"Admiration, n.: Our polite recognition
of another's resemblance to ourselves."Ambrose Bierce
Monday, May 31, 2010
Hard to Swallow
The majority of critics praise Sideways like it's the second coming of The Godfather. Trying to figure out why the critics out there like it so much, I came to only one conclusion: holding in their laughter during films like American Pie and Eurotrip was becoming painful. Sort of like holding in a fart, after going out for Mexican on a date and later cuddling with the woman you shared your bean burrito with.My thoughts exactly.
From Susan.
Psych? Oh ...
Friday, May 28, 2010
It's my party and I'll hold back my tears and repress emotionsJordan Rubin
which will cause me immense inner turmoil if I want to.
'It Can't Get You If You're Singin' a Song'
"I've never really thought of myself as depressed
as much as paralyzed by hope."
as much as paralyzed by hope."
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| Maria Bamford - Half Empty | ||||
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Loved this one too.
From David.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Casting the Die
The angel of death, it turns out, is an Anne Bancroft* doppelgänger. Looks like her, talks like her, acts like her. She paid me a visit recently.
When we first looked into hospice, several years ago, all parties agreed that it was premature. I had the feeding tube at that point but was only running water through it. Call us back when you’re using it for nutrition, they suggested.
Having passed that milepost a long way back, we revisited the idea late last year and had someone come over and do their spiel. Even then I put it off for several months more, my thoughts vacillating between ambivalence and dread.
Enter Miss Bancroft, The Miracle Worker herself. She was so wry, so real, so not Sally Field. She actually put me in a good mood, which really surprised me. It was a perfect casting choice for hospice intakes.
That was a few weeks ago, and the crew has grown since. The lead is a nurse (Shirley MacLaine), the supporting player a home aide (maybe a younger Don Cheadle) who comes on days my regular one doesn’t. In the background is an attending physician (shades of Geneviève Bujold), and there’ve been a couple of appearances by a social worker. She doesn’t remind me of anyone, and I’m not really sure what she does. Sometimes she looks at me for too long, as if waiting for me to share something wrenching or break down altogether. There’s also a chaplain, but we’ve kept her at bay so far. She’s praying for us.
I feel very well taken care of, and it’s a great relief to have everything streamlined – especially to be rid of Aetna, which I’d grown to despise. I just hope they don’t dump me if I don’t die fast enough. That happened to a friend of mine (who went on to live many more years), but it was a long time ago and hospice swears things are different now. Although admission still requires a doctor’s certification that you’re “likely” to kick it within six months – which, given my history, seems decidedly unlikely – you can be recertified indefinitely. So we’re told … but they don’t know how practiced I am at trying people’s patience.
*I know! I was totally expecting Amy Winehouse.
When we first looked into hospice, several years ago, all parties agreed that it was premature. I had the feeding tube at that point but was only running water through it. Call us back when you’re using it for nutrition, they suggested.
Having passed that milepost a long way back, we revisited the idea late last year and had someone come over and do their spiel. Even then I put it off for several months more, my thoughts vacillating between ambivalence and dread.
Enter Miss Bancroft, The Miracle Worker herself. She was so wry, so real, so not Sally Field. She actually put me in a good mood, which really surprised me. It was a perfect casting choice for hospice intakes.
That was a few weeks ago, and the crew has grown since. The lead is a nurse (Shirley MacLaine), the supporting player a home aide (maybe a younger Don Cheadle) who comes on days my regular one doesn’t. In the background is an attending physician (shades of Geneviève Bujold), and there’ve been a couple of appearances by a social worker. She doesn’t remind me of anyone, and I’m not really sure what she does. Sometimes she looks at me for too long, as if waiting for me to share something wrenching or break down altogether. There’s also a chaplain, but we’ve kept her at bay so far. She’s praying for us.
I feel very well taken care of, and it’s a great relief to have everything streamlined – especially to be rid of Aetna, which I’d grown to despise. I just hope they don’t dump me if I don’t die fast enough. That happened to a friend of mine (who went on to live many more years), but it was a long time ago and hospice swears things are different now. Although admission still requires a doctor’s certification that you’re “likely” to kick it within six months – which, given my history, seems decidedly unlikely – you can be recertified indefinitely. So we’re told … but they don’t know how practiced I am at trying people’s patience.
*I know! I was totally expecting Amy Winehouse.
To Pee or Not to Pee
"Piss on the bed," Satan whispered.
"But why?" asked the little dog. "After six months, they're finally starting to trust me."
"Don't question me!" he hissed. "You must test them further. Now do it!"
Friday, May 21, 2010
Overheard in the Holler
Michael, sniffing: What's that old-lady smell?
Dan: I dropped some cedar oil in the closet. (Examines bottle.) Oh! Lavender cedar oil.
Overheard by: Jessica Fletcher
Dan: I dropped some cedar oil in the closet. (Examines bottle.) Oh! Lavender cedar oil.
Overheard by: Jessica Fletcher
Signing Bonus
When we left California, we took five and a half days to drive across the country. The last leg, Nashville to Maryland, would have been a killer even if we'd gotten an early start, but I figured it was my best chance to see The Hermitage. And I was so impressed that I convinced Dan, who'd stayed with the dogs, that he should take the tour, too.
In the wilds of Virginia that evening, when we were good and punchy but not yet delirious, I noticed a sign that almost sent me into hysterics: Butt Hollow Road (see No. 26). (The actual Butt Hollow is allegedly in West Virginny, butt I've never been able to confirm it, so this remains a hollow supposition.)
Three months later, we bought a condo nestled at the eastern foot of a steep, wooded hill, where the light fades hours before sunset. Not long after we moved in, Dan looked around and said, "This place is kind of a ... Butt Hollow."
Link from Riley.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Making History
No one has ever accused the Quakers of moving too fast. Maybe it's because we do everything by committee.
Last week's mail brought a freshly printed volume, the culmination of a project I'd been involved with since its inception, more than a decade and a half earlier. (It's been so long, I don't even remember the year.) The book is the latest 20-year installment of the history of our Meeting; it was published just in time to start working on the next one.
As the research, writing, editing -- and, yes, dithering -- ground on, I finished a graduate degree, fell in love, moved across the country, turned 30, changed careers, got diagnosed with ALS, tried various therapies, went on disability, moved back, bought a condo, and turned 40. I lived in six different places and owned three cars. I took at least six trips abroad and God knows how many domestic ones. I went from (relative) youth to middle age, from fitness to decrepitude.
I was still proofreading a month ago, my gnarled fingers clumsily making the last edits. I knew then that I would never be able to sit back and read the book for pleasure, but I hope others will. And I'm glad it's done.
There was a note on the cover from the head of the committee thanking me for my help and declaring me "an inspiration and a dear." Dan had his own edit: "an inspiration and a queer."
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Overheard in the Holler
Marty, peering out window: Your next-door neighbor looks like a '70s porn star. Or the Marlboro Man gone to seed.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Ooh Rah!
The most magical thing happened the other day.
We were just setting out for a walk when the Marine came back from a run. In one of his chatty moods, he lingered awhile to shoot the breeze and pat the dogs. No stroking for me, although he did wrap his beefy paw around my shriveled one with surprising tenderness.
Unfortunately, we'd just finished a two-hour appointment, and Sparkle, uncharacteristically businesslike, scurried past him when he crouched to greet her, scotching my chance to look up his shorts. But it was enough to bask in his virility as he stood there, a slight sheen on his perfect body, its light dusting of golden fur glowing in the late-day sun.
The Late Show
More recent favorites from Sleep Talkin' Man:
"Oh, get up and wash your shadow. It's filthy. Filthy!"
"Ninjas in stilettos. Fashion assassins! Not so stealthy, but oh so stylish!"
"Oh, this is a one man job. A very big man with six arms and enough ears for each one of your fucking suggestions."
"Your silence says a lot. Mainly, you haven't got the intellect to say something mildly witty. Or intelligent. Or anything of substance. You are, by definition, a fuck-up."
"It's Captain Fluffer! Hero to teenage boys."
"Oh, just think about what you said. That is, if you can spare the grey matter from remembering how to breathe."
"If I'm gonna spend the day with you, I'd seriously consider chewing razor blades and sucking lemons, simply to pass the time."
"You're never too old for lego....Suck my balls, dumbfuck. Building shit is fun."
"She's been on the phone again. Somebody give me back the last ten minutes of my life. I can't have this as a memory."
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Friday, May 07, 2010
Overheard in the Holler
Michael, incredulous, cackling: You're eating a pop tart!
Dan: It's a Trader Joe's organic pop tart. So there.
Overheard by: Sgt. Joe Fryday, Food Police
West Side Story
A man after my own heart. Although I'm not sure how much I'd want to know about our predecessors in the Holler.
From Kay.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Jet Blue
The most horrific flight I ever experienced was on Air Jamaica. The devil baby behind me screamed piercingly, bloodcurdlingly, at the top of its lungs the entire way from Kingston to JFK while its mother calmly read a book, ignoring her progeny and her increasingly fractious fellow passengers. The coup de grâce was copious vomiting upon landing.
If I had to pick a setting for disgusting habits, though, it would be the gym locker room.
From Mile High Peg.
Here Pussy, Pussy
One of Dan's brothers sent me two YouTube links the other day: "Stomach Explodes" and "Burst My Abscess."
"Don't click!" my brain screamed. And yet I did.
"Don't click!" my brain screamed. And yet I did.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Monday, May 03, 2010
"Stop trying so hard. He doesn't like you. Jesus, don'tShit My Dad Says
kiss an ass if it's in the process of shitting on you."
Northern Exposure
During the London semester in college, we did a seven-mile hike along Hadrian's Wall, starting at Housesteads. With cooperative weather, the vistas were stunning.
From Riley.
Blanket Insurance Coverage
A great idea in theory, but it wouldn't protect you from another traditional marriage gift: the Dutch oven.
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