Fellow Citizens:
Happy Thanksgiving!
Early this morning, my home-home page (Slate) popped up with a "Turkey Wars" headline and an article "Don't Wet-Brine Your Turkey. Do Stir-Fry Your Sweet Potatoes."
Here's an excerpt:
"The biggest turkey trend this year is a push-back against wet brining, which the gastronomic press corps has promoted enthusiastically for the past decade or so. (Food Network star Alton Brown, for example, is a big fan.) Brining is the process of soaking the raw bird in a bath of salty—and sometimes spicy and/or sweetened—water in order to keep the breast meat moist and counteract the turkey's fundamental engineering flaw: The breast is done cooking long before the legs are. But this method isn't hassle-free. It's hard to find room in an overcrowded refrigerator for a bucketful of brine and bird. More important, as food-science maven Harold McGee pointed out in the New York Times this month, the extra salt in the turkey can botch the gravy. McGee is joined by other brine-resisters, like Thanksgiving guru Rick Rodgers, who, in Bon Appétit, recommends dry-salting the turkey 18-24 hours before cooking (which probably won't affect the gravy quite so much). Inspired by legendary chef and pre-salter Judy Rogers, the Los Angeles Times kvells over a similar technique. Saveur boasts a recipe from New Orleans chef Leah Chase in which the turkey is mostly cooked inside an aluminum foil packet, essentially steaming it en papillote. Others, like the gang at Cook's Illustrated, advise ditching the idea of a whole roast turkey. They advocate cooking it in parts instead. So does Mark Bittman of the New York Times, but he further thumbs his nose at tradition by rejecting the roasting custom altogether and recommending a braise."
The topic "to brine or not to brine" made me think about my encounter with Rachael Ray's TV production team at the Food Hall in Grand Central a while back, and the stupid question I was assigned to look into the camera and ask "Hi, Rachael. I'm B... from Texas and I was wondering how long do you brine a turkey to make it most flavorful?"
You see I knew it was a bad question and tried to convince the producer to allow me to ask a question about cheese, specifically stinky cheese.
This is how it all started.
I was in NYC to provide deposition testimony in an insurance coverage dispute/lawsuit. After the deposition, I was feeling pretty good (I thrive on answering questions + I knew our side was right and justice would be served) and decided to get off the uptown subway at Grand Central Terminal to check out the Food Hall, specifically Murray's Cheese Shop. I was in search of cheese, specifically stinky cheese as a present/souvenir for Andy. I'm good like that.
In the fairly crowded stalls, I found Murray's and the most knowledgeable cheese people on earth. I explained I was looking for a stinky, hard cheese. Of all the cheeses in the universe, the experts told me it was very rare to find a stinky cheese that was also hard. Most cheeses with a high level of smell are soft or blue. Of course, Andy prefers hard cheese that burns the nose. I, too, preferred a hard cheese for transportation purposes although I hadn't really thought about how much it would smell on the airplane home. I spent some time sampling hard, semi-stinky cheeses. My #1 choice cost an outrageous amount (like $40 a pound), so I settled on #2, a pungent mature mountain cheese with a kick ($9.99).
I was then approached by a well-dressed woman (a scout). She asked: "Do you know Rachael Ray of the Food Network?"
Me: "Of course, Ray-Ray and I go way back. I love her. Yummo!" (Okay I made that up.)
Scout: "Would you like to be on TV? We are filming the 'question of the day' for Rachael's show.
Me: "Can I ask about cheese, specifically stinky cheese?"
Scout: "Let's ask the producer. I think your outfit and dark hair will look good on TV." (white jacket, teal top and I was actually wearing a necklace that day!)
We walked toward a group of people, most standing around holding clipboards trying to look busy. There was a cameraman and a boom operator. I was introduced to the producer, his assistant and her assistant. The assistant's assistant asked me to sign a waiver. I asked the first assistant if I could ask a cheese-related question and explained that considering Rachael Ray is all about simple "30 minute meals" it would be great to get her feedback on a cheese plate as a meal. She smiled and said "Oh, that's a great idea, but let's chose something off the list."
The first assistant handed me a list of questions involving various cooking questions. I studied them and there was nothing remotely cheesy. Not being a real actor I said "I really can't relate to any of these because I don't cook." (I have to admit that once the cheese question was quashed my heart wasn't really in it.) She then pointed to the list and said "How about this one? How long do you brine a turkey to make it the most flavorful?"
Me: "Okay, I can do that one if I can substitute 'chicken' for 'turkey'. I have experience with brining chicken (once)."
We looked at the producer and he nodded with a go ahead. If the assistant producer wanted to kill me, she did so with a smile.
There were four takes and the very best one was botched because the boom operator was too short and the microphone dropped in to camera view. We had to go with #2 (just like my cheese selection).
I hung around for the next question. It came from a handsomish Italian guy working behind the counter at the fish market. He resembled Joey from "Friends" and he was very gregarious with his question and a natural in front of the camera. I said "You should be an actor" and he replied "Oh, I am an actor. I just work here to pay the rent." (Maybe he was Joey from Friends.) And no wonder he was so good, he was an actor that knew something about food. He also had a big fish for a prop. I had no idea what to do with my hands except clutch my cheese.
I'm not sure my question ever aired and I really don't care. It was a fun experience and better than the time I spotted Mario Batali (in goofy shorts and orange clogs) at La Guardia. Of course, like all "celebrities" he's much shorter in person.
CitizenB
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
A Visit to the DMV & the Neighbor Connection
Fellow Citizens:
Good morning! I hope you’ve had your Wheaties, as this one requires some energy to read. Have a great Thanksgiving, and to make things interesting consider inviting a neighbor or someone from the DMV over for dinner.
While waiting for our table this morning at breakfast, I happened to read my horoscope or Today's Birthday: "Get involved with your community this year; it can use your help. Be more directive than usual." In general, I find horoscopes to be a bunch of hooey, but found this very fitting considering the blog from yesterday. It seems that I was already thinking in this direction...
A Visit to the DMV & the Neighbor Connection
Since the "Gynecology and Yard of the Month" story, I've been thinking about neighbors; and thankfully, not much about the other topic. I'm fairly in denial in that area, and as evidenced yesterday at the DMV, I'm not very in touch with my physical self. My driver's license was set to expire this weekend on my 48th birthday, so I marched in to the DMV to renew it. I was so obsessed with covering up the gray hair for the photo that you have to live with forever (or at least 8 years) that I totally forgot about the vision test and the fact that I my eyes may have grayed as well. I was still in denial when I was instructed to look through the view finder. On line 5, I saw three columns with a series of numbers in the second and third column. The first column was blank - or so I thought.
The clerk, a mix of reggae and gangsta (she was wearing a knitted beret over dreadlocks and a huge gold pinky ring): "Read from all three columns."
Me, confused: "But there are no numbers in the first column."
Reggae Clerk: "Do you wear glasses?"
Me, pondering the question: "Oh, come to think of it, I have glasses, but I never wear them."
Reggae Clerk: "Well maybe you should. Where are they?"
Me, babbling: "At home. Do I have to go and get them? Oh, I really like your giant ring! Please let me try again."
This time Reggae Clerk was gracious enough to close the lens on the left eye and allow my strong and dominate right eye to do all the work. I practically willed fuzzy numbers to appear in the first column. I then read off numbers that could have been 6s or 8s. I pulled it off, somehow.
Me: "Gosh, I didn't know my left eye wasn't pulling its weight. Fortunately I haven't had any accidents. Knock on wood."
And then I realized this was a total LIE when suddenly remembering that I backed into a fire hydrant earlier this year. Of course, that was attributed to hysterical blindness, not real blindness. I wanted to confess to Reggae Clerk, but managed to refrain. Under the circumstances, it wouldn't have been helpful and I really hoped when I drove away she wouldn't notice the imprint of the fire hydrant that still exists in my bumper. Anyway, I promised Reggae Clerk that I would be a good and lawful citizen and wear my eyeglasses while driving... if only I could see to find them.
Beyond that, there was a slight confusion over my eye color.
Reggae Clerk: Are they green, grey, blue, hazel? She actually handed me a mirror decorated with fake jewels.
Me: "Green, most of the time.”
I totally knew that, but after not seeing numbers in the first column and then being forced on the spot to blurt out a current weight (okay, I lied a little there too – what’s wrong with me?), I wasn't feeling too sure about anything.
Moving on to the topic of neighbors and the purpose of this blog. I've been thinking that maybe I should make an effort and connect/re-connect with my neighbors... for the sake of community and all that jazz. You know, to honor the themes "Love Thy Neighbor", "Like a Good Neighbor", "It Takes a Village" etc. I’ll throw out the occasional wave and smile, but not much more.
Actually, our neighbors Mr. and Mrs. N connected with me when they knocked on the door a few days ago, and handed over a note (not an invite) about a reunion at their house directly behind ours and the possibility of loud noise from 6:00 - 8:00 p.m. It included Mr. N's cell number in case of a problem. Always a good move to be proactive.
Me: "No worries. Have a great time. How's Edward?"
It seems that their son keeps Edward, a large bulldog, on a part-time basis. (I want to find out more about how to keep a dog part-time...maybe I can use this in selling Andy on getting one.) The Ns smiled when I mentioned Edward and the fact that no amount of persuasion (or Cesar Millan) can move that dog when he decides to sit in the middle of a walk. I refrained from mentioning their gray tomcat. You see, as part of my loving thy neighbor, I wanted to focus on the nice and not the bad. I'm not even sure that diabolical gray cat belongs to the Ns. He happens to sit on their deck while keeping an intimidating watch on our backyard. It's obvious that he's carefully plotting ways to seize Marshall's territory. I don't know his name, but I call him "Go away, you horrible, mean, yellow-eyed, bully of a cat" and "Don't you dare pin Marshall and chew on his ears, you horrible, mean, yellow-eyed, trespassing bully of a cat." He's a tough cat to love.
I've made efforts to get to know my neighbors over the years. There was my connection with Mr. and Mrs. American Airlines. They lived next door to the right and I remember their home was fully accessorized from the Sky Mall catalogue, including a 4' high resin sommelier statue welcoming you with a bottle of wine. That actually impressed me at the time, but fortunately I never got around to shopping for home decor on airplanes. When they moved away (or flew off to a better destination) Olaf and Gerda moved in. They were European physicians and their decor was the opposite of Sky Mall. They were minimalists and with the exception of the wooden shoe door-knocker, there was little decoration. They had a small boy, Flor, and then Gerda, ever the minimalist, popped out a girl when I didn't even know she was pregnant. At some point, they decided education for their children in the Netherlands would be better than in Dallas, TX where the kids at day care made fun of Flor's name and his clogs. Of course, that was before crocs were invented and celebrities named their kids "Bronx" and the like.
There was also Leonard and Marie, the elderly couple next door to the left. Their large house was too much for them and really falling apart. Leonard fixed that by burning it down. Not intentionally. He fell asleep and/or passed out while cooking chicken. His pug kicked into Lassie mode and woke him by wildly licking his face because he was too deaf to hear the smoke alarm. I always thought that Marie would have been the one to burn it down (or blow it up). At night, I could see her sneaking a cigarette in the garage - even though she had a bad case of emphysema (as did the pug from second hand smoke) and lugged around a portable oxygen tank. Alas, she was at the beauty shop when the fire occurred and off the hook. After the fire, L & M and the pug moved into a more manageable apartment, but that didn't keep Leonard from meeting me in the driveway everyday after work for months with insurance questions. He was convinced the "Like a Good Neighbor" company was ripping him off. After they moved away and the house was being rebuilt, we clipped a piece of their rose bush and planted it next to our oak tree. We call it the "Marie" rose and it’s very thorny. We really liked them even though they frequently told us that we were too young and really didn't know anything about anything.
We've had a couple of bad experiences, including an ongoing one with the neighbor who insists on doing yard work in the dark and/or specifically during our only window of opportunity for relaxation - usually around 6:00 p.m. on Sundays. Just as we are settling in for a nice evening, his monster lawn equipment belts out at least 200 decibels. Why? I think it's a macho thing. He likes to take out his aggression on tiny, innocent blades of grass. Plus his wife is probably sick of him by then and kicks him out of the house. We all know that Sunday afternoons can be trying. Too much togetherness can make you do crazy things. In addition to noise pollution and the other environmental destruction issues presented, night time weed-whacking and leaf-blowing should be considered an ultra-hazardous activity (like logging). While I worry about injury to our neighbor (for some reason) and others, Andy fumes over the relentless, obsessive compulsive trimming of anything green over 1". He actually tried to solve the problem with a man-to-extreme garden tool talk. Mr. Whacker was highly defensive, as expected. Fortunately, there was no wrestling for the leaf blower.
The other bad experience involved a German shepherd owned by a neighbor across the street. One day, as I was walking our elderly beagle (R.I.P.) and being followed by my black cat (he was under the mistaken impression that he was also a dog), "Killer" appeared out of the fence, and from the edge of the yard began to focus on us, clearly in attack mode. The beagle, Scout, with her nose to the ground, was oblivious, but the cat, Boo, looked at me like "Please don't let him eat me." I froze for a minute, but then decided to walk normally with a firm "come, children, come" and managed to get into the garage before Killer took a step off the curb. I called animal control and Killer was put back behind the fence. A few weeks later, a man knocked on the door and advised he was an investigator for a law firm. One of his clients, a neighbor out on a run, had lost a finger to Killer. The client was reportedly a surgeon and really needed that finger, and the lawyer really, really needed his contingency fee, so they were out canvassing the neighborhood in an effort to show notice of Killer's vicious propensities. On that day I officially renamed Killer "Mr. Finger-Eater".
So I was thinking, why are neighbor relationships always a bit difficult or at least uncomfortable? From my job, I know that neighbor disputes and claims are the absolute worst. John's Great Dane impregnates Mary's AKC-registered poodle. Bob's retaining wall falls into Carol's swimming pool. Ted's tree limb scrapes Alice's parked car with its custom paint job. It's the end of the freaking world! Expect protracted litigation and three or four attempts at mediation. Give me a crane falling on a stagehand's head during a ridiculous underwater music video shoot or a window washer falling nine stories any day.
I did some research and found that when it comes to neighbors, most people have complaints, not compliments. Here's a sample of how people often describe their neighbors: "annoying, creepy, weird, crazy, lazy, awful, rude, crabby, psycho nut case, flasher, two-faced, pervert, grumpy, nosey, inconsiderate, phony, dangerous, smelly, they're jerks!, and I hate them!! Surveys say common complaints are barking and howling dogs, accumulation of junk and trash, high weeds (not in my neighborhood when Mr. Whacker is on the loose!), drunks, driving too fast, constant yelling, illegal parking, loud crap music, out of control children, roosters crowing, illegal fireworks, convicted felons, and intrusion of massage parlors and liquor stores. Gosh, people, where's the love?
We've managed to get along with a variety of neighbors over the years, including the ultra-religious square dancers across the street always feuding with their elderly next door neighbor's 40 year-old alcoholic son washing his car wearing nothing but a Texas-flag Speedo (not a good look for him), and the a tow-truck company owner and his dysfunction offspring, including unemployed/unemployable daughter B and her nogoodnik "husband", S, and children C and Little S or "Bubba". Poor C, the spitting image of her mother, talked non-stop and as a result Bubba never learned to speak. He could only grunt. Except when he got excited he would grunt, point, and jump up and down. I'm sure he learned language skills once he entered kindergarten. At least I hope so. Anyway, the tow truck kids used to drive Aaron crazy. They loved Andy (probably because they thought he was a kid that got to drive a car) and therefore, called/grunted our son Aaron "Andy-Boy". Aaron would cry, "It's Aaron!" and C would reply "I know, Andy-Boy."
There were lots of interesting events with the square dancers (we politely declined their invitation to do-se-do and switch partners... they eventually divorced, and it got ugly with restraining orders, guns drawn and such...in total contradiction to their Christian views) and their poor teenaged daughter with her hideous skin disorder (no doubt an allergy to her parents). Also, having a tow truck driver as a neighbor came in handy when I backed my VW into a ditch during the City's installation of a new sewer line and when my Jeep stalled on the Woodall-Rogers overpass during morning rush hour. (Do you know how rude people are when you break down on one of Dallas's busiest freeway ramps? Excessively rude! And to the point where I was forced to yell at one awful man in a pick up truck; "What the ---- do you expect me to do?" Please know that I never cuss out loud - so that was big deal - and strangely therapeutic.) As far as neighbors, things wouldn't have been too bad with the tow truckers if only B would have divorced S, gone to community college and had an extreme makeover.
Now that I'm thinking about it, my old neighbors were much more "out there" with their personal issues. For the most part, our current neighbors keep things under wraps. I guess because a security patrol comes with the home owner association package and odd behavior is not really tolerated out in the open. We also have an e-mail system where a designated person alerts us of neighborhood goings on like coyote sightings, missing pets, magazine sales/conmen, identity thieves rummaging through the garbage, wayward ducks, and generally suspicious men having no business walking along the green belt. With that warning, I suggested to "Andy-Boy" that he stay off the green belt and always carry his ID to prove that he actually lives in the neighborhood.
I must say this exercise has made me re-think the neighbor connection. I really don't want to get to know them all that well. I'll stick with Robert Frost and his "Good fences make good neighbors." Now, if we could just build a fence.
CitizenB
Good morning! I hope you’ve had your Wheaties, as this one requires some energy to read. Have a great Thanksgiving, and to make things interesting consider inviting a neighbor or someone from the DMV over for dinner.
While waiting for our table this morning at breakfast, I happened to read my horoscope or Today's Birthday: "Get involved with your community this year; it can use your help. Be more directive than usual." In general, I find horoscopes to be a bunch of hooey, but found this very fitting considering the blog from yesterday. It seems that I was already thinking in this direction...
A Visit to the DMV & the Neighbor Connection
Since the "Gynecology and Yard of the Month" story, I've been thinking about neighbors; and thankfully, not much about the other topic. I'm fairly in denial in that area, and as evidenced yesterday at the DMV, I'm not very in touch with my physical self. My driver's license was set to expire this weekend on my 48th birthday, so I marched in to the DMV to renew it. I was so obsessed with covering up the gray hair for the photo that you have to live with forever (or at least 8 years) that I totally forgot about the vision test and the fact that I my eyes may have grayed as well. I was still in denial when I was instructed to look through the view finder. On line 5, I saw three columns with a series of numbers in the second and third column. The first column was blank - or so I thought.
The clerk, a mix of reggae and gangsta (she was wearing a knitted beret over dreadlocks and a huge gold pinky ring): "Read from all three columns."
Me, confused: "But there are no numbers in the first column."
Reggae Clerk: "Do you wear glasses?"
Me, pondering the question: "Oh, come to think of it, I have glasses, but I never wear them."
Reggae Clerk: "Well maybe you should. Where are they?"
Me, babbling: "At home. Do I have to go and get them? Oh, I really like your giant ring! Please let me try again."
This time Reggae Clerk was gracious enough to close the lens on the left eye and allow my strong and dominate right eye to do all the work. I practically willed fuzzy numbers to appear in the first column. I then read off numbers that could have been 6s or 8s. I pulled it off, somehow.
Me: "Gosh, I didn't know my left eye wasn't pulling its weight. Fortunately I haven't had any accidents. Knock on wood."
And then I realized this was a total LIE when suddenly remembering that I backed into a fire hydrant earlier this year. Of course, that was attributed to hysterical blindness, not real blindness. I wanted to confess to Reggae Clerk, but managed to refrain. Under the circumstances, it wouldn't have been helpful and I really hoped when I drove away she wouldn't notice the imprint of the fire hydrant that still exists in my bumper. Anyway, I promised Reggae Clerk that I would be a good and lawful citizen and wear my eyeglasses while driving... if only I could see to find them.
Beyond that, there was a slight confusion over my eye color.
Reggae Clerk: Are they green, grey, blue, hazel? She actually handed me a mirror decorated with fake jewels.
Me: "Green, most of the time.”
I totally knew that, but after not seeing numbers in the first column and then being forced on the spot to blurt out a current weight (okay, I lied a little there too – what’s wrong with me?), I wasn't feeling too sure about anything.
Moving on to the topic of neighbors and the purpose of this blog. I've been thinking that maybe I should make an effort and connect/re-connect with my neighbors... for the sake of community and all that jazz. You know, to honor the themes "Love Thy Neighbor", "Like a Good Neighbor", "It Takes a Village" etc. I’ll throw out the occasional wave and smile, but not much more.
Actually, our neighbors Mr. and Mrs. N connected with me when they knocked on the door a few days ago, and handed over a note (not an invite) about a reunion at their house directly behind ours and the possibility of loud noise from 6:00 - 8:00 p.m. It included Mr. N's cell number in case of a problem. Always a good move to be proactive.
Me: "No worries. Have a great time. How's Edward?"
It seems that their son keeps Edward, a large bulldog, on a part-time basis. (I want to find out more about how to keep a dog part-time...maybe I can use this in selling Andy on getting one.) The Ns smiled when I mentioned Edward and the fact that no amount of persuasion (or Cesar Millan) can move that dog when he decides to sit in the middle of a walk. I refrained from mentioning their gray tomcat. You see, as part of my loving thy neighbor, I wanted to focus on the nice and not the bad. I'm not even sure that diabolical gray cat belongs to the Ns. He happens to sit on their deck while keeping an intimidating watch on our backyard. It's obvious that he's carefully plotting ways to seize Marshall's territory. I don't know his name, but I call him "Go away, you horrible, mean, yellow-eyed, bully of a cat" and "Don't you dare pin Marshall and chew on his ears, you horrible, mean, yellow-eyed, trespassing bully of a cat." He's a tough cat to love.
I've made efforts to get to know my neighbors over the years. There was my connection with Mr. and Mrs. American Airlines. They lived next door to the right and I remember their home was fully accessorized from the Sky Mall catalogue, including a 4' high resin sommelier statue welcoming you with a bottle of wine. That actually impressed me at the time, but fortunately I never got around to shopping for home decor on airplanes. When they moved away (or flew off to a better destination) Olaf and Gerda moved in. They were European physicians and their decor was the opposite of Sky Mall. They were minimalists and with the exception of the wooden shoe door-knocker, there was little decoration. They had a small boy, Flor, and then Gerda, ever the minimalist, popped out a girl when I didn't even know she was pregnant. At some point, they decided education for their children in the Netherlands would be better than in Dallas, TX where the kids at day care made fun of Flor's name and his clogs. Of course, that was before crocs were invented and celebrities named their kids "Bronx" and the like.
There was also Leonard and Marie, the elderly couple next door to the left. Their large house was too much for them and really falling apart. Leonard fixed that by burning it down. Not intentionally. He fell asleep and/or passed out while cooking chicken. His pug kicked into Lassie mode and woke him by wildly licking his face because he was too deaf to hear the smoke alarm. I always thought that Marie would have been the one to burn it down (or blow it up). At night, I could see her sneaking a cigarette in the garage - even though she had a bad case of emphysema (as did the pug from second hand smoke) and lugged around a portable oxygen tank. Alas, she was at the beauty shop when the fire occurred and off the hook. After the fire, L & M and the pug moved into a more manageable apartment, but that didn't keep Leonard from meeting me in the driveway everyday after work for months with insurance questions. He was convinced the "Like a Good Neighbor" company was ripping him off. After they moved away and the house was being rebuilt, we clipped a piece of their rose bush and planted it next to our oak tree. We call it the "Marie" rose and it’s very thorny. We really liked them even though they frequently told us that we were too young and really didn't know anything about anything.
We've had a couple of bad experiences, including an ongoing one with the neighbor who insists on doing yard work in the dark and/or specifically during our only window of opportunity for relaxation - usually around 6:00 p.m. on Sundays. Just as we are settling in for a nice evening, his monster lawn equipment belts out at least 200 decibels. Why? I think it's a macho thing. He likes to take out his aggression on tiny, innocent blades of grass. Plus his wife is probably sick of him by then and kicks him out of the house. We all know that Sunday afternoons can be trying. Too much togetherness can make you do crazy things. In addition to noise pollution and the other environmental destruction issues presented, night time weed-whacking and leaf-blowing should be considered an ultra-hazardous activity (like logging). While I worry about injury to our neighbor (for some reason) and others, Andy fumes over the relentless, obsessive compulsive trimming of anything green over 1". He actually tried to solve the problem with a man-to-extreme garden tool talk. Mr. Whacker was highly defensive, as expected. Fortunately, there was no wrestling for the leaf blower.
The other bad experience involved a German shepherd owned by a neighbor across the street. One day, as I was walking our elderly beagle (R.I.P.) and being followed by my black cat (he was under the mistaken impression that he was also a dog), "Killer" appeared out of the fence, and from the edge of the yard began to focus on us, clearly in attack mode. The beagle, Scout, with her nose to the ground, was oblivious, but the cat, Boo, looked at me like "Please don't let him eat me." I froze for a minute, but then decided to walk normally with a firm "come, children, come" and managed to get into the garage before Killer took a step off the curb. I called animal control and Killer was put back behind the fence. A few weeks later, a man knocked on the door and advised he was an investigator for a law firm. One of his clients, a neighbor out on a run, had lost a finger to Killer. The client was reportedly a surgeon and really needed that finger, and the lawyer really, really needed his contingency fee, so they were out canvassing the neighborhood in an effort to show notice of Killer's vicious propensities. On that day I officially renamed Killer "Mr. Finger-Eater".
So I was thinking, why are neighbor relationships always a bit difficult or at least uncomfortable? From my job, I know that neighbor disputes and claims are the absolute worst. John's Great Dane impregnates Mary's AKC-registered poodle. Bob's retaining wall falls into Carol's swimming pool. Ted's tree limb scrapes Alice's parked car with its custom paint job. It's the end of the freaking world! Expect protracted litigation and three or four attempts at mediation. Give me a crane falling on a stagehand's head during a ridiculous underwater music video shoot or a window washer falling nine stories any day.
I did some research and found that when it comes to neighbors, most people have complaints, not compliments. Here's a sample of how people often describe their neighbors: "annoying, creepy, weird, crazy, lazy, awful, rude, crabby, psycho nut case, flasher, two-faced, pervert, grumpy, nosey, inconsiderate, phony, dangerous, smelly, they're jerks!, and I hate them!! Surveys say common complaints are barking and howling dogs, accumulation of junk and trash, high weeds (not in my neighborhood when Mr. Whacker is on the loose!), drunks, driving too fast, constant yelling, illegal parking, loud crap music, out of control children, roosters crowing, illegal fireworks, convicted felons, and intrusion of massage parlors and liquor stores. Gosh, people, where's the love?
We've managed to get along with a variety of neighbors over the years, including the ultra-religious square dancers across the street always feuding with their elderly next door neighbor's 40 year-old alcoholic son washing his car wearing nothing but a Texas-flag Speedo (not a good look for him), and the a tow-truck company owner and his dysfunction offspring, including unemployed/unemployable daughter B and her nogoodnik "husband", S, and children C and Little S or "Bubba". Poor C, the spitting image of her mother, talked non-stop and as a result Bubba never learned to speak. He could only grunt. Except when he got excited he would grunt, point, and jump up and down. I'm sure he learned language skills once he entered kindergarten. At least I hope so. Anyway, the tow truck kids used to drive Aaron crazy. They loved Andy (probably because they thought he was a kid that got to drive a car) and therefore, called/grunted our son Aaron "Andy-Boy". Aaron would cry, "It's Aaron!" and C would reply "I know, Andy-Boy."
There were lots of interesting events with the square dancers (we politely declined their invitation to do-se-do and switch partners... they eventually divorced, and it got ugly with restraining orders, guns drawn and such...in total contradiction to their Christian views) and their poor teenaged daughter with her hideous skin disorder (no doubt an allergy to her parents). Also, having a tow truck driver as a neighbor came in handy when I backed my VW into a ditch during the City's installation of a new sewer line and when my Jeep stalled on the Woodall-Rogers overpass during morning rush hour. (Do you know how rude people are when you break down on one of Dallas's busiest freeway ramps? Excessively rude! And to the point where I was forced to yell at one awful man in a pick up truck; "What the ---- do you expect me to do?" Please know that I never cuss out loud - so that was big deal - and strangely therapeutic.) As far as neighbors, things wouldn't have been too bad with the tow truckers if only B would have divorced S, gone to community college and had an extreme makeover.
Now that I'm thinking about it, my old neighbors were much more "out there" with their personal issues. For the most part, our current neighbors keep things under wraps. I guess because a security patrol comes with the home owner association package and odd behavior is not really tolerated out in the open. We also have an e-mail system where a designated person alerts us of neighborhood goings on like coyote sightings, missing pets, magazine sales/conmen, identity thieves rummaging through the garbage, wayward ducks, and generally suspicious men having no business walking along the green belt. With that warning, I suggested to "Andy-Boy" that he stay off the green belt and always carry his ID to prove that he actually lives in the neighborhood.
I must say this exercise has made me re-think the neighbor connection. I really don't want to get to know them all that well. I'll stick with Robert Frost and his "Good fences make good neighbors." Now, if we could just build a fence.
CitizenB
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I'm Relieved, How Are You?
Fellow Citizens:
I’m Relieved, How Are You?
Finally! There’s hope for change. There’s hope for looking at the big picture. There’s now ‘us’, not just ‘me, me & me.” Goodbye, Joe Six-Pack and Joe the Plumber! Hello, Joe and Josephine Economist, Humanitarian, Realist. Oh, it felt so good to vote yesterday.
Last night, I was never so relieved to hear the words “Pennsylvania, Ohio, Florida, Virginia, New Mexico...”
When CNN called it at 10:00, tears were welling up.
I was truly impressed with McCain’s concession speech (with the exception of “my friends”). If he had only been that independent, honest and human in his campaign, it might have been a closer race. With such a big Bush burden, he made too many mistakes (selling out, for example). Sure, they were all bummed to the max, but where was the love and support for each other? Cindy McCain was standing a mile away from her husband with a “Laura Bush smile” and “don’t touch me” look on her face, Sarah Palin looked as if she was going to throw up (at least the tear in her eye confirmed that she’s human and not all pit), and First Dude Palin looked angry! You could visibly see no love lost between McCain and Palin. Goodbye, Caribou Barbie and Redneck Woman (for now)! Thank goodness for McCain’s mother…she may have been his only comfort.
Also, how cute was Biden’s 90 year old mother? She was so overwhelmed by that crowd! I wish Toot had been there for Obama. How bittersweet for him.
Here are my favorite lines from Obama’s victory speech. It was perfect. He didn’t say “Look” once!
“But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to - it belongs to you. It belongs to you.” (My favorite – I was spurting tears at that point)
“The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America - I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you - we as a people will get there.”
“What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek - it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you.”
“So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, its that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers - in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.”
“Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.”
“For that is the true genius of America - that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.”
“This is our time - to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth - that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we cant, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people.”
Yes, Texas is still solid Red; however, 3.5 million Texans voted for Obama (44% of 8 million votes) when there was no major push by the Dem party to win votes as in FL, PA and OH. I was really hoping it would have been closer to 50/50 but this is still a State in denial and on the defensive ala Bush.
Lastly, I went back and looked at my prior entries to see if I was politically naïve or maybe on to something. This is what I found:
From 10/16/08 “I’m Not President Bush”: I really don’t want to spew the negative but I believe that McCain has sold out on a lot of issues just to get elected and he certainly is not the same 2000 “maverick-y” McCain (not that I would have voted for him then – I love you, Al Gore even if you’re incredibly boring). This country needs SIGNIFICANT change and IMO, Obama clearly has what it takes - plus a lot less irritating personal traits. Considering the mess we’ve gotten into (all while Bush has been vacationing in Crawford for the last 4 years) it’s going to take a lot of energy, focus, diplomacy, intelligence, realistic solutions, sacrifice, fairness, and emphasis on education (where it all starts), health care and other basic rights and responsibilities. We’ve got to get it right at home before we go out “liberating” others. We can’t act or fail to act based on fear.
From 11/1/08 “My Obsession with Pop Culture…”: Last, but not least, and because this entry comes on the eve of a historic election, a dream that comes to mind is the ‘American Dream’ (maybe I should insert ‘my friends’ for political non-effect.) Yes, I believe that it exists. History tells me so. When we get frustrated and worried about the state of the union (all with good reason) just remember that we have freedom and opportunity or at least freedom to create some kind of opportunity. We can’t be complacent, take things for granted and expect all to be great. Now’s the time to step up, reevaluate our priorities and contribute (I may have to give up my pop culture obsession for the greater good). Giving of ourselves will get us through. Remember your vote (and dreams) count.
I’m Relieved, How Are You?
Finally! There’s hope for change. There’s hope for looking at the big picture. There’s now ‘us’, not just ‘me, me & me.” Goodbye, Joe Six-Pack and Joe the Plumber! Hello, Joe and Josephine Economist, Humanitarian, Realist. Oh, it felt so good to vote yesterday.
Last night, I was never so relieved to hear the words “Pennsylvania, Ohio, Florida, Virginia, New Mexico...”
When CNN called it at 10:00, tears were welling up.
I was truly impressed with McCain’s concession speech (with the exception of “my friends”). If he had only been that independent, honest and human in his campaign, it might have been a closer race. With such a big Bush burden, he made too many mistakes (selling out, for example). Sure, they were all bummed to the max, but where was the love and support for each other? Cindy McCain was standing a mile away from her husband with a “Laura Bush smile” and “don’t touch me” look on her face, Sarah Palin looked as if she was going to throw up (at least the tear in her eye confirmed that she’s human and not all pit), and First Dude Palin looked angry! You could visibly see no love lost between McCain and Palin. Goodbye, Caribou Barbie and Redneck Woman (for now)! Thank goodness for McCain’s mother…she may have been his only comfort.
Also, how cute was Biden’s 90 year old mother? She was so overwhelmed by that crowd! I wish Toot had been there for Obama. How bittersweet for him.
Here are my favorite lines from Obama’s victory speech. It was perfect. He didn’t say “Look” once!
“But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to - it belongs to you. It belongs to you.” (My favorite – I was spurting tears at that point)
“The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America - I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you - we as a people will get there.”
“What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek - it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you.”
“So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, its that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers - in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.”
“Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.”
“For that is the true genius of America - that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.”
“This is our time - to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth - that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we cant, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people.”
Yes, Texas is still solid Red; however, 3.5 million Texans voted for Obama (44% of 8 million votes) when there was no major push by the Dem party to win votes as in FL, PA and OH. I was really hoping it would have been closer to 50/50 but this is still a State in denial and on the defensive ala Bush.
Lastly, I went back and looked at my prior entries to see if I was politically naïve or maybe on to something. This is what I found:
From 10/16/08 “I’m Not President Bush”: I really don’t want to spew the negative but I believe that McCain has sold out on a lot of issues just to get elected and he certainly is not the same 2000 “maverick-y” McCain (not that I would have voted for him then – I love you, Al Gore even if you’re incredibly boring). This country needs SIGNIFICANT change and IMO, Obama clearly has what it takes - plus a lot less irritating personal traits. Considering the mess we’ve gotten into (all while Bush has been vacationing in Crawford for the last 4 years) it’s going to take a lot of energy, focus, diplomacy, intelligence, realistic solutions, sacrifice, fairness, and emphasis on education (where it all starts), health care and other basic rights and responsibilities. We’ve got to get it right at home before we go out “liberating” others. We can’t act or fail to act based on fear.
From 11/1/08 “My Obsession with Pop Culture…”: Last, but not least, and because this entry comes on the eve of a historic election, a dream that comes to mind is the ‘American Dream’ (maybe I should insert ‘my friends’ for political non-effect.) Yes, I believe that it exists. History tells me so. When we get frustrated and worried about the state of the union (all with good reason) just remember that we have freedom and opportunity or at least freedom to create some kind of opportunity. We can’t be complacent, take things for granted and expect all to be great. Now’s the time to step up, reevaluate our priorities and contribute (I may have to give up my pop culture obsession for the greater good). Giving of ourselves will get us through. Remember your vote (and dreams) count.
CitizenB
Saturday, November 1, 2008
My Obsession with Pop Culture, Dreams & The Vote
Fellow Citizens:
Happy Monday to all! Well, Halloween is over and we’re moving on to a really big day – November 4. I would love to see photos of your kids or grandchildren or any kid, for that matter, in costumes. We had our usual stampede of trick-or-treaters and they were all really cute and surprisingly well-mannered. Very few snotty noses and sticky hands. One boy of about 10 was carting around a black kitten dressed as a devil. He said that he found the cat abandoned in an alley covered in ants and decided to rescue him. The cat (named something like Desperado) didn’t seem to mind trick-or-treating and I really had to hold back on not bartering for the cat with a bowl full of “airheads” candy.
Here’s the latest entry from the weekend:
My Obsession with Pop Culture, Dreams & The Vote
A few weeks ago I happened to watch a new TV sitcom starring the guy who played Bob Sugar (actor Jay Mohr), Tom Cruise’s sports agent rival in ‘Jerry Maguire.’ When Tom Cruise is involved, I always root for the rival or enemy, no matter how despicable and even if it means the world will explode. Besides, Bob Sugar didn’t have the ridiculous line “You complete me” so he’s my hero.
Bob Sugar as ‘Gary, Unmarried’ is much beefier now and barely recognizable as Bob Sugar. He and the other actors on the show also have badly capped teeth. The teeth are distracting which may be a good thing. Plus the show needs a new wardrobe person. And a hair-stylist. Anyway, one line in the show caught my attention. Gary-Bob-Jay, a house painter, and his ex-wife, a clone of every other 30-something brunette actress on TV, disclose that a) he has a new, much younger and way hotter girlfriend (played by a former super model..oh, sure supermodels always date house painters – wait didn’t John Cougar Mellencamp snag one? Nevermind), and b) she is engaged to be married to none other than their former marriage counselor/therapist (Ed Begley Jr.) When Gary-Bob-Jay encounters Ed Begley Jr. he states something along the lines of “I don’t know what’s worse; you hooking up with my ex-wife or making me keep a dream journal.”
A dream journal. An Ed Begley Jr. type has never suggested that I keep one, but you guessed it, I actually keep a dream journal (surprise). I dream a lot. All the time. I’m a dreamer.
Of course, this led me to think about dreams. What do they mean? Do they serve a purpose? Do we really act on them? Why do I journal them?
I’ll first address day dreams, and in my case, a likely symptom of attention deficit disorder. My favorite day dream is where I’m a young Ava Gardner (without all the marriages, specifically to Mickey Rooney/Andy Hardy, although it’s weird because I’m married to an Andy and he is slightly taller than Mickey Rooney..I love you, honey, all 5’7’’of you.) In Ava mode, I travel the world and it’s so easy! No matter where I go, I’m always dressed in a white sundress and heels, wearing Ray Bans, and carrying a vintage suitcase (round, also white, no wheels). I exit the plane outdoors in beautiful, smog-free weather (no suffocating jet bridges). Unlike in real life, I never trip, stumble, break a nail while fumbling with my luggage (black, basic, Samsonite) or forget to place all 3 oz containers of liquids into FAA regulation quart size Ziploc bags for separate screening. I’m permanently on vacation and drive around exotic locations in a convertible. I’m never too cold or too hot, layers are not required, and I’m always splendidly happy. Fortunately and unlike in other women’s dreams, Fabio never shows up. The Italian Stud and his fake butter…what kind of a fantasy is that? Give me Colin Firth and extra virgin olive oil any day!
Next are the dreams that occur while sleeping…always vivid (and utterly strange) with an occasional nightmare. I know there are scientific theories about R.E.M. and overactive neurotransmitters, as well as the effect of external stimuli (too much TV) and mood (usually irritable). What about snoring as a stimulus? I wonder if snoring affects your dreams or just the dreams of the person in bed next to you. This may explain why Andy never dreams. Regarding that topic, I’m sorry, but I’m not giving up my uvula (look it up) in order to correct my snoring disorder/poorly constructed throat.
Moving on. I’m also aware of an entire industry devoted to dream interpretation because several years ago I became concerned about the recurrence of snakes and pickles in my dreams. In one recurring dream, I climb a glass staircase filled with pickles. I was relieved to learn from a dream interpretation source that snakes and pickles are not necessarily bad omens and most likely a representation of my struggle to overcome a world of male-dominance.
As a country, we obviously need more scientific research in this area. I fully expect a legislator (possibly one with a Wiccan constituency) to add this as pork to a health care bill or possibly carve out as an entitlement. It will cost a fortune but at least I, and others like me, will no longer fear or try to trample pickles.
We’ve all had dreams about going to work naked (or discovering you’re naked at work), forgetting your locker combination, being chased by ninjas, searching unsuccessfully for a clean, operational bathroom (when you really, really need to go), driving at night without headlights, traveling in airplanes that taxi forever and never take off (the wings just fold up) and reuniting with dead relatives, among other common themes.
I’ve had all those dreams, multiple times. My deceased grandfathers show up on occasion looking like Abe Lincoln (PaPa) and Jason Robards (Grannin). Once I attended the Grammy Awards (or it could have been the American Music Awards – the fashion on the red carpet was atrocious!) with my grandmother (looked just like MeMa, bless her, and not the Queen Mother – but close). She wore a red corsage and I wore a black pant suit (even in my dreams I’m fashion-challenged!) but with a red blouse unbuttoned and revealing a white undergarment (a very risqué cotton Playtex). Also, an occasional “celebrity” appears. Some of the better known celebrities in my dreams are Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson (don’t ask), Daryl Hannah, and Suzanne Pleshette (why?)
A strange thing occurred with the Pleshette dream. I hadn’t though of her (at least consciously) in decades and for some unknown reason she appeared in my dream from January 13, 2008. In the dream, I hitched a ride with Ms. Pleshette and her elderly father (possibly a ghost because I could poke my finger through him) in their luxury SUV after walking barefoot on blistering hot pavement after my car broke down and other sorted misadventures. As a Good Samaritan, Suzanne gave me a lift to Houston where I was to visit a cave. Her father, the ghost, talked nonstop about “back in the day” and the high plains.
One week later on January 20, I was fully awake and reading the Sunday newspaper. There it was – an obit “Suzanne Pleshette, Actress Who Played Bob Newhart’s TV Wife Dies.” I believe the Ancient Egyptians would have appreciated the spookiness of that dream (and many others) and possibly mummified me in a special pyramid. But at another time and place, I might have been burned at the stake. To preserve the evidence, I pasted a copy of the obit next to my journal entry in case a future anthropologist is desperate for material.
We all know how difficult it is to put work out of your mind. A couple of memorable dreams involved the office. In one, I went into labor on my desk while my co-workers stood around chain smoking and waiting for the baby’s head to crown, at least I hope it was a baby and not a four volume claim file, and in the other, I had to keep my combo desk/treadmill going at 6 mph (at an incline!) in order to feed correspondence into a special transmission slot to the home office to meet productivity objectives. At one point I collapsed from exhaustion and slipped off the back of the desk/treadmill. An unidentified co-worker wearing a skirt and matching head/sweatband jumped on as an assist. We were all giving each other high fives at the end of the day. Teamwork! I woke up feeling okay and a pound lighter!
I frequently dream about animals (other than snakes). Once I had two black cats as pets, Zoe and Biggs, both adopted strays. Zoe went missing one cold December morning and I was very worried about what happened to her. Andy’s theory was that a Great Horned Owl swept down from atop the flagpole on Flag Pole Hill on to the greenbelt and carried her away. I refused to believe it and dreamt that I was driving down a deserted service road and came across Zoe walking along carrying a bindle over her shoulder. I quickly opened the car door and she jumped in apparently having had enough of life as a hobo cat. Zoe was covered in red marks and had a very bad cough. Back at home, she and Biggs did not immediately recognize each other and a small cat fight broke out. Biggs, the top cat, then sat up on his hind legs (much like a baboon) and allowed Zoe to burrow her head into his chest. He began to lick her injured head. It was a touching reunion but unfortunately just a dream. The Great Horned Owl never returned Zoe. Please know that we did everything to locate that darn cat even though she was wild and horribly bad-mannered. Even when she scratched our faces (while simultaneously purring) we chose to believe that she was misunderstood (cat bi-polar) and needed love.
Occasionally in my dreams, I will rescue a neglected baby and then do a terrible job of feeding it all the wrong things. I also need to be rescued quite frequently. Once a priest helped me downstairs from my old apartment on Beltline Road (I still had a key and tried to hide there) and across a bloody riot scene (too gruesome to describe) to the safety of a high school football field where a marching band was playing “Everybody Dance Now!” Thankfully, the priest was not played by Tom Cruise. That would have been a legitimate nightmare.
Last, but not least, and because this entry comes on the eve of a historic election, a dream that comes to mind is the ‘American Dream’ (maybe I should insert ‘my friends’ for political non-effect.) Yes, I believe that it exists. History tells me so. When we get frustrated and worried about the state of the union (all with good reason) just remember that we have freedom and opportunity or at least freedom to create some kind of opportunity. We can’t be complacent, take things for granted and expect all to be great. Now’s the time to step up, reevaluate our priorities and contribute (I may have to give up my pop culture obsession for the greater good). Giving of ourselves will get us through.
Remember your vote (and dreams) count.
Have a great week!
CitizenB
Happy Monday to all! Well, Halloween is over and we’re moving on to a really big day – November 4. I would love to see photos of your kids or grandchildren or any kid, for that matter, in costumes. We had our usual stampede of trick-or-treaters and they were all really cute and surprisingly well-mannered. Very few snotty noses and sticky hands. One boy of about 10 was carting around a black kitten dressed as a devil. He said that he found the cat abandoned in an alley covered in ants and decided to rescue him. The cat (named something like Desperado) didn’t seem to mind trick-or-treating and I really had to hold back on not bartering for the cat with a bowl full of “airheads” candy.
Here’s the latest entry from the weekend:
My Obsession with Pop Culture, Dreams & The Vote
A few weeks ago I happened to watch a new TV sitcom starring the guy who played Bob Sugar (actor Jay Mohr), Tom Cruise’s sports agent rival in ‘Jerry Maguire.’ When Tom Cruise is involved, I always root for the rival or enemy, no matter how despicable and even if it means the world will explode. Besides, Bob Sugar didn’t have the ridiculous line “You complete me” so he’s my hero.
Bob Sugar as ‘Gary, Unmarried’ is much beefier now and barely recognizable as Bob Sugar. He and the other actors on the show also have badly capped teeth. The teeth are distracting which may be a good thing. Plus the show needs a new wardrobe person. And a hair-stylist. Anyway, one line in the show caught my attention. Gary-Bob-Jay, a house painter, and his ex-wife, a clone of every other 30-something brunette actress on TV, disclose that a) he has a new, much younger and way hotter girlfriend (played by a former super model..oh, sure supermodels always date house painters – wait didn’t John Cougar Mellencamp snag one? Nevermind), and b) she is engaged to be married to none other than their former marriage counselor/therapist (Ed Begley Jr.) When Gary-Bob-Jay encounters Ed Begley Jr. he states something along the lines of “I don’t know what’s worse; you hooking up with my ex-wife or making me keep a dream journal.”
A dream journal. An Ed Begley Jr. type has never suggested that I keep one, but you guessed it, I actually keep a dream journal (surprise). I dream a lot. All the time. I’m a dreamer.
Of course, this led me to think about dreams. What do they mean? Do they serve a purpose? Do we really act on them? Why do I journal them?
I’ll first address day dreams, and in my case, a likely symptom of attention deficit disorder. My favorite day dream is where I’m a young Ava Gardner (without all the marriages, specifically to Mickey Rooney/Andy Hardy, although it’s weird because I’m married to an Andy and he is slightly taller than Mickey Rooney..I love you, honey, all 5’7’’of you.) In Ava mode, I travel the world and it’s so easy! No matter where I go, I’m always dressed in a white sundress and heels, wearing Ray Bans, and carrying a vintage suitcase (round, also white, no wheels). I exit the plane outdoors in beautiful, smog-free weather (no suffocating jet bridges). Unlike in real life, I never trip, stumble, break a nail while fumbling with my luggage (black, basic, Samsonite) or forget to place all 3 oz containers of liquids into FAA regulation quart size Ziploc bags for separate screening. I’m permanently on vacation and drive around exotic locations in a convertible. I’m never too cold or too hot, layers are not required, and I’m always splendidly happy. Fortunately and unlike in other women’s dreams, Fabio never shows up. The Italian Stud and his fake butter…what kind of a fantasy is that? Give me Colin Firth and extra virgin olive oil any day!
Next are the dreams that occur while sleeping…always vivid (and utterly strange) with an occasional nightmare. I know there are scientific theories about R.E.M. and overactive neurotransmitters, as well as the effect of external stimuli (too much TV) and mood (usually irritable). What about snoring as a stimulus? I wonder if snoring affects your dreams or just the dreams of the person in bed next to you. This may explain why Andy never dreams. Regarding that topic, I’m sorry, but I’m not giving up my uvula (look it up) in order to correct my snoring disorder/poorly constructed throat.
Moving on. I’m also aware of an entire industry devoted to dream interpretation because several years ago I became concerned about the recurrence of snakes and pickles in my dreams. In one recurring dream, I climb a glass staircase filled with pickles. I was relieved to learn from a dream interpretation source that snakes and pickles are not necessarily bad omens and most likely a representation of my struggle to overcome a world of male-dominance.
As a country, we obviously need more scientific research in this area. I fully expect a legislator (possibly one with a Wiccan constituency) to add this as pork to a health care bill or possibly carve out as an entitlement. It will cost a fortune but at least I, and others like me, will no longer fear or try to trample pickles.
We’ve all had dreams about going to work naked (or discovering you’re naked at work), forgetting your locker combination, being chased by ninjas, searching unsuccessfully for a clean, operational bathroom (when you really, really need to go), driving at night without headlights, traveling in airplanes that taxi forever and never take off (the wings just fold up) and reuniting with dead relatives, among other common themes.
I’ve had all those dreams, multiple times. My deceased grandfathers show up on occasion looking like Abe Lincoln (PaPa) and Jason Robards (Grannin). Once I attended the Grammy Awards (or it could have been the American Music Awards – the fashion on the red carpet was atrocious!) with my grandmother (looked just like MeMa, bless her, and not the Queen Mother – but close). She wore a red corsage and I wore a black pant suit (even in my dreams I’m fashion-challenged!) but with a red blouse unbuttoned and revealing a white undergarment (a very risqué cotton Playtex). Also, an occasional “celebrity” appears. Some of the better known celebrities in my dreams are Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson (don’t ask), Daryl Hannah, and Suzanne Pleshette (why?)
A strange thing occurred with the Pleshette dream. I hadn’t though of her (at least consciously) in decades and for some unknown reason she appeared in my dream from January 13, 2008. In the dream, I hitched a ride with Ms. Pleshette and her elderly father (possibly a ghost because I could poke my finger through him) in their luxury SUV after walking barefoot on blistering hot pavement after my car broke down and other sorted misadventures. As a Good Samaritan, Suzanne gave me a lift to Houston where I was to visit a cave. Her father, the ghost, talked nonstop about “back in the day” and the high plains.
One week later on January 20, I was fully awake and reading the Sunday newspaper. There it was – an obit “Suzanne Pleshette, Actress Who Played Bob Newhart’s TV Wife Dies.” I believe the Ancient Egyptians would have appreciated the spookiness of that dream (and many others) and possibly mummified me in a special pyramid. But at another time and place, I might have been burned at the stake. To preserve the evidence, I pasted a copy of the obit next to my journal entry in case a future anthropologist is desperate for material.
We all know how difficult it is to put work out of your mind. A couple of memorable dreams involved the office. In one, I went into labor on my desk while my co-workers stood around chain smoking and waiting for the baby’s head to crown, at least I hope it was a baby and not a four volume claim file, and in the other, I had to keep my combo desk/treadmill going at 6 mph (at an incline!) in order to feed correspondence into a special transmission slot to the home office to meet productivity objectives. At one point I collapsed from exhaustion and slipped off the back of the desk/treadmill. An unidentified co-worker wearing a skirt and matching head/sweatband jumped on as an assist. We were all giving each other high fives at the end of the day. Teamwork! I woke up feeling okay and a pound lighter!
I frequently dream about animals (other than snakes). Once I had two black cats as pets, Zoe and Biggs, both adopted strays. Zoe went missing one cold December morning and I was very worried about what happened to her. Andy’s theory was that a Great Horned Owl swept down from atop the flagpole on Flag Pole Hill on to the greenbelt and carried her away. I refused to believe it and dreamt that I was driving down a deserted service road and came across Zoe walking along carrying a bindle over her shoulder. I quickly opened the car door and she jumped in apparently having had enough of life as a hobo cat. Zoe was covered in red marks and had a very bad cough. Back at home, she and Biggs did not immediately recognize each other and a small cat fight broke out. Biggs, the top cat, then sat up on his hind legs (much like a baboon) and allowed Zoe to burrow her head into his chest. He began to lick her injured head. It was a touching reunion but unfortunately just a dream. The Great Horned Owl never returned Zoe. Please know that we did everything to locate that darn cat even though she was wild and horribly bad-mannered. Even when she scratched our faces (while simultaneously purring) we chose to believe that she was misunderstood (cat bi-polar) and needed love.
Occasionally in my dreams, I will rescue a neglected baby and then do a terrible job of feeding it all the wrong things. I also need to be rescued quite frequently. Once a priest helped me downstairs from my old apartment on Beltline Road (I still had a key and tried to hide there) and across a bloody riot scene (too gruesome to describe) to the safety of a high school football field where a marching band was playing “Everybody Dance Now!” Thankfully, the priest was not played by Tom Cruise. That would have been a legitimate nightmare.
Last, but not least, and because this entry comes on the eve of a historic election, a dream that comes to mind is the ‘American Dream’ (maybe I should insert ‘my friends’ for political non-effect.) Yes, I believe that it exists. History tells me so. When we get frustrated and worried about the state of the union (all with good reason) just remember that we have freedom and opportunity or at least freedom to create some kind of opportunity. We can’t be complacent, take things for granted and expect all to be great. Now’s the time to step up, reevaluate our priorities and contribute (I may have to give up my pop culture obsession for the greater good). Giving of ourselves will get us through.
Remember your vote (and dreams) count.
Have a great week!
CitizenB
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