Yucky Salad with Bones

December 3

It was pointed out to me that I misspelled "Beatle" at the bottom of this list...here's what's funny, while I was writing it, I knew it was spelled differently and I had to think about it a minute and I still got it wrong. But we all know I'm an awful, awful speller...some of us were too busy learning how to french kiss, is that ok with you? Gawd. Anyway I fixed (fixxed?) it.

December 2, '05

OK ...it's that time of year when all I'm listening to at home and in the car, the only two places I ever am, is Christmas music.

Whatever you're celebrating (if anything) at this time of year, whatever you think of Christmas displays in public places or carols in school or too much emphasis on the commercialization of the season or blah blah blah, I think we can all agree there is some seriously shitty Holiday music out there.

Here, then, are my picks for the five worst tunes of the season:

5. Anything by Manheim Steamroller. OK, so this isn't a song per se, it's an entire catalog, but no one has ever accused me of making sense and anyway this is my list. Back to the 'rollers. Am I the only one who, every time I hear their weird, synthesized crap, think of Martin Short and Harry Shearer doing their synchronized swimming bit from SNL? Terrible.

4. George Michael's "Last Christmas". "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away...this year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special...special, ahh ahh..." Let's break this down, shall we? Last Christmas, this idiot gave his heart to someone who apparently dumped him the next day, so this year he plans to give it to 'someone special', having learned his lesson about giving it to whores who just use him for gifts. But the fact that he's still singing about the experience a year later leads me to believe he hasn't learned his lesson at all, and is simply going to make the same mistake. I can only conclude that listening to this song is a total waste of my time, and I can't abide my time being wasted!

Oh, who am I kidding? I love this song. I want to hate it for all the above reasons and the fact that it's goopy mcgoop, but it's catchy and I sing along to it loudly.

3. Michael Buble's "I want to go home". Hey, looka that, it's not a Christmas song at all, but I heard it yesterday while driving home and I almost had to pull over to yak. WOW. This song makes Clay Aiken and Josh Groban happy there's someone in the world whose ass they could both kick. Now before anyone nails me to a tree for bad mouthing ol' Mike, I like him fine when he sticks to the standards. But this song seriously made my stomach lurch.

But since that wasn't really a Christmas song, I'm going to do another number 3.

Second number 3, or 3A: Coldplay's "I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause". OK, they didn't actually record this, but it would suck so bad if they did.

Number 2. "My Favorite Things" by everyone who records it. THIS ISN'T AN EFFING CHRISTMAS SONG. Stop putting it on your Christmas albums, people!! It's a great song, but just because the line "brown paper packages tied up with strings" is in it dun mean you can just plug it in between Jingle Bells and Good King Wenceslas, in fact YOU'RE JUST CONFUSING PEOPLE. And yes, I do know I contradicted myself and I care not a whit.

NUMBER ONE WORST CHRISTMAS SONG EVER: John Lennon's "Happy Christmas"....Look out belooooooow, someone just tipped a sacred cow...Aside from the fact that I firmly believe Paul was the best Beatle anyway, this song BLOWS. Hey thanks pal, for crapping all over everyone's good time! At least when Bob Geldof did it he was raising money for starving Africans. I may have listed it at number one, but this song is really number two.

December 5 '05

My Uncle, Captain Charles Woodrow Hubbell USN, died Saturday after a 3-month hospital stay that started out as hip surgery. He was my Dad's brother.

I only met him a handful of times, but he and his lovely (and that is the understatement of the year) wife Helen were always a presence in our lives and in the lives of all our kiddies. Always sent money and gifts on birthdays, Christmas and every time a baby was born, and every year sent us the White House commemorative Christmas ornament so that we all now have beautiful collections.

There's a story that was a favorite of Dad and Wood's oldest brother, Rear Admiral Lester E. Hubbell:

It was during the Korean War; Wood and Les hadn't seen each other in several years, in fact, each didn't even know if the other was still alive. Les, who at that time was the Commanding Officer of the flagship Helena, was directing air strikes from the Valley Forge as it was rushing toward Korea and was asking the pilots to identify themselves.

One by one he asked them,

"This is Captain Hubbell, do you read me?"

And learned his younger brother's whereabouts when he got this reply:

"Hubbell this is Hubbell...I read you five by five."

My dad tells me that while Les loved that story, Woody never told it, he wasn't the type to "make too much of things". Gonna have to side with the Admiral on that one.

Les died eleven years ago. I imagine Saturday night he had the celestial chessboard set up and ready.

Hubbell this is Hubbell; I read you five by five.

December 19, '05

Blogger Christmas party Saturday night....wait, can I say that? Well a party, anyway...terrific. Got acquainted with a few new faces and touched base with a few I'd met before...it's a little weird to feel like you sort of know someone even though you don't, but it certainly is a great ice-breaker to be able to just say to a perfect stranger, "So how's that dog of yours? Still nosing through the trash?" Although there was a moment when I asked a woman sitting at the bar what her blog was and she looked at me like I'd just sprouted a third eye and said nervously, "I'm here for the band?"

First person I ran into was Kathy and her husband, who as it turns out lives very near me, actually super close, in fact it turns out I'm that landlord she hates so much! Not really. That would mean I wisely invested money in rental property instead of blowing it all on trashy magazines and cable channels.

Mitch was there of course, (hard to miss Mitch, as he's about eleven feet tall and apparently bench-presses Buicks when he's not posting) and he was hale and hearty as usual....talked a bit with the Nihilist, who had one foot out the door by the time I got there, some lame excuse about "My wife's in labor" or something. Whatever. Grow a pair. Oh c'mon that was a joke! That's actually a grand excuse, probably the best one you could come up with and anyway only an idiot would challenge this cat to an insult contest and he's super nice in real life UNCLE! UNCLE!! Nothing better than a new baby at Christmastime, all my good wishes to them both. Chad tells me he cut out early due to baby issues as well. You know, I miss having a baby around sometimes, I really do, but I don't miss baby emergencies. If I'm going out for the evening I can see if all the kiddies are ok first and if they end up not ok, I can blame the sitter and save a few bucks at least. What do you mean there was a grease fire?? You are so not getting paid!

And what would a night out be without a moment of supreme awkwardness? I backed into a nice looking fellow and basically re-enacted the scene from Notting Hill where Hugh Grant's friend has no idea Julia Roberts is Julia Roberts:

Me: "whazyername?"

Him: "John Hinderaker..."

Me: (leaning in way too close) "Hmmm?"

Luckily at that point my sister came flying through the air and tackled him, saving me from further embarrassment.

She then brought me over to Mr. Lileks, (they'd apparently bonded over The X Files,) and told him I was too shy to talk to him. He looked at me and happily remarked something about me being shorter and skinnier than he is. I try. He's as funny in person as he is on the page and he was awfully gracious. His bodyguard was also very nice...maybe not his bodyguard exactly but his ten foot friend.

****schluup***...that was the sound of me removing my lips from James Lileks' rear.

Met Derek, who I found out is also an artist in his other life, and his wife works with my brother-in-law. The world just keeps gettin' smaller.

Brian and the lovely Rachel were more than patient with me as I serenaded them with Kenny Rogers' version of "Mary Did You Know?" Poor Rachel, I'm sure she gets bombarded with bad caterwaulin' every time she tells people she's an opera singer, it's just one of those things people do, like try on your glasses and hoot about how blind you are or moo when they drive past cows. I guess I should say "it's just one of those things I do", and stop trying to drag everyone else down with me.

It's important to note that it was Kenny R's version of the song I was doing, not early "Gambler" Kenny either, but face-lifted, pectoral implants Kenny of the telltale growl. And I didn't just treat them to it once; I did it, oh, about nine times, which is nine times more than it was appropriate. (Seriously, Peggy Post says so. Look it up.) So my little Christmas gift to the cosmos for 2005 is, I filled the universe's quota of Kenny Rogers imitations and we need never hear one again. No need to thank me.

December 16, '05

My sister and I were exchanging emails about how sick to flerbin' death we are of going to our children's Christmas concerts, (between us we've been to three this week) and as usual, we copied all the sibs in on them. Got this back from brother Joe, who rarely replies but when he does....

I hate my kids too! Caterwallin' and hittin' clinckers on whatever cantuka they're blowin' on! Likta 'bout kict everone of um in the nuts. Ifen they had nuts. I'se fixin' to erp up my jerky when precious horse whispered some song about the kriskwanzicka. Staight to hell is where I invited the paster to go when he tried to start a standing ovatory celebration. I mighta been drunk but I think he tried to take a swing at me. Thad be three years runnin'.

Just thought I would join in. It is Christmas afterall.

.....I wet myself laughing.

December 12, '05

So what happened this week…oh yes, St. Nicholas day came and went, and disaster was averted at Casa McCollow when Mike wisely talked me out of putting pomegranates in the children’s shoes.

I realize incendiary statements like that beg for an explanation, so here goes: it seemed like a good idea at the time. My rationalization was they get candy every dern time they turn around, so this year I thought I’d go for something different, something exotic, something teeming with cancer-fighting antioxidants.

Well, when Mike finally came to bed and saw what I’d done, he shook me awake and whisper-hissed that this was a very bad idea, that our babies deserved shoes full of magical treats, not produce, and didn’t we have anything else? I tried to use the “Laura Ingalls got oranges and was thankful” argument, but he trumped me with the “Laura Ingalls lived in a one-room cabin where she was forced to crap in a bucket and try her best to block out the sound of ma and pa’s coitus while she slept.”

Compelling. Not completely convinced, I walked into the hallway and upon second look realized that small shoes with large red rocklike orbs plopped on them didn’t exactly scream ‘festive’, and we unearthed some giant chocolate bars wrapped in plaid paper I’d been saving for stocking stuffers and used those instead.

The pomegranates were still enjoyed the next morning by all, the kids were happy and we all learned that Christmas cheer and good health need not be mutually exclusive. Huzzah, huzzah! So very, very Oprah.

And when I left you last, I was on my way to the gym. What transpired there is not for the faint of heart, so discontinue reading if your heart is faint.

There was this guy, see? …he got on the floor right in front of my treadmill and proceeded to do some weird exercise that involved him maneuvering a big rubber ball in the air with his feet. No big deal, right? Maybe he has weak hip-flexors or bad ankles or something, who knows? The problem was, his feet were toward the entire row of treadmills and he was wearing short-shorts.

I’m going to pause for a moment and let that visual sink in.

I chalked it up to him not knowing his boys were out flagging down the neighbors while he strengthened his whatevers, but I went back again the next day and he was there again, and he did it again. In the same shorts. And I mean, he does this move for a long time, we’re talkin’ 20 minutes of trying not to watch Frank and Sammy take the A-train downtown. And that made no sense whatsoever, but can you blame me? I’m flustered at the memory and if I knew how to repress it, I would.

I have to figure out an anonymous way to tell this person to at least turn around while he does his ball-waving exercise (pun intended). Of course, Mike’s convinced he knows full well what’s what and that he’s doing it on purpose. Could be, I guess, I just can’t believe it.

Time for bed.

December 9 '05

So back to that list of bad Christmas songs. There has been some heat regarding it thrown my way for a variety of reasons which I will systematically address in 3...2...1...

Here goes:

A) Not only did I misspell Beatle Beetle Mcbeedle, I actually got the name of the song wrong, it's called "Happy Christmas".

Rebuttal: It's a crap song. Maybe if it weren't, I'd get the name right. Look, sorry he's dead and all, but I'm stickin' to my guns here.

B) Michael Buble's song is called something other than what I called it.

Rebuttal: Ooops. I suppose I could google it and find out what it's really called, but I've already spent far too much time on it.

C) In a post I called "Top Five Worst Christmas Songs", I listed two songs I actually like and one that doesn't even exist.

Rebuttal: How do you think I feel? I'm the one who has to live with my brain every day. Maybe instead of judging me you should send me some cookies forthwith.

I do intend to write more later today but I have to go work off all the Hershey kisses I ate last night while watching "Resue Me" on dvd. Great Show, by the way, it's a real show, unlike "Nip/Tuck" which, while I love it more than ash-blonds highlights, is like eating a bucket of frosting. "Rescue Me" is more like a plate of baby-back ribs. Hey, there's an idea...What tv shows are what foods? I'll have to think about that. Oh, and when I told Mike I was on my way to the gym to work off the aforementioned kisses, and subsequently pondered if I suffered from a condition known as exercise bulimia in which people who pig-out then feel the need to work it off the next morning, Mike looked at me and asked, "Doesn't everybody?" I think he has a point. Hey, this whole paragraph is full of food references. Interesting. (you: not really...)

I'll leave you with this for now, since we're talking about Christmas songs: Dean Martin's version of "Baby It's Cold Outside" is my favorite. More than anyone else who's recorded it, He completely nails the vibe of "yer not goin' anywhere, I'ma gettin' ready to bang you six ways from Sunday."

Seacrest out...

December 31 '05

So Happy New's Year's Eve, everyone...hmmm...how to spend the last few hours of 2005...I think I'll read that crazy girl's blog! If that's what you were improbably thinking, then welcome. Chances are the only thing you're reading right now are the instructions on the bottle of margarita mix you overpaid for, but who am I to judge? I'm half in the bag myself.

For your reading enjoyment, the following screeds listing the "Top Ten Movies of 2005" come to you courtesy frequent contributer Billy, and Andy, who's a newbie, but that's only because he works all the time at a real job in corporate America. Which would explian his bitterness when a movie fails to entertain him, and why he hates most of the movies on his top ten list....when you have precious little free time and you have to pay a sitter and fork over ten million dollars for a ticket, well...is it any wonder the box office is down? Anyway, don't yell at me, I didn't write these.

Andy's is first, enjoy:

My List:

10. Lord of War. I saw it at least. "I sell guns and stuff. My life is really shitty and stuff. But now I'm rich. Oh, wait, I was faking being rich to get into Heidi Klum's panties. What a shock, it worked. Did I mention that I'm a Russian? I don't have an accent or anything, you know, born and raised in NY and all. Ok, now I really AM rich. And Heidi Klum is my wife. And she hates me. Or I hate her... or I hate myself... I don't know. Oh, I forgot, my brother used to be my partner, but I had to fire him and work alone, because he has a conscious, and a raging drug problem. So, I've gone straight, cause my bitch wife is a nag. But I miss the... uh... I miss... anyway, Idi Ameen (who gives a shit how you spell it!) shows up at my house, and wants me to sell him some guns, so I guess I'll go to bumfuck Africa and close one last big deal, cause it's what I do, and I'm bored. But how could I absolutely GUARANTEE that this will end badly... I know, I'll get my drug addled, bleeding heart brother to come with me! That's brilliant!! Because when he watches a woman and her 4 year old son get macheted to death, he won't do anything to screw up my deal. After all, I need someone with me that I can trust, as I explained. Even though I've become a millionaire working alone. And by the way, it's all Bush's fault. The end."

9. Derailed. "Rachel Green goes bad". But you don't get to actually see her do anything naughty. Oh no. That wouldn't do. Wouldn't you much rather watch a no-name actor who gurgled man gravy to get this part pretend he speaks French, and that he's nice when he's really not? And his partner, who we're all very excited because we just signed a mister Biz Marqee to play the role, and he's fabulous -- OH BAYBEE YOU... YOU GOT WHAT I NEE-EED... AND YOU SAY HE'S JUST A FRIEND... but I digress. But anyway, all good film makers like myself know that a shot of Jennifer's calf in a black stocking, and a naughty look in her eye is sooo much sexier than those god awful sex scenes most of Hollywood churns out. But we will show a close up of Frenchy's grand finale face as he rapes her, and announces that it's for the 4th time, because that's important to the story. And then later, just when the audience is certain there has to be one more surprise twist, everyone will die. Fade to black." This movie sucked, and all who made it can eat my Hitchcock.

8-3. So many movies that I could have seen instead of the previously mentioned.

2. Wedding Crashers and 40 yr. old virgin come to mind. Aristocrats doesn't. I don't care how many critics goo over it, I'm sick of cartoon movies. And why can't Disney at least come up with something new? Or Toy Story 3, I'd see that. I wouldn't like it, but I'd see it. Try as I might, I cannot get excited about Harry Potter. I saw the first 2, and they were flat out Fs. And if you're thinking that maybe fantasy just isn't my genre, then how in God's name did you get on my email list??? Extreme close-ups of hideously ugly pubescent brits mugging for camera so shamelessly, you could practically here Chris Columbus telling them "listen you punks, I made MaCaully Culkin a star, and I'll do it for you to... now smile, dammit!!" How did anyone over the age of 8 enjoy that? But, I'm told, Columbus is gone, Harry is much darker, now and those kids are growing up, they can act now." No they can't, f-- off. And I actually liked the books.

2. King Kong. Ok, the preview for King Kong. It was better than F-railed.

1. Walk the Line. Loooooved it. "Hey, how you doin'? Me? What do I do? I have a little hole in the wall shop. Put in a mike, and some tape machines. I charge dip-shit teenagers $4 a pop to record birthday greetings for their mom on a record album. Last week, Elvis Presley, and 2 days later Johnny Cash walked in off the street and asked for my help. How's your life going?"

Billy's:

10. A History of Violence-- I HATE all David Cronenberg movies, but I liked this. Maybe I was in a wierd mood. Maria Bello noticed how soggy her butt was in The Cooler and did something about it. Kudos to her.

9. Good Night and Good Luck-- I think I liked In Good Company better, but that came out in January, which is just no-man's land for list makers. People smoked and hated the man for worshipping advertising dollars over journalistic integrity. And plus you couldn't be married. And plus it was in black and white and stuff, so it had to be a top 10 movie. And Edward R. Murrow was important and steely and professional and he smoked. And McCarthey was a loon and he didn't smoke. So then they all smoked again and the important newsy guy was all: "Good Night and Good Luck" to America. So they all said goodnight back to their tv's and then they smoked.

8. Capote-- Prequal to A History of Violence. Back story to Viggo's character-- his dad kills a family in Kansas. Short, gay, eccentric writer harrumphs into to town and takes over everything. Then goes back to NYC and gets drunk with his bar buddies and tells funny stories about the weirdos out in the rest of the country.

6. Crash-- Haggis' brave take on race relations in LA. Cop is a racist blowhard with a heart underneath the macho veneer. White lady hates everyone, but really only hates herself. Don Cheadle has sex with a white lady and saves a bunch of people in a third world country by hiding them in his hotel. Everyone has racial prejudice in LA except Sean Penn. Haggis wants you to know that it's all just skin, man... we're all just human beings and some of us get into car crashes.

5. King Kong-- An orgy for the eyes. Wow. If I was 14 this would have been my favorite movie ever. It reminded me of Crash, except it wasn't set in LA.

4. Walk The Line-- Just think how good this would have been if he had ever sung a good song.

3. 40 Year Old Virgin-- An all-timer. Enough with Catherine Keener already. She's ugly.

2. Cinderalla Man-- Waaaaaaay better than Cinderella Woman that won best picture last year. And better than Cinderella too. And Snow White.

1. Wedding Crashers-- Up there with the best of all-time. I saw it three times, so Woody can have one of mine. It takes at least three viewings to realize exactly how funny this is. You keep seeing stuff. When Owen Wilson is in his bummer stage, he crashes a wedding by himself and takes a table cloth and rips it out from under all the table settings... everything goes flying... the people at the table all look at him like he's a loon and he smiles and just says, "you get it?"

worst of the year: You and Me and Everyone We Know--- it's make some top 10 lists... oh-ma-gah... soooo bad you all have to rent it... I'm pasting a line from IMDB on here from the movie... by the way, the line is from a 4 year old boy to a 30 year old woman who sets up an on-line date with him after reading this:

"You poop into my butt hole and I poop into your butt hole... back and forth... forever."

And the movie is worse than it sounds.

December 27 '05

Merry Belated Christmas...

Our house looks like Whooville, which is just as it should be, right? On the table next to me right now is an electronic Barbie phone that won't stop bleeping, even after we took the batteries out. I think I'm gonna have to take it out to the woodshed and put it down.

"Mama, mama!! Waddja do with my phone, mama!!"

"I'm sorry, Moll, Ol' Phone had the Beebity-bops and there's no recoverin' from that...she had 36 good hours, darlin', try and remember her as she was..."

"No! NOOOOOOOOO!! Mommy how could you.........."

Of course this would be completely in keeping with my character in Molly's eyes, she now has tangible proof that her suspicions about me are correct: Christmas morning, after all the gifts were opened, Finbar remarked, "Hey, everyone got something from Santa but mom!" and Molly took my face in her hands and chirped happily, "That's because you're naughty, Mommy! You're mean every day!"

Jes' doin' m'job, kid.

There has to be a way to get this phone to be quiet and still keep it in one piece.

Lessee...Meggie sang in the Christmas Eve mass choir, that was nice.

Had the usual suspects for dinner, played some Trivial Pursuit, grampa won in a landslide, everyone was in bed by eleven and slept 'til 8:30. Excellent. Went to Mike's brothers house at 1:30 for a buffet lunch and someone suggested a round of charades. Ah, what innocent family fun, sounds delightful, right?

I got "Ooops, I Did it Again."

Sigh...I tried to break it down and just go word-by-word, right? But after several failed attempts to connect a dip-laden cracker with my gullet, ('ooops', get it? ) I gave up and went into a filthy strip-tease pantomime complete with pigtails in my hair.

Nothing. Not so much as a guess, just a room full of faces registering disbelief with not-so-subtle undertones of disgust/pity. Even after the timer ran out and I was free to explain that I was trying to act like Britney Spears, I was doing it because the role demanded it and not because I just felt like wrecking the party by dancing around like a three dollar whore, all I got was a skeptical "Huh." from somewhere in the back of room.

You know, when we were little, Billy, Andy, Muzz and I used to play this game called "Christmas Humiliation" where one at a time, we would don headphones and sing along at top volume with a song only we could hear, while the rest of the group pointed and laughed and marvelled at the awfulness of each other's voices. Good times...and I guess I have my ill-conceived charades debacle to thank for taking me back into a fond childhood memory.

Hit grammas at about 6:30 where we all managed to cram more food into our achin' bellies. Played some new pop culture trivia game and GRAMPA DIDN'T WIN!! HA! He may know about the Magna Carta and Eisenhower and stuff but I know about Christina Aguilera...Oh wait, grampa wasn't playing....and I didn't win anyway. Bleh.

But it was great, it's always great fun and I hope you all had a wonderful day as well. That phone is still beeping, but quieter.

Took the kids to see Narnia last night. They loved it. Me, not so much. I actually thought it blew. Hard. Chronicles of Effnia. Hey, kids! Let's take the greatest Story Ever Told and make it duller than dirt! To be fair, I never read the book so I have no clue how faithful the movie was to it or whether CS meant to be so club-handed with the whole "Get it? It's Jesus!! Do you get it? Do you now? Huh? Do ya? I SAID DO YOU GET IT!?"

And I read something that said JRR Tolkein and CS were pals. Can you imagine?

CS: "Hey I wrote this story, it's an allegory about Christianity and it's full of magical creatures and a super big villain!"

JRR: "Yeah, me too. Can I read yours?"

CS: "Sure!"

(They exchange manuscripts and start reading. Cut to two day later, each hands the other's story back)

JRR: "Wow....um, yeah, I mean who doesn't think Polar Bears are scary..."

CS: "Shutup I hate you."

I also read that Peter jackson and whoever directed Effnia are friends.

PJ: "Way to try and make that head Minataur look like Viggo." Whatever his name is: "Shutup I hate you."

The Barbie phone has gone dead. Long live Aslan.