Le Monde de Fromage de Kate

Some may be wondering how I came to be “Kate the Safety Dog.” Let me tell you: IT DOESN’T MATTER. However you are bestowed with such an honoured title – who CARES whether you are qualified, deserving or worthy of such a designation – hang on to it for DEAR LIFE. That is why I am also “Queen of the Genetic Universe.” FOREVER.

Back to my civic contribution.

Lady and Germs, it’s time. It’s time for you FLU SHOT!!!* “Hurrah and Hip Hooray,” all dependable and trustworthy citizens rejoin. “We shall schedule that minuscule amount of time required to have the injection forthwith! Huzzah!”

Okay, YES, it is your choice; it’s YOUR body and YOUR choice. But consider this: If you do not receive a flu vaccination, you not only put yourself at risk, but OTHERS, too. You will be a carrier and a danger to all those who are immunocomprimized or at higher risk from influenza complications. But it IS your decision. The fact that I shall henceforth shout “VECTOR! RUN AWAY – RUN AWAY FROM THE DISEAS-ED VECTOR!!!” (I should specify that I mean PATHOLOGICAL Vector, not mathematical or genetic…) whenever you are about is of no consequence. “Sticks and stones,” right? That should CERTAINLY be the case for those VECTORS with such little consideration for the health and well-being of their fellow citizens (like wee little BABIES younger than six months who cannot be vaccinated – I hear them weeping now – too bad your VECTOR ears are too plugged with contagion to hear their plaintive cries). But don’t sweat it, VECTOR (unless, of course, you contract influenza, in which case you’ll sweat profusely and I certainly can’t do a damn thing about it).

Oh – and you injection-phobic VECTORS (I cannot really mock the phobia part, considering the reaction I have to hideous, filthy spiders), there is the nasal spray flu vaccine (or “LAIV”) which is approved for all healthy individuals ages five to forty-nine who are not pregnant.
Thus hath Kate the Safety Dog spoken!!!

*If you already have RECEIVED your flu shot, all lauds and honours to you for your timely and conscientious attention to your own health and the health of others. I hereby bestow upon you one gold “cyber” star to be applied in pride and dignity to your forehead region.

Yes, I’ve been horrifically remiss. I’ve been shamefully negligent. I’ve been thoughtless and SLIPSHOD. “About WHAT?” one may ask. “Posting new and exciting material on my blog,” I reply. One responds, “I wouldn’t say you post ‘exciting’ material EVER.”

Please forgive the brief pause during which I kicked one’s ASS.

I must apologize to all those faithful readers (all two – THREE?? – they say optimism, even when misplaced, is worth trying) who have waited with bated breath for my next entry. Unfortunately, if they paused with TRULY bated breath, they are now dead from hypoxia. Wow. I suppose that means I’m writing for NO ONE. Then again, there are those who may argue that doesn’t change a thing.

Whatever the case, for you gratification (or my own) I will now supply images of three – I repeat – THREE most gorgeous babies.

I think should start with the most “overdue” announcement:
Lily Grace M.

Born August 25, 2006

In this photograph (taken September 23, 2006), she is pictured with her lovely mother, Rachel (who is the roommate from this entry) and her father, Joel (it isn’t that he’s NOT lovely, but I’m not sure how he’d feel about that descriptor).

And then:
Harper Elyse W.

Born September 26, 2006

I believe this is the second or third photograph EVER taken of her. Harper is my first cousin once removed (thank you, Aunt Mary Ellen, for FINALLY explaining that in a comprehensible way to me, as the concept of having relatives “removed” has always baffled me – I still need to make a chart of this information). That means that her beauteous mother, Jennette (in the picture, obviously), is my first cousin. And she liked to run around naked in our backyard when she was little. That’s how she sunburned her wee bottom. Sorry, Jennette, some things you just never live down.

And last, but certainly NOT least, I failed to report the following rite of passage in a timely fashion:
Paisley’s First Birthday

October 1, 2006

Yes, my youngest little niece is now ONE. And my PARENTS went to Kansas WITHOUT ME and didn’t even bring me a T-shirt. MEAN!

With the “Time Flies” concept and whatnot, I will blink and Paisley will be a nuclear physicist or an exotic dancer or something (just KIDDING, Ashley and Charles: I don’t think she shows an early aptitude for physics).

While we were not paying attention, they added from one to nine percent spandex, Lycra or Lycra/spandex to almost all of our purportedly “natural” fibers.

Why do the workings – the very mechanism – of my brain STILL baffle me?

Just the other day, my Mother was telling me about Oprah and something very nice she’d done using “whatever the currency is in South Africa.”

“Rand,” I immediately said.

We both had a “what the…???” response to that one (especially because I was correct). Only a day before I’d had to ask her what a “cooked” cheese sandwich was called. I honestly couldn’t remember.

I’ll record THAT phrase here (well – it’s also in the comment I was writing at the time, but – CHEESE – Grommit!) for all posterity, as it is my duty as a noted Turophile:
GRILLED Cheese Sandwich

*NOT

P.S. First, I must get this out of the way, though it really should be LAST: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH! Even though my “punny” nature INISTS that I use it for this title, being called “Kathy” just makes me cringe. My apologies to each Kathy all over the World. It’s nothing personal, it’s just not “ME.” And only Norman D. (with whom I’ve completely lost touch but I’m sure will somehow – Karma(?) – sonic psychic magic (????) – be touched by my mention of him), is the ONLY one in the WORLD who can call me “Katie.” I have no explanation for this.

And now, for your reading plaisir, my ACTUAL blog entry:

How do you become a FOREIGN GUEST BLOG AUTHOR? Indeed, a question that we’re ALL plagued with each and every day. Well, today is everyone’s lucky day, because I HAVE THE ANSWER: If you are really obnoxious and long-winded (understatement, I know) when you “comment” on other people’s blogs (and your own, for that matter), EVENTUALLY you will say something amusing enough that they will write you and say this:

Kate, that’s not a comment, that’s a post. A blog entry. Guest blog!!

With your permission, I will post it tomorrow, with due accreditation. [etc.]

You wanna?

And, conveniently, I said, “I wanna,” because I already had a quid pro quo entry in mind. It’s this one, by the way, sans all the stuff about “How do you become a FOREIGN GUEST BLOG AUTHOR?”

It’s all Terry’s fault, if we must blame somebody. She asked first. Hah – but I’m POSTING first.

Who is Terry you ask? Nothing less than the CO-FOUNDER (with ME) of the latest “Mutual admiration society” sweeping the World (she came up with the title, I concurred). She’s lives in a small Canadian town, is a brilliant writer, is at LEAST bilingual, and – I this is absolute fact I tell you – SHE ACTUALLY SHOPS IN HEELS. That’s very Jodi (except put “New York City” in place of “small Canadian town” and I can’t vouch for keeping the “bilingual” part in her case), really.

Coincidentally, it’s through Jodi that we “met.” I was visiting Jodi’s blog, and I left an rather long comment (yes, NOVELLA, but she ASKED for comments, so I won’t be too hard on myself for that one) about my life-altering and substantial ABHORRENCE of the Charmin® Tissue advertising bears (and that DUCK). I am nauseated at this very moment, because I feel obligated to put a link with commercial products, and, DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YOU, if you open that page you will be affronted by myriad images of those ursine atrocities. My great concern for Safety (as Kate the Safety Dog) necessitates my saying again, THOSE BEARS ARE ALL OVER THE FREAKIN’ PAGE.

Terry, a sophisticated and astute woman, was somewhat impressed with my great concern for the very critical and earth-shattering key issues in the World today (which I display by bitching about those DAMN BEARS). So she visited my site, upon which she was nice enough to comment and explain from whence she came (with wit and brevity – which impresses ME – that’s not to say I don’t want anyone saying as much as they want on my blog, I’m just impressed by people who actually EMPLOY the “brevity is the soul of wit” adage successfully. EVER). We have since exchanged emails, and I’ve hit her with a whole SLEW of comments on her blog.

As “slew” might be an understatement (SHORT statements I cannot do, UNDERSTATEMENTS are a different matter entirely), I had apologized in an email about my comment deluge. This was her reply:

The management is pleased to report that all comments written by Kate [HAH – I only publish OTHER people’s last names in obvious places] were successfully posted to Inner Dialogues. The management can also safely state that the comments caused general hilarity and no small astonishment at the sheer volume and quality of content therein. Please note that as far as we know, there is no length restriction on comments at Inner Dialogues. That restriction might, however, be a policy of blogspot, which we use as our communication tool of choice because it is free.

Commenters are free to ramble, spew, blurt, expound, elucidate, punditize, speechify and make fun of the Canadian dollar whenever and wherever possible. The staff at Inner Dialogues would like to warn you that excessive laughter might result in coffee spray on sensitive computer equipment, in which case commenters are liable to penalties that could include, but are not limited to, Lysol wipes.

Yes, I expurgated my last name and added the Lysol® URL. As for the omission of the registered trademark symbol, that’s HER faux pas (had to get her somewhere). Seriously (?), I thought that was so funny that if Canada Post was trustworthy, I’d send her a case of Lysol® wipes.

Thus, coming soon to Inner Dialogues, CRAZY KATE, the FOREIGN GUEST BLOG AUTHOR. Now – if Terry, being quite clever, as I’ve said, just told me that I was a guest blog author as the nicest way I’ve ever heard to tell someone that their comment is ridiculously lengthy and will NOT appear as a comment on their blogs, the joke is on HER. How, you ask?

Okay, I don’t know.

Wait! Here it is: If she DOESN’T publish my “post” and I just wrote five gazillion words about how I was going to be a FOREIGN GUEST BLOG AUTHOR (sorry, that must be SHOUTED and capitalized like the word “QUARANTINE“), I will look like an ASS, and that’s funny. Jokes are, by definition, funny, therefore if I make an ass of myself and cause humor that’s a joke and I say (as the ass) it’s on HER.

Oh – no one tell Terry the story about how I was IN Canada at a party, and, trying to think of the word “Canuk,” I called everyone “Snookums” (pronounced in a quasi-Yiddish way, of course). That’s embarrassing.

And NO ONE tell her how bad my French really is*, because I want to write an entry about my favourite Babelfish game and how it’s awkward it is when you understand enough to get the flow of a conversation (especially when it contains cognates – such as whatever the French is for “menopause” – I’m not kidding) when you are at a dinner were most of the people are ACTUAL Québécois and you somehow have let on that you understood, because they will ask you (in French, if I remember it correctly) to choose the WINE and try to INCLUDE you. It’s difficult to hold up your end of a conversation in another language when all you RELIABLY tend to be able to SAY are some of the days of the week, some months of the year, 90% of the La Marseillaise (which I’m guessing is NOT the hottest song in Quebec), snatches of some Debussy and Poul
enc and other French song lyrics, and, last, but certainly NOT least, “Je ne suis pas un ananas”. Everyone who isn’t Pam and everyone who doesn’t speak French can look that up themselves.

However, you may tell her the story about how you worked for six months or so Kelly Temp for A BIG FAT GLOBAL COMPANY WHOSE URL – NO – NOT EVEN THEIR NAME – WILL EVER BE PUBLISHED ON THIS SITE BECAUSE THEY SUCK. At this job I called all over the Country (and sometimes out). I kept track of some funny names I came across (“Lucky Rainbows” – LEGAL), etc., to pass the BORING time. One day, I got to call MONTREAL. Naturally, they answered the phone in French. I said, IN FRENCH, Je ne parle pas Français (I don’t speak French, essentially); I was SO pleased with myself.

A little bit later I made a batch of calls to California. Still feeling smug, evidently, I inquired after “Jorge” in the most exaggerated French-ish way possible (as it is, I’m guessing all y’all don’t know IPA, so I’ll improvise the pronunciation guide – AND I CANNOT THINK OF A SMUSHY ENOUGH WAY TO DEPICT MY PRONUNCIATION). “You mean Jorge [hor-hay]?” And, as if one humiliation calling a largely Hispanic region wasn’t enough, I proceeded to make another call and ask for “Jaime” as “Gem” (only as French-ish as you can make it). Jaime [hi-may] very politely corrected me.

You can tell Terry that one. It’s been a really long time and the mortifying sting has worn off.

*Kate, since that’s the case, why do you écrivez so often with phrases au Français thrown in willy-nilly? Well, Kate, that’s an excellent question. Thanks, Kate, I try! Your welcome, Kate, I try, too. Try, try, TRY! Will you please get back to the subject at hand? Oh – I’m sorry, Kate. It’s okay, but you know that you’re ALWAYS doing that. Doing what? Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Kate; you’re ALWAYS going off on tangents. You do, too, Kate. I know that, Kate, but I asked YOU a question! Sorry – you did, and I’ll do my best to answer it, Kate. Thanks, Kate, I didn’t mean to be snippy, but sometimes you do go on and ON. Okay – you’re being really hypocritical, Kate. I’m not trying to be a hypocrite, I’m trying to be constructive. Really, Kate? Then you could use a big fat dose of your own medicine. DON’T YOU LECTURE TO ME ABOUT DRUGS! Wait – now YOU’RE changing the subject, Kate! No, Kate, I’m addressing your INSULT. No, Kate, I was addressing YOURS. You are an ass. What about your big ass? You watch it, KATE, I’m trying to keep a PG-13 rating here! For the two people who read your blog, Kate – NOT INCLUDING YOU? BITE M….[cuts her off] HYPOCRITE! I can’t BELIEVE you! No, KATE, you are incroyable! WOOOOOOAAAAAH, Kate! DON’T YOU TELL ME TO STOP IT! But that was my question! WHAT QUESTON? STOP YELLING!!!! YOU DID IT FIRST!!!! Well YOU ARE ALWAYS DOING IT!!! There you go AGAIN, BIG FAT HYPOCRITE!!!! WHY ALWAYS THE LITTLE JABS ABOUT MY BUTT!!!! JABBING YOUR BUTT, HA HA HA!! THAT’S NOT FUNNY!!!! BUT IT IS, KATE. YEAH – LIKE YOUR FRENCH, KATE!!!!! OOOOOhhhhhhhhhhh – Kate -stop -stop! YOU’RE TELLING ME TO STOP, BITCH!!! Fine, ruin your OWN blog, KATE. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!! You warn ME about language, and all I’M trying to do is answer YOUR question. WHAT QUESTION????? That’s IT; I’m LEAVING. No, I’M LEAVING. But it’s YOUR BLOG, FAT ASS!!! That’s RIGHT, so GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE. FINE – ASK ME A QUESTION AND THEN TELL ME TO LEAVE. That’s RIGHT – YOU NEVER ANWERED MY QUESTION, FRENCHY MACFRENCH EXTRA-STUPIDE!!!! YOU ARE SUCH A HYPOCRITE!!!!!!! STOP SAYING THAT!!!!! NO!!!!!!! I’LL MAKE YOU, SO HELP ME, I WILL!!!!!!!! YOU AND WHAT ARMY?????????? I’LL SIT ON YOU!!! SO YOU CAN MAKE FUN OF YOUR OWN ASS, BUT I CAN’T????????????????????? DAMN STRAIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![Loud crash, high-pitched screaming, a big band (but not THE Big Bang), more screeching, moaning, moaning, silence. Thank God. Oh – I shouldn’t personalize the stage directions. OH YEAH? WELL YOU SHOULDN’T EITHER….]

The Management would like to apologize for any offense caused by Kate losing her temper, as well as Kate. When they were both sent home from the Hospital they explained that their whole fight it really much funnier if you read every other line in a very funny voice. And if that makes you feel like an ass, remember, Kate (not Kate, Kate) says THAT’S funny, so The Management would like you to laugh quite hysterically one way or the other. It’s a new law. Seriously.

Oh – and Kate finally admitted that she peppers her prose (say that ten times fast) with French because it feels… “French.” The Management did not ask her to explain, and neither did Kate. She just rolled her eyes.

Oh. Kate AND Kate have reminded The Management that EVERYONE should shut up before the whole LATE airing of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart will be over. NEITHER of them ever SHUT UP so you’d best just stop reading. Coincidentally, that’s why they talk to THEMSELVES. Everyone else is afraid to start, because they might STARVE TO DEATH before Kate is finished. She’s so draining, sometimes I think I should quit. YOU? What about HER?[World comes to a screeching halt, everyone let’s out a simultaneous groan of annoyance, everyone falls off into outer space OR [INSERT YOUR OWN DEUS EX MACHINA HERE]].
fin

You cannot imagine how delighted I was when I read the following on Ashley’s Blog:

P loves cheese. She would eat a whole brick of it if I let her. Instead I cut up one slice at a time, and she has all the pieces stuffed in her mouth in less than 10 seconds. It scares me because I worry she’ll choke, but it makes me laugh as well.

So Paisley is not only brilliant and beautiful, she is discerning, too. A budding turophile before she even turns one! Here she is with “cheese cheeks:”

And she has just learned to sign for “more,” too:

How cute is that? I am so overcome with the cute-iosity that I know I’d find it rather difficult to deny her the whole block of cheese.

Isn’t it stupendous how she’s gaining the personality traits of her VERY Favourite Aunt day by day? She’s smart, discriminating, has crazy hair, and, sometimes, erratic mood changes (e.g. The Cookie Incident).

Here, for instance, she is very, very MAD at her shoes:

A split second later she is DELIGHTED with her shoes:

Never fear, Charles and Ashley, as the comparisons, no doubt, end there. But I’m still nigh unto blissful about the CHEESE.

Almost from the beginning, I have regaled reader(s) with stories of my various falls, mishaps and the resultant bruises. But, since I ALWAYS have bruises (more than a dozen at the moment – just on my legs), I suppose it would be rather boring to mention them at all.

HOWEVER, I got a really striking (no pun intended) contusion last week. I barked my shin on something and thought, “That’s going to leave a mark.” This is, I suppose, a very common reflection of mine. But when I saw the resulting bruise, I have to admit that even I was impressed. It wasn’t so much the size (at it’s largest points, 4 1/2 inches wide and 2 5/8 inches long), but its remarkable likeness of something… I mused a while and then it struck me: I had South America on my leg. I’ve said before that my bruises resembled land masses, but never, so accurately and vividly, such a big ol’ continent.

It inspired me, in fact, to memorialize this injury, for all posterity, in an artistic fashion. In order to fit it on the page (and to precisely show the startling resemblance to South America), I had to flip the outline from horizontal to vertical (90° counter-clockwise, to be exact). And here it is:

SOUTH AMERICAN CONTUSION, 2006

Silver Sharpie® on 20 lb. All-Purpose Paper

I stuck to the outline, as I didn’t think I could capture the subtleties of the ever-changing hues and textures. Now, if you have a good memory, you may wonder why I would choose to render this important objet d’art with a Sharpie®, considering a particular incident in my past. Well, it was time to “get back on the horse,” so to speak. Besides, it’s PERMANENT marker (so I can preserve my contusion for time immemorial) and I used it on PLAIN PAPER.

Oh – by the way, I, Queen of Bruising OF THE WORLD, have found a great substance that actually helps bruises fade more quickly. It’s also supposed to help with pain, but I can’t really comment objectively on that, as I find that bruises mostly hurt when you poke them, and I haven’t done the necessary scientific pre- and post-medicinal poking of my bruises to give my opinion.

It’s Arnica (Arnica montana), also known as leopard’s bane. My favorite brand is Boiron Arnica Gel. It’s light and non-greasy (like it advertises – imagine that), and it doesn’t have a lot of extraneous junk in it.:

Arnica gel is also supposed to help with general bodily aches and stiffness. I haven’t tried it in this capacity. For muscle ache and such I like Tiger Balm:

It’s titillating yet soothing. And – BOY – nothing will keep people at least ten feet away from you like the mighty “tang” (or “stench” – a matter of opinion) of Ultra-Strength Tiger Balm.

The other day I was perusing the Country Curtains catalog, which has “fresh window fashion for every style of home.” I’m not overly fond of “fresh window fashion,” but BeBe ate the temporary paper blind in my bedroom, and when they take the vines away to replace the window (I’m already making this a long story, but I’m attempting to cut it SOMEWHAT short) I won’t have any privacy. Granted, it’s the neighbor kids (who love to doorbell ditch, leave tricycles in the driveways and put themselves in varying degrees of danger by playing in or near the street) who would see me starkers, but I figure they have enough trauma in their lives.

ANYHOO, I was flipping through the catalog (because, as I’ve mentioned, my Mother receives ALMOST EVERY CATALOG IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD), mostly skipping through pages saying, “TOO frufru,” or “TOO Baroque,” or “TOO DAMN CUTSEY!!!”

To be fair, the same people have run this company for fifty years. And here they are:

I guess they have been involved in this endeavor long enough to take perfectly lovely pictures of windows and curtains. The things OUTSIDE the windows are another issue. The background scenes are very poorly photo-shopped in, and while most of the settings attempt to be lovely and pastoral, a few of them give the impression that a big ol’ tornado and the Wicked Witch of the West plunked the house right down in desert wasteland. And I swear one view is practically swallowed up by a field of poppies (POPPIES WILL PUT YOU TO SLEEP….).

I had pretty much given up on the Country Curtains catalog; I’m looking for a simple roman shade in a very neutral colour, not “Crinkle Voile,” “Anniversary Fringe,” or “Barrington: A Decorator’s Dream.”

Unexpectedly, something caught my eye. It had been on the “Cabin Check” page, so I’d turned past it rather quickly and was on the “Point d’Esprit” page, but I had to turn back because I realized that something VERY STRANGE was lurking outside the window festooned with “Cranberry tailored curtains on alabaster crane rods.”

No, your eyes do not deceive you, there is a FREAKIN’ BEAR outside the window! A LARGE, DANGEROUS URSINE CREATURE!!! It does seem to be sauntering away the window – perhaps it realized that the luscious-looking decorative fruits and pastries were made of wood.

Still, you must pardon my asking, what in the hell??? All I can say is that bear best beware (how’s that for alliterative festiveness), for Stephen Colbert (and RHYMING) always has grizzly bears ON NOTICE (and even if it’s not a grizzly bear he considers bears, in general, a menacing danger in our great Country, and he is, after all, “A JOURNALIST WITH GRAVITAS – WITH DIGNITY – WITH BALLS”).

Knowing that Stephen always has bears ON NOTICE, I can safely ponder other matters. Like, for instance, did they NOTICE the bear? There’s not an animal in any other picture (and you can be assured I checked) in the entirety of the publication. And, if they DID notice, did they think it was AMUSING? Or, rather, did they think that the lumbering bear beautifully captured the “Cabin Check” flair? Perhaps this shall just be one of life’s great mysteries.

*I’ll explain this another time. It still won’t make sense.

Okay, I think that sufficient time has passed; I have recovered enough to talk about some of the experiences of what I’ll just call “chock-full Thursday,” August 10, 2006. I’m actually going to start with THE MOST BIZZARE CINEMA EXPERIENCE I HAVE EVER HAD, which took place later in the day, after so MUCH had happened (if you doubt me, let me, in one word, something that it included: DMV).

One background fact (it’s NECESSARY – I promise), when I was in Park City for the SHORT COURSE FROM HELL, I bought a watch (with myriad interchangeable wristbands) at the Fossil store at the Park City Outlet Mall. This was pretty much my only recreation for the week. I haven’t worn a watch for AGES. I haven’t worn one since I lived on what they considered the outskirts of Salt Lake City proper (an excuse to give you crap when you want services like recycling) although it wasn’t as far back as when I lived downtown or in the Avenues. And it was DEFINITELY not as far back as when I shaved my legs.

One more quirky background fact: I am a relatively intelligent woman (at least I used to be – I admit that for a while I’ve felt like my brain cells are melting and mixing in with my ear wax or my mucus – that would explain my surfeit of allergies and/or colds), but I CANNOT wear a watch that just has lines (where the number SHOULD BE) or even Roman numerals. I get confused on the fly. Oh yeah – I’m a GENIUS. So my new watch has numbers.

Back to the story. On Chock-Full Thursday I decided to see a film. I was at the Gateway, so I looked at my watch and decided that I could still catch a late matinee. I looked at the movie times and decided that I’d see Lady in the Water. I was close enough in time, I figured it was probably a pretty inoffensive choice (my expectations were not particularly high). I was running a little late for it, and I HATE missing the beginning a movie, but I was assured by the ticket seller that it had ten minutes of previews. So I thought if I really busted a move I could get my gallon of diet soda, go to the restroom, and make it in time.

Unfortunately, when I walked into the theater, the movie was obviously well underway. There were only two couples there, but they were in rapt attention. I tried VERY, VERY quietly to situate myself with my soda and my frozen Junior® Mints (ask at your local movie theater if they freeze some of their Junior® Mints – it’s a very refreshing treat AND believe it or not, Junior® Mints are “A Low Fat Candy” – like that really matters at the cinema ).

Then the deepest and most profound surreality of the day set it. I had calculated that I could only have BARELY missed the opening credits, but what was happening on the screen was WACKY INTENSE. I really am at a loss to describe it in a different manner. I sat literally with my mouth agape for the next five to ten minutes (it couldn’t have been longer). Then the end credits rolled. I kid you not. I saw the last FIVE MINUTES of an M. Night ShyamalamaDingDong movie.

This means that I caught the “big twist” – though without the set-up I’m at a slight loss to say WHAT IN THE HELL IT ACTUALLY WAS OR WHAT IT MEANT. Paul Giamatti, who I really like, was weeping (you’ve all had time to either see or ignore this movie, so I sincerely doubt I am spoiling anything here – besides, if you’ve SEEN the ENTIRE film, you know oh so much more than I do). M. Night ShyamalamaDingDong was there, and there was something important about the progeny of his sister (?) and then, of course, there was Bryce Dallas Howard, looking vaguely albino and mystical. Oh – and Freddy Rodríguez from Six Feet Under fighting giant, fearsome…armadillos(?) made of foliage.

WHAT IN THE HELL???? This is the only response that came to mind. I walked out of the theater in a daze, went up to the ticket seller and said, “I just saw the last five minutes of Lady in the Water.” I showed them my ticket. He then graciously pointed out that it was an HOUR earlier than I had thought. So much for my watch-reading skills. I had purchased a ticket for a show that hadn’t started yet and wandered in to the END of the previous showing. No one stopped me…

I asked if I could exchange the ticket for something else – I desperately needed to replace the surreality of that experience. Considering that time (the actual time) I opted for a ticket to World Trade Center. Yes, I realize this seems like a very strange choice, but time constraints being what they were and feeling the need to be pulled back into some sort of reality, I opted for Ìber reality.

I sat down in the next theater, still feeling more than a tad disorientated. I was not in a place to truly assess this movie (I still don’t think I should try to critique the film, itself, in any way). I will say this: It it my fortune in life, no matter how empty a theater is, to somehow be seated near by people who will really, truly annoy me to death. If I choose the seat, the people nearby will look innocuous until the previews roll (or worse, they lull me into a sense of false security during the previews and then let it all hang out once the film starts). If I am already seated, even in an EMPTY theater, the very most inconsiderate movie-goers in the wide World will somehow sense and target my over-sensitivity to the sins of movie viewing (chewing REALLY loudly, rattling papers and wrappings incessantly, talking, talking, talking – not a few quiet aside comments – HAVING CONVERSATIONS, taking phone calls, kicking your seat – you name it). I admit it, it would behoove me to tune them out better. But once I notice egregious film-viewing offenses, I have a hard time ignoring them.

Kitty-corner behind me a row (or was it two) were such people. Had I not just “gone through the looking glass,” so to speak, I probably could have been more tolerant. The movie starts, and I hear a noise that, I SWEAR, sound like folks are cracking nut shells with their teeth. Say what you want about this movie (I don’t feel qualified, like I have said, to make an objective assessment of it), I felt that no matter what the film was like, one should maintain a certain reverence for the subject matter. These people were being IRREVERANT. I looked back, convinced that they would have a big sack of Brazil nuts or something (hence the DIN), but it was JUST POPCORN. One woman, in particular, seemed to have a talent at slowly, steadily, eating kernel after kernel and somehow making it sound like she was eating un-popped popcorn. I swear she did this for an hour. I comforted myself with the idea that they’d run out of popcorn eventually. And glory be, they DID. BUT one of the men in the group LEFT WITH THE KEY CHARACTERS TRAPPED, SEVERELY INJURED, UNDER THE RUBBLE OF THE TWIN TOWERS to get a refill of popcorn. Bless his stinky little heart. They also were wrapper rustlers. And periodic talkers. My withering looks didn’t do any good, and I hadn’t the energy for anything else. THEN one of them TOOK A PHONE CALL. She gets the dubious credit for having her phone on vibrate. This, however, did not stop her from a full-on phone conversation (with a vague attempt to have it be a QUIET conversation). I had the impulse to turn around and berate them fierce
ly with a speech – something like, “People ARE DYING, thousands of people REALLY DID DIE, don’t you have a sense of respect and REVERENCE??? If you can’t muster that, don’t you have a sense of being considerate to your fellow movie-goers????”

When I think about this, I suppose that’s backwards. If you don’t have a sense of respect or reverence one of the great tragedies of the Centuries, then your fellow movie-goers are certainly of no concern to you. And yes, I should, myself, had the strength to be “big” enough to just ignore them. If I wanted to berate them about having deference for great calamity and heartbreak, I should have had the self-control to concentrate on what I was deeming worthy of sensitive regard.

One way or the other, I think I deserve a BREAK. I’d inadvertently seen the last five minutes of Lady in the Water and THEN it somehow, in my bewildered state, seemed like a good idea to see World Trade Center. Now that I am NOT as stupefied, flummoxed or befuddled, I would NOT recommend this, under any circumstance, as a cinematic experience that one would desire.

I once had a roommate who requested my help in performing a bleach intervention. This otherwise incredibly elegant, poised woman was incapable of doing the laundry without ruining some dark-coloured item of clothing by splattering chlorine bleach on it. She said, “TAKE THE BLEACH AWAY!” So I did.

I am now wondering for the very first time if there is any connection to this and the fact that one of the VERY few Spanish phrases I know means “non-chlorinated bleach” (blanqueo sin cloro – and evidently I couldn’t even get this one correct – I was double-checking myself and I was adding a couple of festive rhyming syllables – blanqueadoro sin cloro – which, evidently, means “blanqueadoro without chlorine”). Hmmm. Food for thought.

But, SURPISE, that’s not the point. It’s just that I got to thinking that perhaps – just PERHAPS – it was time that I asked for similar assistance. Unfortunately, there is a whole list of items in my life that require intervention. In other words, if you see me with any of these implements, wielding them in a [self-] threatening manner as though I may ACTUALLY USE THEM, please have pity on me and wrest them from my grip (gently – I WILL hurt myself and upon occasion the random unsuspecting bystander). These objects include, but are not limited to:

• The “freeze-away” type of wart remover. Though I have, in the past, successfully used this item “as directed,” I got a little over-zealous recently and made, well, holes in several of my extremities. I suppose they mean it when they warn against “serious burns and permanent scarring.”

• The so-called “foot cutter” or “callous shaver.” I told the story of this particular debacle here. Perhaps I should enlarge the scope of this point and simply include any tool that has a “sharp long lasting blade made in Germany.” I still have this implement – MWAH HA HA HA HA HA (and other maniacal laughter). Don’t make my feet mad. (?)

• Ah, yes, more “personal hygiene” items. If ever people have wondered why I have, for the most part, embraced a very “natural” look, read what I can do with “beautification” devices and wonder no longer. Someone should DEFINITELY take the “eyebrow waxing” stickers away from me. Again, I have successfully utilized them in the past, but get me in a determined mood and I will harm myself. Several months ago an enthusiastic session with these handy little doo-dads left me with two large scabs where my eyelids once were. True, you won’t BURN yourself with wax that’s too hot, but you can LITERALLY rip the skin right off your face. I tell you, I should have left my eyebrows the HELL ALONE. I addressed other eyebrow issues here and here.

• And in case you were wondering, ignorance IS bliss (or at least protection of sorts). There’s yet another cosmetic device that I recently had the misfortune of identifying. No, I had not known what that thing was (therefore had not deigned to injure myself with it), that little thing in the manicure/pedicure kits that looks like a cross between a shrimp de-veiner, a teeny-tiny grapefruit spoon and some sort of zester. Sadly, I came across something that classified it as a “cuticle remover.” My feet would have no doubt shrieked in terror and run away from me (that sounds really odd – I guess I could have USED my feet to run away from the very sharp little thing but my BRAIN didn’t know any better) if only they had wee mouths. Or big ones. (?) With the first toe, I was very impressed at how swiftly it just sliced away the ugly cuticle. Alas, as you can imagine, with anything sharp that incises (and me), bleeding is the end result.

• Okay, SCREW beauty (it’s safer) and lets talk “home improvement.” I should certainly be restricted in my use of the Mr. Clean™ Magic Eraser™ to situations involving soap scum or tire rub. Same ol’ story, really; a little zeal goes a LONG way. Read about my abuse of this truly fine gizmo here and here. Heaven shield us if I ever get my hands on the Mr. Clean™ Magic Eraser™ Extra Power. It’s very tempting…

• And diamond drill bits. Thank goodness I opted for proper safety goggles (GO, Kate the Safety Dog!). As it was, burning red-hot metal shards that fly willy-nilly through the air – still NOT A GOOD THING.

• Here’s one in which I did have the good-willed intervention of co-workers. When I worked in Genetic Research I really liked drinking my coffee out of the Smurf mug. Alas, I must interrupt this program to say to you, as I repeated ad nauseum to many “inquiring minds” at the time, NO, they cannot CLONE YOU or, for that matter, your HORSE, nor can they put the horse’s DNA on a “CARD” and read it in a few seconds – However, if you suffer from a number of ailments which they are, at the moment, studying, a study coordinator, who may or may not be a very poor phlebotomist, can take your blood and ask you lots and lots of endless questions about the disorder. And they might LOOK AT YOUR BONES or have you BREATHE INTO A MACHINE.

  As for the Smurf mug, I don’t know where it came from (we had quite the collection of random, abandoned mugs, BUT YOU WERE NOT TO TOUCH THE FROG MUG BECAUSE IT BELONGED TO MANAGEMENT). I just thought it was festive – you know – I smurfed my coffee every smurfing day with a smurf and a SMURF and, unfortunately, upon many occasions I spilled and/or hurled the smurfing coffee upon myself and/or important study documents. Smurf. I received, as a thoughtful (and protective) gift, a lovely TWIN set of coffee mugs with safety tops from my co-workers. I kept forgetting to bring these containers to my last job. That was BAD. Anyhoo, if you see my drinking a beverage (especially a hot one) out of a vessel that is not hermetically sealed, I (and possibly anyone nearby) am in imminent danger.

• For your OWN protection, I’ll add the following warnings:
  1. If, perchance, you are ever with me at the movies and we decide to have communal popcorn, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT let me put the salt on it. Let’s just say I like a lot of salt on my movie popcorn. A LOT. I’d probably toss the contents of the bucket with salt licks if it were feasible. Sometimes I actually remember to bring my own little Tupperware salt shaker, but I usually forget…
  2. DO NOT start a conversation (especially a phone conversation) with me if I seem tired. If you think I am the Queen of nonsequiturs and tacit segues HERE… HAH! You must HANG UP IMMEDIATELY (or tell me GO AWAY, PLEASE GO AWAY). I’m tired quite a bit, unfortunately, so there are days it’s just best if I SHUT UP.
  3. When the oxygen masks fall from the ceiling of the airplane always put the mask on YOURSELF before you assist your children (they are smaller and breathe less air, evidently) or prior to assisting the aged and/or infirm (they’re probably sucking down on oxygen anyway). And if if they do not have those tiny little life jackets that look like water wings you are welcome to comfort yourself with the idea that the seat cushion can act as a flotation device (don’t you know they make ALL the finest ocean liners out of the same sub-standard upholstery material because it’s so BUOYANT).

  Oh. And DO NOT run with scissors, as you may be mistaken for a beautician and asked to cut people’s hair WHENEVER.

  I, personally, have NEVER attempted to cut ANYONE’S hair. I have no doubt this is a wise choice. When I was very, VERY young I did cut Shirleen’s eyelashes off with cuticle scissors (DAMN those cosmetic implements!). Oh, CHILL – it was just ONE eye and she let me. The result was disturbing, apparently, though subtle. My Mother just stared at her trying to figure out what was wrong. See? Good thing I was not RUNNING with those little scissors…