Where have I been the last couple of weeks?!? What if Google Maps was smart enough to find people…
Thanksgiving: The GoogleCam in the sky swooshes down to my street, materializing into the GoogleLegoManCam and pops its Lego head into our steamy front window, to see me at the stove surrounded by bubbling pots, pies cooling on the kitchen island. Nathan stokes the fire, Joe helps me chop, and I dubiously baste the turkey breast that turns out to look like the screaming death-head of a goat, but I’ve propped it up with stuffing and as it browns with the help of the suntan oil of cooked fowl, butter, it looks more like the entirely harmless, limbless bird it is. With Thanksgiving I try to keep the menu traditional, but with a couple experimental variations. This year it was with the pumpkin pie. I found a fabulous recipe on Martha Stewart’s site on a whim (and I say this shamelessly, because the woman and her staff know their sh…tuff), for chocolate pumpkin tart. I don’t have the generic “pumpkin pie spice” her recipe calls for, so used cinnamon, cloves, fresh ground nutmeg and a pinch of fresh ground cardamom that gave it a slightly exotic aftertaste. yummmm!
Teatro Zinzanni: GoogleCam finds me at Joe’s company holiday party –my first time meeting Joe’s co-workers/employer and I’m in a velvet, feathered cocktail hat of my own creation, a little black dress so tight I worry about zipper integrity with every deep breath and smile, shoulder-length black gloves and my white glow fur. I’m sure I’ll seem positively frumpy next time they see me after this over-the-top first impression! The ever-roaming cast members of the show sought me out to pet me (I obligingly purred and glowed), no doubt sensing one of their kind.
I was so taken by the boutique they have in the lobby (“I want my bedroom to look like this!”) that Joe and I came back the next week to purchase a stunning long velvet, beaded and fringed evening jacket that looks like it came out of some Thirties movie star’s closet. (Early Christmas gift—I love my man!) The show, the food, the talent and costumes were equally stunning, and I highly recommend it as a special treat; smiles guaranteed. The contortionist with the hula hoops was mind-blowing!
The Bat Phone and Lady Gaga: In the old days at work we had to have a phone hooked up to our fax machine, but when we updated it wasn’t necessary so I adopted it into the House of Funk. We always called it the Bat Phone because it’s an old classic rotary Lucite block phone in bright red, like the direct line to the President or, well, Bat Man….Anyway, last week Big Brother Google caught us at home talking on this phone and the cordless to an old friend on the East Coast who told us that basically, last year his wife found another guy (who lays tile. It was the only real description he was given, and I don’t know why this struck me as funny, but it did), they’ve divorced, she married Tile Guy, and he’s gone back to guys as well. They all live in a gated golf course community, and the two kids ride back and forth between the two homes in golf carts, and are just one big extended happy family. Joe and I were facing each other during this conversation, and after about 20 seconds of eyebrow-raising, eye-popping, mouth-dropping, guilty yet delighted at what must be the best friend-gossip of the year, we realized none of it was that surprising at all, and it was all good. He could have told us he decided he was meant to be a priest, and we wouldn’t have been shocked in the least. He’d be a really hip priest, actually, if a bit cynical… Best of all, our friend turned us on to Lady Gaga, whom he said was the new Cher. We watched one of her videos on You Tube and Joe’s first reaction was “Let’s watch another one!” while I was left wondering if a tin can bra would hurt.
John Irving: That stalker GoogleLegoManCam is back on my street looking in at me in the Cozy Chair nose deep in John Irving’s latest Last Night at Twisted River. Hannah told me the reviews weren’t all that great, so I purposely didn’t seek them out. We went to a reading of his last month,
to hear him speak and bask in his sexy handsome author aura, (at least this time I didn’t try to fix Joe’s hair to look like my last sexy handsome author viewing, Garth Stein) and I’m sure he saw me and made eye contact when he turned to see who was laughing so loud: Hannah, next to me.
It wasn’t until I was reading the book that I saw just how semi-autobiographical it really is. I’d be reading about one of the main characters, a writer, and turn to Joe and say “Hey, this guy writes about the things he fears the most, too, just like John Irving said he does!” or “Hey, people criticize the writer for over-punctuation – too many semicolons and such – and he blames it on the classics he revered as a young reader; just like John Irving said people say about his writing!” And so on. I liked the book, but you know, I was sitting there with 40 pounds of John Irving’s books for the not-to-occur signing, so I might be a bit biased. Big fan, big fan.
GoogleShots: Snuggled on the love seat with Joe, staring for a solid hour at the lava lamp we got for the Seventies Halloween party, rattling off the different formations the lava takes – ship’s figurehead, Michelangelo’s David, creepy big-headed gnome, radioactive hum bow – wondering why we’ve never had one until now.
Me, feeling excessively tired from a long-lasting cold, not wanting to get out of bed, I want the sleep to linger on me to comfort me throughout the day, so I don’t take a shower, and only do a cursory cleanup, wear something cozy that will wrap its arms around and cuddle me, which seems to be working until I realize I’m just a big grumpy ball of static.
Back to Joe and I staring at the disco ball ornament that’s hanging from the top/bottom of the upside-down Christmas tree we have suspended from the ceiling that has a deal you hook into where one of the lights is and it spins the ball with three little spot lights on it, causing little white spots to swirl around the living room like snow when you’re driving and it just keeps coming at your windshield, mesmerizing, mesmerizing, mesmerizing.
One last shot of us on a blissfully sunny day raking the blanket of willow leaves covering the yard, and I dig up a few surprise fingerling potatoes I planted in the spring. It’s going to be hard to eat this one…