest.

About a year after me and that dude got acquainted, I was going through a rough patch in my life. Actually, it was more like a war zone. I had lots of bad relationships- boys, friends, family, school, work, money- plus other drama that is way too complicated and way too ugly to get into now, but let's just say that pretty much any part of my life that you could name was falling apart. I felt really alone a lot of the time, and was trying to put on a brave face (because hi, have you met me?) but really everything was a royal pain in the bootango and there was no getting around that fact. I had gotten to a place where things that shouldn't become normalized totally were. I cried a lot. I yelled at my then boyfriend a lot (not Nordic Boy, I was dating this other clown because I was a first class dumb ass), and he yelled at me. I slept a lot because that's what I do when I am depressed. I stopped talking to my friends, except for Nordic Boy who would not leave me alone, because that's what he is good at: not leaving me alone. Not just me, either. That guy is the Prime Minister of Being There. Ask any of his peeps.

One day during this period, I went to work, totally dragging my ass. I was a tired worn out grumpypants. I held it together for work (again, hi, have you met me?) but inside I was a mess. When I think back I can't even remember the specifics of what particular sadness was happening that day, but I wasn't in good shape. After work (Nordic Boy and I worked for the same theater company) he asked me if I wanted to go get something to eat. We went to some sad fast food restaurant (ok fine I do remember that it was Taco Bell) and I bought my forty-nine cent burrito and ate it pretty much in silence. "I just need a minute," I remember saying to him. So we sat, and chewed, and everything was silent, but ok. Things between us, even then, rarely got tense. We just ate.

After we were done, we climbed into his ratty old truck and headed toward my apartment where I had big plans to put my head under the covers and not get out until the next day. It was a sunny summer evening, and I looked out the window and didn't see any of it. It took me a few minutes to realize that we weren't going to my apartment at all. I snapped out of it when I saw that Nordic Boy had parked us at a park.

He got out of the truck, and so did I. I don't remember if anything was said. I want to say that he grabbed my hand but to tell you the truth I can't say for sure if he did. We walked in the direction of one of those mammoth playground structures, which was mostly empty at that time of the evening. When we got there, Nordic Boy started climbing. So did I. I don't know how long it took, but it didn't seem like long before we had played on every part of that structure. We got on the swings and swung as high as we could and then jumped off. We ran up ladders and down slides. We swung by our arms across vertical ladders. We leaped off one side and skipped up another. We ran around, and ran some more. We laughed that sort of goofy little kid laugh, where you are so out of breath that you can barely get your guffaw out. He started it, and I couldn't help but join in. There was the part of me- that inner 14-year-old that we all have inside of us- that wanted to cross my arms and sulk and not be moved. But I didn't want to do that. I wanted to play.

We ran around like this for at least an hour, maybe more. Then we sat on the grass and talked and made silly jokes. He never asked me what had been wrong earlier. I never said either.

We got back in the truck after the sun went down, and he took me home. Before I got out of the truck, he said something that I will never forget, and I still think about often. I said "thanks, that was fun." And he said, in that understated, non-dramatic way that he has, as if he is talking about the weather: "I just wanted you to remember who you are. See you tomorrow." And I felt stunned by this, and I didn't say anything back, and I got out of the truck, and I went home.

Just like that. Off the cuff he was, easy peasy, see you tomorrow.

I just wanted you to remember who you are.

I don't know the details of the first conversation we ever had. I don't remember the first I love yous exchanged, exactly. I don't remember what we said any time we made formal committments to each other in any way. But I remember that sentence, on an ordinary day, in a year that I'm not 100% sure I can identify. It didn't have to do with us making a promise. It didn't have to do with the future. But it was significant. I've never forgotten it. And it's funny, the act of reminding me who I was? Made me see who he was too.

My Own Roger Ebert

Biogirl: I went to see that one movie. You know, with the Hangover guy in it. He played Will in "Alias." It was the movie about the brain and the pill and the thing. It was eh.


This description of the movie "Limitless" has inspired me to always describe movies in this way.

It was the movie about the alien and the Reese's Pieces and the thing. With the kid from Firestarter.

It was about the dreaming and the spinning top and the thing. With Luke from Growing Pains.

It was about the dancing and the boobs and the thing. With Kelly from Saved by the Bell.

It was about the steeple and the heights and the thing. With George Bailey.

It was about the millionaire and the sled and the thing. With the guy from the wine commercials.

Seriously, I could do that all day long. Care to join me?

Anniversary Toast

(Glasses raised)
Me: Here comes another year!
Him: Balls to the wall!

(Clink)

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