My darlings, I beg your indulgence. This Christmas was so perfect that I can’t just let it disappear with the last of the dishes, I must record it for posterity.
There was food (which I made, and which was kindly received) and gifts and most of all, there were people. Our table was full, with people we love, and under it Jonah had his buddy Big Dog. Okay, technically the Big Dog doesn’t fit under the table, but you get the idea.
I’ve said many times that I enjoy Christmas, but I never expected all this. I sit here in happily amazed contentment, grateful for the good fortune that brought such wonderful individuals to my life.
Don’t worry, I’ll return to our regularly scheduled gripes and rants soon enough. Right now I have that oft-maligned word “bliss”, and I had to tell you about it. I hope and trust that Santa was good to you, too.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Happy Humbug!
There’s cranky and then there’s grouchy. Go farther along that spectrum, down down down the rabbit hole of a bad mood and when you hear a sickening plop, that’s where I was.
Aside from all the mishigas of Christmas (and one salesperson has already been amused today by my using Yiddish terms when referring to Christmas) my headlight has been burned out for a few days. The last time I tried replacing it on my own turned disastrous, so I knew I’d be dropping off the car, temporarily severing the umbilicus, in the immediate future.
I just didn’t realize how immediate that future would be.
When I passed the garage on my way home, I poked my head in to make the appointment. Just that, I neither expected nor wanted attention. My lovely, beautiful guys dropped everything to take care of me. They changed the oil, too, and wouldn’t take payment for any of it, just wished me a Happy Holiday. Thus, when I got home shortly thereafter, I dropped everything to make scarycookies™ for them. Paltry thanks for a gesture more magical than anything that happened to Charlie Brown’s little tree, but I brought them hot from the oven, and they were pleased.
Aside from all the mishigas of Christmas (and one salesperson has already been amused today by my using Yiddish terms when referring to Christmas) my headlight has been burned out for a few days. The last time I tried replacing it on my own turned disastrous, so I knew I’d be dropping off the car, temporarily severing the umbilicus, in the immediate future.
I just didn’t realize how immediate that future would be.
When I passed the garage on my way home, I poked my head in to make the appointment. Just that, I neither expected nor wanted attention. My lovely, beautiful guys dropped everything to take care of me. They changed the oil, too, and wouldn’t take payment for any of it, just wished me a Happy Holiday. Thus, when I got home shortly thereafter, I dropped everything to make scarycookies™ for them. Paltry thanks for a gesture more magical than anything that happened to Charlie Brown’s little tree, but I brought them hot from the oven, and they were pleased.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Figgy Redux
Christmas is great. I love the lights and the nutmeg and the fact that people pretend to be nice to each other for most of December.
Enough sentimentality. I’m going back to a discussion of epistemology, rationalism and dog pee on Twitter. Hugs all around, bye for now.
Enough sentimentality. I’m going back to a discussion of epistemology, rationalism and dog pee on Twitter. Hugs all around, bye for now.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Just Checking In
It’s about 10:30 on Sunday night. I’m supposed to be hitting my daily joke list but I’m not, I’m writing to you. The good news is that although I started with 20, now I’m writing 35 jokes a day on the most obscure topics imaginable. My favorite has got to be “There is a stick lying on the sidewalk.” I did 35 on that, and I think four were genuinely funny. There were 35 on “Rain.” You get the idea.
There was a time when a drunk guy could make people laugh by putting a lampshade on his head. I never got that one. If I told you the topic that has me stymied at the moment, you wouldn’t believe me.
Wax on, wax off. Do anything often enough and you build up a rhythm. That’s the whole point of the exercise. I can knock out the cadence of a joke without thinking about it now. Big whup. Funny is still the gold ring, and no matter how much we’ve been conditioned by Life’s laugh track, funny is still a random spark that only occasionally brings Frankenstein to life. When it does, it’s more often Boris Karloff than Peter Boyle.
Okay, back to it. Time to channel my inner Shecky and kill.
There was a time when a drunk guy could make people laugh by putting a lampshade on his head. I never got that one. If I told you the topic that has me stymied at the moment, you wouldn’t believe me.
Wax on, wax off. Do anything often enough and you build up a rhythm. That’s the whole point of the exercise. I can knock out the cadence of a joke without thinking about it now. Big whup. Funny is still the gold ring, and no matter how much we’ve been conditioned by Life’s laugh track, funny is still a random spark that only occasionally brings Frankenstein to life. When it does, it’s more often Boris Karloff than Peter Boyle.
Okay, back to it. Time to channel my inner Shecky and kill.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Age Before Beauty
Robert offered some excellent music for background, which I set aside because it just sounded, well, too young. I can’t really explain it any other way.
Throughout my lifetime there have been complaints about how our culture is too youth-oriented. When I was young, those complaints sounded whiny and envious. Now I look at all the Hollywood-pretty faces around me and wonder if they’ll ever develop distinctive personalities. Physical perfection is no longer sufficient for beauty, I require substance with the style.
The trade-offs of age are palpable and almost measurable. Where I used to have wild creativity, now I have perspective. You might say I can’t follow more than one thought at a time, but I call that “better focus”. Despite having blown off my daily workout this morning, discipline is a norm, not an effort.
Maybe it’s evolution. It’s convenient to prefer where I am to where I was, and certainly more comfortable than the alternative. Just as writing this was more comfortable than hitting today’s list of 20 jokes, but I am hoisted on my petard of discipline and have to get back to it now.
Throughout my lifetime there have been complaints about how our culture is too youth-oriented. When I was young, those complaints sounded whiny and envious. Now I look at all the Hollywood-pretty faces around me and wonder if they’ll ever develop distinctive personalities. Physical perfection is no longer sufficient for beauty, I require substance with the style.
The trade-offs of age are palpable and almost measurable. Where I used to have wild creativity, now I have perspective. You might say I can’t follow more than one thought at a time, but I call that “better focus”. Despite having blown off my daily workout this morning, discipline is a norm, not an effort.
Maybe it’s evolution. It’s convenient to prefer where I am to where I was, and certainly more comfortable than the alternative. Just as writing this was more comfortable than hitting today’s list of 20 jokes, but I am hoisted on my petard of discipline and have to get back to it now.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Saturday Night's Alright
It was a busy night in a nice Italian restaurant in our neighborhood. At the next table were two people in their 20s or 30s, and a woman who was older than them but not that old. Say 60s, maybe. The older woman had brought her meal with her, a sandwich on rye bread so fresh it smelled delicious from where we sat, and some things in Tupperware.
That’s the whole story, a person bringing a complete meal into Bella Vista. There’s no punch line. It was just so strange that I had to tell you about it.
In other news, I’m continuing my “20 Jokes A Day” regime. I lost a day when my computer died, but picked up immediately with an even worse topic than lawns, also contributed by my gym partner (to whom I will no longer refer as “snarky” lest he find me something even more dire) – dimples. Yes, I came up with twenty jokes about dimples. Today I selected my own topic: “Robert is so sarcastic, that…” Okay, it’s a gimme, but it’s Saturday night and I wanted to be done quickly.
That’s the whole story, a person bringing a complete meal into Bella Vista. There’s no punch line. It was just so strange that I had to tell you about it.
In other news, I’m continuing my “20 Jokes A Day” regime. I lost a day when my computer died, but picked up immediately with an even worse topic than lawns, also contributed by my gym partner (to whom I will no longer refer as “snarky” lest he find me something even more dire) – dimples. Yes, I came up with twenty jokes about dimples. Today I selected my own topic: “Robert is so sarcastic, that…” Okay, it’s a gimme, but it’s Saturday night and I wanted to be done quickly.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Even Garbo Was Funny
It all started when I decided that I’m just not funny anymore. It goes in phases, sometimes I can see punch-lines happening around me, and sometimes I can’t. Twitter makes it obvious when I can’t, because I have nothing snappy to tweet. I’ve had a few gems lately, but I had to work for them.
Drastic action was called for, so I took the plunge. Many of Robert’s comedy writing books recommend writing between 20 -50 jokes on a single topic, every day for a month.
Now, I’ve never taken a writing class, let alone read a book on how to write. I’ve never done a writing exercise of any kind. That said, I write professionally. So I thought, how hard can this be?
You may laugh now. Really. The voices in my head won’t stop cackling at my expense. You might as well join them.
I’m on the third day, and I’m already stuck. Just finding topics is a nightmare. Day One was ten jokes about deviled eggs. Day two was twenty on bagels. Today, my snarky gym partner suggested “lawns” as a topic. I’m on #11 and so stuck I stopped to write this.
Don’t worry, I won’t post any of my efforts here. Why should we both suffer?
Drastic action was called for, so I took the plunge. Many of Robert’s comedy writing books recommend writing between 20 -50 jokes on a single topic, every day for a month.
Now, I’ve never taken a writing class, let alone read a book on how to write. I’ve never done a writing exercise of any kind. That said, I write professionally. So I thought, how hard can this be?
You may laugh now. Really. The voices in my head won’t stop cackling at my expense. You might as well join them.
I’m on the third day, and I’m already stuck. Just finding topics is a nightmare. Day One was ten jokes about deviled eggs. Day two was twenty on bagels. Today, my snarky gym partner suggested “lawns” as a topic. I’m on #11 and so stuck I stopped to write this.
Don’t worry, I won’t post any of my efforts here. Why should we both suffer?
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