The Ragbag of My Mind

I am reading Steve Martin's autobiography, Born Standing Up. It is interesting because Steve Martin is interesting. Parts of it are very amusing because Steve Martin is funny. It's a little suspenseful, because I keep waiting for the part where he talks about the woman he is destined to meet and marry because then he'll be talking about me but I haven't gotten there yet.

The book is highly readable and interesting from a pop cultural perspective. But it is missing one thing I've come to expect from Steve Martin in the printed word...poetry. Or, if there is poetry it is a phrase tucked in among the recounting of names, places and ideas. I'm not complaining, because it's still Steve Martin and therefore well written.

Last night, though, I read something that made me stop and read again. Then I read it one more time and then I turned down the corner of the page so I could come back to it and it is this:

"The consistent work enhanced my act. I learned a lesson: It was easy to be great. Every entertainer has a night when everything is clicking. These nights are accidental and statistical: Like lucky cards in poker, you can count on them occurring over time. What was hard was to be good, consistently good, night after night, no matter what the abominable circumstances".

And I thought, wow. Isn't that just a general lesson for life? "It is easy to be great...what is hard is to be good, consistently good"... I think I'm going to put that up over my desk.

Everyone knows that feeling of hitting it out of the park; thinking specifically of blogging, we've all had those days of 100 hits (or 1000, depending on who you are), of rafts of comments left saying, 'oh, my but you are brilliant!' and it feels great. But, yeah, that whole notion of "great" as a statistical fact versus the challenging of effort of striving to be "consistently good"...that has some wheels turning. And it applies to everything, not just comedy or blogging, lest you think I missed my own point.

"Consistently good"... gonna be sitting with that one for a while.

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I realized last night what I am loving most about this election cycle: it's a free-for-all. In a good way. It isn't often that we have an election where there is no incumbent on either side and it's been even longer, I think, since we've seen a cycle without an "heir apparent".

Consequently, we do not know what is going to happen from week to week...Barack in Iowa, Hillary in New Hampshire...hey, Edwards could win South Carolina...we just don't know. And good on Clinton for winning last night. But the 3 point margin by which she won over Obama suggests that she's not going to be coasting into the White House. No, pups, we've got a 3 way race on the Democratic side and part of what is awesome is that it is reflective of a very important fact, one we have not enjoyed for many a year: we have 3 strong candidates in the front-runner position and most Democrats would be perfectly content with either of them.

Hello? How long has it been since you felt excited, truly excited, about your candidate? (Sure, Bill. How far back do you have to go to find someone else? Yeah, see, most of you weren't even born yet).

On the GOP side we have the same thing. And pardon my mess, but I'm just giddy about McCain's victory. "Que?" says you. A) I have always liked John McCain. I hate his position on the war and I would never vote for him but 2) anyone who hands another "silver" to Mitt Romney is OK in my book. Mitt Romney makes my skin crawl, in a "maggots on the garbage can lid" sort of way. I would love to see a back and forth between Huckabee and McCain...it would only take a few weeks I suspect, and Mitt would go away. (Oh, wait. Forgot about the fact that he's loaded and could probably finance his own campaign up until the convention. Shoot. I want to be shod of him).

Yep, I love this wonky stuff.

OH! and there was this analysis sort of thing going on at NPR last night and the question went to why all the enthusiasm and the huge turnouts among Democrats and blah, blah, blah and they were talking about what Clinton has and what Obama has blah blah blah and I thought, "Ding, dong! The enthusiasm and high turnout owe to the fact that we're sick to death of what has happened in this country over the last 7 years and we want it the h-e-double hockey sticks to change, ya morons". Only I didn't actually think they were morons because it was NPR we are talking about. But still. Seriously.

And you know me...we could go on and on like this for days but I have a client today so must away.

Go out there and be consistently good.

Happy 1st of August

Is it just me or does summer feel like it's spilling away?

Last night I lay in bed forever thinking about things and not sleeping. In fact, it felt like I didn't sleep at all. Which I realize isn't true because when I was having my coffee this morning I remembered a dream. It was a terrible dream. First of all, I was a teenager. That would be enough to make me cry out in my sleep. The last thing I would want is to ever be a teenager again. Anyway, I was falling in love with a guy, who seemed to be falling in love with me, and we were being stalked by another old boyfriend of mine. So that was creepy. But the other thing was that the new guy had a dog, a Rottweiler or a doberman or something. And the dog hated me. He would be really nice to everyone else but when no one was looking he'd try to bite me.

I told the new guy about this but he didn't believe me. And then one time he left me alone with the monster. At first it acted like it wanted to play with me, so I was holding a book and letting it chew on it. But then it started chewing my hand. First just nibbly little play bites, like our dog does. But then it started really chewing on my hand. And it hurt. And I couldn't make it stop. I tried to pull my hand away but it wouldn't let go. Things were getting really ugly and scary so I did the only thing I could think of and, suddenly full of self-protective rage, I started to shove the book down the dog's throat.

I left it for dead and went to get my hand treated and when I came back, New Guy and a bunch of other people were with the dog, who wasn't dead, just seriously wounded, and they were all mad at me for hurting the dog. And I'm standing there with my bandaged hand, crying and trying to explain and all any of them could do was tell me what a horrible person I was for hurting an innocent creature.

And then the dream ran on for about another hour during which everyone in the dream shunned me and New Guy started legal proceedings against me.

Isn't that lovely?

I think I might be taking this Steve Martin thing harder than I thought.

No Comment

It is a beautiful day. These last days of July have a richness about them...fruit hangs on the vine and while it will be weeks more before it ripens, all seems fresh and full of promise. The morning air is mild, clouds mere vestigial wisps across the brilliant blue of the sky.

A single hummingbird, iridescent green flashing from her wings, visits the feeder near my window.

These are the sorts of things which would normally fill me with delight, evoking psalms of thanksgiving and praise..."for the beauty of the earth"...

But today, there are no psalms of joy and the beauties of the world mock my pain. Despair is my only friend. The skies should be dark and glowering, winds rushing, knifelike with their sharp chill. That would fit my mood, not this lavender scented, birdsong filled, shining glory. But I am not so lucky. I must bear my sadness even as the forces of all that is good and beautiful and life-giving surrounds me with a big cosmic "neener neener".

It was supposed to be me, dammit!

Steve Martin Weds in Surprise Ceremony

Tee Hee

I just got off the phone from a wee chat with Amy and Charlie. How cool is that? I feel like I just bashed into the Speedy Mart to pick up a quick something or other and ran into, oh, I don't know, Lauren Graham and Steve Martin. Or like I was in some little restaurant and Chrissie Hynde and Ray Davies were at the next table and asked if I had salt. Or something like that. Makes me giggle.

This I Believe

The dining table is the most important piece of furniture in the home.

There is no amount of barking a dog can do that can’t be quenched with a chicken stick.

Cranberry chutney on turkey cutlets is really yummy.

Home-grown tomatoes taste best.

Prayer might seem pointless but you never know how much worse it would be if you hadn’t prayed.

Dishes with chickens on them rock.

There is such a thing as doing too much.

If a doctor told me I had to stop eating cheese or die I’d put my affairs in order.

Some of the best food in the world is stuffed with other food.

We have more to fear from our own government than we do any other power on earth.

It’s really cool when the moon shines just so through the trees.

Steve Martin is a genius.

There’s nothing more snuggable than a child who is just waking up. Unless it is one that is just falling asleep.

Stuff with bees on them are really cool, especially if the stuff is from France. (Representations of bees, that is. Actual bees would be kind of creepy).

Some things really satisfy, including but not limited to: steel cut oats with plenty of brown sugar and cream, good black coffee, lasagne, applesauce cake. Also, bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches.

There are three times and conditions that are damn near perfect: early morning with a hot cup of coffee, hot summer afternoons with a gin and tonic and late evening, curled up on the couch.

It doesn't matter how much the wine cost, it matters what it tastes like.

Salt and vinegar potato chips are against God's plan.

The Neighbor, Part Deux: Men

NOTE: The following is being published with the full knowlege and permission of The Neighbor.

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The Neighbor is divorced because her husband didn't put the same premium on monogamy that she did. 'Nuff said.

She has dated a few men over the years, some keepers, some not. J, we thought, seemed to be The One. We all loved him. But he lived on the other coast and neither of them was ready to make a big move. He began insisting they be together for things to work, she wanted to give it time. They broke up and it was sad. I remain convinced that a great deal of his urgency owed to the fact that she was still close to an ex-boyfriend (who was never more attentive then when she found someone else).

I'll not say much about the ex-boyfriend because a) I never liked him and 2) she did. Agree to disagree. Although when The Neighbor finally broke up with him once and for all she did it for all the right reasons. But since she broke up with him there has been no one of consequence, which makes a girl wonder if she did the right thing. Especially when said girl really would prefer to share the rest of her life with someone.

Here's what you have to know about The Neighbor:

1) She is not bitter or carrying around a lot of baggage. That is not her nature. She sometimes gets varklempt about her singleton status but she is not by nature a morose person. She doesn't sit around sticking pins in a doll that looks like her ex-husband. She doesn't mope. She doesn't hate men because of the ones who done her wrong.

2) She's beautiful. She is stylish. She wears groovy glasses. She wants to lose some weight (don't we all) but you would never look at her and think that she's fat or unfit or anything remotely like that. She is smart, creative (she's a designer by trade) and funny. She loves art, film, all kinds of music and is probably a little too addicted to Spider Solitaire. She is as comfortable hiking or skiing as she is hosting a dinner party. She has a very generous nature and a kind heart. She sings.

3) She is Catholic. Her faith runs deep and is important to her but she is not a pious prig.

4) She is a Democrat. She wouldn't be caught dead voting for anything remotely smacking of the Republican agenda.

Facts 3 and 4 are important because of what's been going on recently. After some months she decided to sign up for eHarmony. (She's tried online dating before but obviously nothing stuck). This particular service is predicated on a process that should filter out anyone who isn't a good match to begin with so by the time you meet you are already on the same page. Ah, theories. She has had 2 matches so far. The first one "closed the encounter", as they euphemistically put it on the site, because he was Protestant and couldn't handle her being RC. Match #2 bailed because he was a "libertarian tending toward Republican" and wasn't an agree to disagree kind of guy.

Now, you're saying, "Good riddance! A wonderful, stunning woman such as you've described to me shouldn't have to put up with anyone less than fabulous, which clearly neither of these men were". And of course you'd be right.

But that's cold comfort. The Neighbor wants a relationship, is open to the possibilities and here she's shut down because of her religion and her politics. Which sucks. Also, I think she's growing weary of the process. I mean, how do you meet a good man these days? (Trust me, if I were suddenly single again I don't think I would even bother. I was in the group of women who were told we had a better chance of being killed by a terrorist than getting married after 30. Looks like those odds haven't changed much. So glad I already have that Steve Martin thing on the hook).

And there's age. She's 54, which isn't old, but where do you meet a man "of a certain age" who is old enough to offer you the level of maturity you desire but not so old (at least in his mind) that you feel like you're taking grandpa to the early bird special at King's Table? How does a beautiful woman in her 50's find someone willing to give her a chance, given that most men that age have had their share of interactions with "women with issues" and out of self-preservation start thinking all women are like that?

Unfortunately, all the men we know are married, too young or gay. So we are worthless for making introductions. (I swear, nothing would delight me more than to meet some great guy while volunteering or in the check out line or whatever, get to know him, have the two of them to dinner and watch the magic happen only to have them wed 3 months later with me as matron of honor because, you know, I hooked them up. Seriously. NOTHING would make me happier).

The other day we were talking about the latest loser and the idea ocurred that maybe someone in Blogtopia knows someone. Maybe they even know someone who lives around these parts. So here's what we're looking for:

Age: late 40's to maybe 60 (which is only old if he thinks and acts like it is).

Looks: Of course they matter. Who are we kidding? He needs to be 5'8 (her height) or taller and not overly overweight. It wouldn't hurt if he was somewhat metrosexual...or at least knows that dress for the opera is not the same as dress for burgers at the pub.

He needs to be literate, gainfully employed and a nice person. And since we're shooting for the moon here, he needs to be straight, Catholic and Democrat. He does not have to be perfect. He just has to be open to the possibilities with a beautiful, vibrant woman who has weathered the hard bits of life without it hardening her spirit. She's not perfect either, although, I'm hard pressed to think of anything at the moment. Ok, she could do a better job of organizing her desk at home. It's a mess. But otherwise, he'd be getting quite a prize. He only has to be willing.

Anyone? Anyone? Is this thing on?

All I Have to do is Dream

I kinda have a thing for Anthony Bourdain. I've never watched an entire episode of his show on the Travel Channel, never read any of his books*. My feelings for him have none of the depth I reserve for my next husband, Steve Martin. But there's just something about this guy...

He's kinda handsome in a Lurchy kind of way. He has a deep, groovy voice. He's got a bit of a hipster/bad boy thing going on and for all I know he could be a big jerk (although someone who understands food and eating on the level that he does cannot possibly be all bad). His writing style, at least his food writing, is fairly casual. But I heard him on NPR the other day and he blew me away with his cynical, self-deprecating humor and articulate use of the English language. (I'm big on articulate people being not so much articulate myself. I repeat myself alot and never seem to have handy the word I want when it's needed...thus my admiration for people who can say beautifully what they mean to say).

Last night I dreamt that I was trying to clean wads of dough from a big, white plastic tub. I was very intent on the job, which wasn't going well, but was very calmly sticking to it. Looking up, my gaze went through a doorway into a vast kitchen. Anthony Bourdain, in a white chef's jacket, was manipulating a large sheet of very thin dough, like for a strudel. He radiated the peace of a Zen master, intent on what I would deem a thoroughly thankless task. He was fully in the moment and the sheet of dough thinned and rippled out over the large marble table, exactly as strudel dough is supposed to do.

I've watched people make strudel dough. It is an experiment I will never make. Life is too short.

The interpretation of this dream wouldn't be too difficult. It doesn't matter, though. There was something very lovely about that image of Mr. Bourdain making strudel. That's all.

*Update, as of March 2011 - I have seen all his shows and read nearly all of his books. And now I love him even more.

Shopping

I'm not a big shopper. I enjoy spending money as much as the next ugly American but shopping isn't on my list of "Things to Do for Amusement". There are maybe 3 times a year when I go on a shopping excursion for the sake of shopping and these are ocassions that are preordained and liturgical. For example, in the summer The Child and I always go to Ms. M's for a light lunch and a swim and then go poke around the shops in the Ballard neighborhood near her house. On the Friday before school lets out for Christmas break there is a Christmas shopping/lunch thing with the Coffee Moms. But generally shopping is done because there is something we need, it is a strategic maneuver and the goal is to get in and out without losing too many minutes of the life that has been given to me.

Yesterday was an exception. My hostess gift from ChouChou and John was a gift card to Anthropologie. Here's something you should know: if you ever want to give me a present, just go to Anthropologie, swing a dead cat and buy the first thing you knock over. I lova, lova, lova this store. A gift card to spend? Oh happy day, calloo callay.

So ChouChou and I met to shop and lunch and it was very fun. I picked up a mess o' latte bowls, in two sizes, some napkins that match a tablecloth The Neighbor brought me from Paris and a little book titled The Perfect Egg and Other Secrets by Aldo Buzzi which is described on the flyleaf as "a tribute to the profound pleasures of food". Doesn't that sound like a perfect thing to read of a summer's afternoon?

As we were poking around the store I admired a number of beautiful stemmed wine glasses but couldn't bring myself to buy them. If abundantly wealthy we'd have dozens of wine glasses but even for the most swellegant of our dinner parties wine is served in bistro glasses. People break things. Especially our people. And when that happens, as it so often does, I want to be able to gleefully shout, "Opa" and then sweep up the bits without a thought. A guest ought not be put in the position of feeling badly about breaking a $15 glass and I don't want to be angry about its loss. (And I think I would be). So we stick to the cheap stuff and that's fine.

But, if you know even a smidge about wine, you know that a hand on the glass warms the wine and this, for enoheads, is a no-no. Since we are usually drinking 3 buck Chuck from Trader Joe's, it's not a huge concern. However, a stemmed glass for white wine makes a lot of sense and geeze, it's summer, so there's more white than red flowing these days. Long ramble longer, I decided to see if there were less expensive glasses elsewhere. Not at Williams Sonoma, I assure you. There were some rather groovy glasses that had pewter stems but all I could think was what practical use would there be for a bunch of pewter stems with jagged glass tops after they'd all been broken? We slipped into Pottery Barn and there were some perfectly acceptable glasses for a very acceptable price ($22 for 6, if you must know, which is a per glass price that beats anything even at Ikea) so I snatched some up. And also some darling little place card holders.

It was a very satisfying experience, which is the only sort of shopping experience to have. I found things I love and will use so there wasn't a smitch of buyer's remorse, which is a very nasty feeling.

More to the point, a lovely couple of hours were spent with a dear friend who makes me laugh and who doesn't mock when conversation turns to my next husband, Steve Martin. We had lunch at a sweet little place called Mom's, that has been at University Village (the shopping enclave wherein we were) for 20 years. Sadly, Mom is closing up shop. The Village used to be a very rank, silly place with nary an interesting shop within it but it's gotten very upscale and chichi and apparently the landlords were not being very accomodating to this established and beloved institution. I hate, hate, hate when that happens and yes, nasty letter to property people will be sent. It's too late to do anything about it but someone ought to tell them that sometimes doing the right thing is more important than squeezing the last drop of blood from a turnip. Or something like that.

Anyway, as I don't go shopping that often the closing of Mom's was news to me so it's good we went when we did. It would have been a very rude shock to go to the Village later in the summer and find Mom's gone. The Child is very fond of the place, too, so we're going back today for a last lunch. Then we'll probably go to Anthropologie because there's still a little balance on my gift card.

Understanding Article II

From constitutional authority and future new daddy of The Child, Steve Martin:

"Vice President Dick Cheney, while hunting wild geese in the Rose Garden, accidentally shot President Bush twice, once in the heart and once in the head. 'I didn't really shoot the President twice,' said Cheney. 'The second time I shot him, I was president.' "

Be Mine

On this day, which honors the confused legend of a saint who may or may not have existed, my thoughts turn fondly to all the things I love.

I love the word "thing". I had an English teacher in high school who I adored. She taught me many things and one day she will get a credit in one of my books because she affirmed and encouraged my nascent interest in writing. But she hated the word "thing". If you used it in an essay you were immediately marked down. To this day I am concious of my use of "thing" and I struggle mightily to avoid it. Sometimes, though, it just works. Maybe it's laziness. Probably is. But whenever I use it I think of BJ and her winning ways as a teacher, demonstrating that the word is, in fact, useful.

I love that some adventurous soul once found bitter berries on a bush, held them over a fire, smashed them with a rock, steeped the powder in water and took it to his wife who said, "This is the best part of waking up". I also love my Cuisinart coffee maker.

I love The Dog, though he barks at all living creatures. I love The Child, even though she thinks I'm ridiculous. I especially love The Spouse because he is my own darling geek. He is no Steve Martin, but then, he also never felt compelled to remake the "Pink Panther" movies.

I still love Steve Martin, though.

I love that The Spouse has figured out how to incorporate movie-making, which he loves, into his life without requiring us to live in LA.

I love my little house with it's colorful walls, big ass stove and amusing dust bunnies. I love my broom.

I love my Jane Austen action figure, my laptop and Kitchenaid stand mixer. They do not return my affection but they brighten my days.

I love all my imaginary friends in Blogtopia. There are some very funny, literate people out there and I look forward every day to their comments on the world.

I love chicken and artichoke pot pies and wine-poached pears with chocolate sauce. That's what I'm making for dinner tonight. The Neighbor is joining us and I expect we'll have a very festive time. I love that there is a fresh episode of "Gilmore girls", tonight of all nights.

And so, Dear Reader, I hope you too have a list of things you love. If there is a person on it, by all means tell him or her, although I certainly hope you do so more than once a year. And if you don't have someone at the moment, please don't let it bother you. Love usually sneaks up on you when you aren't looking, anyway. Meanwhile, I wish you a very happy Completely Made-up Hallmark Day.

Over the River and Through the Woods

To grandmother's house we'll soon be going. The sleigh is gassed up and there is no snow, although there is quite a lot of fog. I still have to pack and make the bed but I thought I'd get a start on my obligatory "List of Things I'm Thankful for This Year".

I'm thankful that I'm not under indictment, nor do I know anyone who is. I do know some people at Preston Gates and Ellis, the law firm whose name is uncomfortably popping up from time to time in the Abramoff scandal but I'm pretty sure none of them are involved. Pretty sure.

I'm thankful that The Child is so excited to see her cousins. I was usually excited to see most of my cousins but there was one family on my dad's side that had the "weird cousins" and they were the ones we usually spent the most time with on holidays. They were supremely weird. Still are. I'm glad none of my nieces and nephews are like that. They are all super cool kids, very sweet and smart and funny. I'm glad The Child has them since we didn't have the decency to give her a sibling.

I'm thankful that I can look forward to a holiday with the family without cringing over the major doses of dysfunction lying ahead. Oh, sure, from time to time there are those who begin to hold forth about something that requires everyone else to bite their tongue until it bleeds but if we all thought the same way about every little thing it would be rather boring, wouldn't it?

I'm thankful that the thought of 2 hours in the car on jammed freeways with nothing but my husband, child and Radio Disney doesn't make me want to vomit. I got water and road snacks for the trip and frankly, I love singing along with Jesse McCartney and Hillary Duff, so there.

I'm thankful that Bri and Suzanne are going to stay here and watch The Dog. I heart him so much and I would be sad if I had to leave him in a kennel where he didn't know anyone.

I'm thankful that all I have to cook for Thanksgiving this year is an eggnog cake (baking as we speak, yum) and a green bean casserole. I'm thankful for green bean casserole. Further proof that I am a gourmand, not a gourmet.

I'm thankful that the tide is turning against the war in Iraq, thankful that some of our troops will be coming home early next year (even military advisors and Condi said it could be done). I'm thankful that when my dad and I go off in a corner to talk we will be in agreement on the war. (We were in agreement from the start but I just take a lot of pleasure in seeing eye to eye with my Reagan Democrat father, because there were so many years when we saw eye to eye on absolutely nothing).

I'm thankful that my house is clean. I'm thankful I have a house. I'm thankful that I don't live in New Orleans or Indonesian or Pakistan. I'm thankful for running water, cell phones, lap tops and indoor plumbing. I'm thankful for my big ass stove and my comfy bed and interesting people with whom to share my life.

I'm thankful for Jon Stewart, Barack Obama, Bono and Bruce Springsteen. I'm thankful for Steve Martin, Colin Firth and the BBC. I'm thankful for the NY Times on line (but not that completely lame thing they are still doing which requires you to pay if you want to read the "good" editorials). I'm thankful for British literature, Garrison Keillor, NPR in general and "Gilmore girls". I'm thankful that there are so many ways for me to be informed (whenever I feel like being informed), entertained (which I want frequently) and challenged to think.

And chances are, faithful readers, I'm thankful for you. Many of you have been oh so kind and supportive of my little chunk of Blogtopia and knowing you are out there keeps me going.

Here's the thing, there's a lot of darkness (war, hurricanes, Paris Hilton) but there is still much to celebrate. So have a good time with your family and friends (all so fascinatingly dysfunctional in their own special way), enjoy your turkey and pie and please, whatever you do, don't call it the Macy's Day Parade.