Thu 30 Dec 2010 |
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| Even though I didn't DO Christmas, I GOT Christmas.
"Got"— besides appreciating the spirit and joy of the season and all that —in the sense that I received actual gifts, including a trip to the Caribbean and a moose. A moose? Perhaps I should explain.
Once upon a time, when the children in my life were little buggers, I gave them these cuddly stuffed moose along with the book, When You Give A Moose A Muffin. As I so often do — and perhaps only a shrink can explain the deep implications of this — I fell in love with the gifts I gave and wanted one for my very own. But alas, there were no more of these plush toys available. I would have to go forth in life, pretty happy, but moose-less. Until . . . A Christmas miracle occurred. In the Hallmark store, where I was frantically searching for last minute cards and cocktail napkins of bright red and green, there he was! My moose. He was like the others, just a little smaller and less plush. Who cared! He was cute and I was smitten. I took him home and named him Fleischman, in honor of the doctor on Northern Exposure, a show with a great affinity and true appreciation for moose. And so, Moose Mania had begun. I started buying them everywhere I went. First, a little guy from the gift shop at the hospital where my husband was recovering from heart surgery. He flirted with the nurses on the pretense of showing them his cute little moose. (Think about it: it could have been worse.) We named the moose Gus, for no particular reason. Then came Bullwinkle, who I got at a trade show. Then Lucy, the big loose looking moose with long, floppy legs we found hanging out at a gift shop in Maine. And then, more. Many, many more. The situation escalated when . . . People started giving us moose as gifts. Moose Of All Nations, shapes and sizes — from a tiny moose-angel to hang on a Christmas tree to a big moose who served as a fuzzy footrest. They also reported moose in the news: A Moose on the Loose, Moose on the March, A Moose in Manhattan, and came up with lots of cool moose puns: The Moose That Roared, The Moose Who Came in From The Cold, and the popular Chocolate Moose. This was all very entertaining at first, but when Sarah Palin came unto the scene, moose stories ceased to be funny. Suffice to say: Fleishman has contemplated moosicide, but with the right anti-depressants and some intense therapy, he'll be okay.
The trip to the Caribbean (with pal Bullwinkle) will help, too. Another setback in Moose World came when we sold the house in the country and had to consolidate our stuff into a New York apartment. Some of the moose, who were none too thrilled about this at first, now happily reside in my husband's warehouse where they have lots of room to roam and do whatever it is that moose do when left to their own devices. You may have noticed that I refer to these creatures as "who," "he," or "she," never as "that" or god forfend, "it," because, like all the stuffed animals you have ever cuddled and loved, they are not things at all. Each one has a personality. Fleishman was a worrier even before Shootin' Sarah came on the scene, Bullwinkle is full of piss and vinegar, Gus is a cross-eyed little guy who hides in your suitcase, Lucy is the lady moose with many offspring of questionable paternity.
Hal, the latest addition to the group, who came to us via my now grown-up nephew, seems like a cheery chap these days, but he used to have issues. He wanted to be a reindeer so that he could fly with Santa, but don't worry, it all worked out in the end. With the lights in his antlers and his can-do attitude, he got the job, much like Rudolph on that stormy Christmas night long ago, and now Hal enjoys being a moose. He has embraced his moositude. When he starts singing "I Enjoy Being A Moose" this whole thing will have gone too far. Actually, I got two moose for Christmas. One was this moose door draft stopper. No, really. And just in time for the blizzard.
I have a question. Why do so many people give me so many moose? •Could it be because it's the only thing I've ever collected, besides husbands?
•Do they like feeding my sense of whimsy?
•Do they secretly harbor a need for moose themselves? Stranger things have happened.
If the moose were chickens, I could use the old Woody Allen joke about not wanting to cure the brother (or was it the uncle?) who thought he was a chicken because "they needed the eggs." But moose are mammals, and substituting milk for eggs in that story just doesn't work. No matter. I love them. No moose is definitely not good moose around here, and hey, I just realized something: We don't have a Mickey Moose. Yet. Hint, hint. |
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- I'll Drink To That!
I most definitely plan to vote but it is our choic... - I'll Drink To That!
Just thought that the correlation between greatnes... - OH, SUGAR!
Don't worry, Mr. P. I never count calories and I w... - I'll Drink To That!
I'm going to vote, but not on caffeine vs. alcohol... - OH, SUGAR!
Pat, stop counting grams, etc. Portion control is ... - OH, SUGAR!
And you were eating the cottage cheese because you... - OH, SUGAR!
I see what you mean: there's 3 grams of fat in the... - OH, SUGAR!
This is in the same category of advice as A piece ... - OH, SUGAR!
Do what I do - don't wear your glasses when you ea... - It's No Yoke!
If it ever does, I'm going to document it and keep...
Bitter Patter
Friday the 13th
Came and went.
I bought a lottery ticket
And didn't win.
Reread
THE 13th FLOOR
To remind myself how lucky I am.
WENT FISHING!
Well, eating fish anyway.
And swimming, although not with the fishes in the Uncle Nunzio sense.
Back from the Caribbean.
But don't be TOO jealous:
My tan has already faded.
Besdies, before we left, I had to go through
THE ELEVEN STAGES OF PACKING
Which is not for sissies.
Just got a call from
(Gasp!) the dental hygienist.
Hasn't she read:
A DEVOUT COWARD
GOES TO THE DENTIST
Do NOT Google Santorum.
I warned you . . .
Just as I posted I WAS THE GIRL PHANTOM, I found a website called The Ghost Who Blogs about The Phantom comics:
http://falkonthewildside.blogspot.com
Writing Comics. . .
Was a small but wonderful part of my checkered career, and doing a post about it brought back a lot of great memories. If you know any other women in NYC who wrote — or are writing — comics, tell me how to get in touch with them.
I'm on a watching-old-movies kick these days.
Great way to lose yourself.
If you're lucky, you'll never be found.
REVIEWS TO PERUSE
I'm All Right, Jack:
"Jack" is not just all right, it's totally delightful and fresh as a daisy after all these years (made in 1959), with Sellers, although not technically the lead, giving the brilliant performance that launched him as an international star. He plays an all-too-zealous union leader and father of a blonde bombshell who falls for Stanley, the British Upper Class Twit played, also to perfection, by Ian Carmichael, who you might remember from the Lord Peter Wimsey series. The makeout scenes between the the Twit and the Bombshell are priceless. But what is Stanley doing in this working class atmosphere anyway? Working. And too well at that. Forced by financial circumstances too dreary to discuss, he gets a job in his uncle's factory and messes things up for the other workers by, well, working, and thus making his fellow employees look bad. The film takes a big shot at unions — but also at management: they are manipulating white-collar thieves who'll do anything for a buck. Or a pound. Except for the ones, like Major Hitchcock, played by Terry Thomas, who are just plain lazy and inept. Needless to say, Stanley foils everybody's plans, labor and management alike, to my great joy and delight. Oh, and on top of everything else, Margaret Rutherford plays dotty dowager Aunt Dolly. Delicious!
The Big Lebowski:
What can you say that hasn't been said before: brilliant, inspired, with some of the most memorable lines ever to come out of a movie, the most quoted being "The Dude abides." Oh yes. For anyone who hasn't yet seen the film, and it's now out in a special Blu-Ray edition if that floats your bowling ball. The Dude in question, played to perfection by Jeff Bridges, is an out-of-work pothead who is roughed up and has his rug destroyed by some thugs mistaking him for another, bigger, Lebowski. The Dude is really upset about this because, man, "that rug really tied the room together," which The Dude says with all seriousness and not a trace of irony, a great comic touch considering the condition his condition is in. Oh, and besides "Just Dropped In," all the music is perfect for the film. The plot, according to Wikipedia, which has been known to be wrong, is "loosely based on Raymond chandler's novel, The Big Sleep." Could be. But who cares. It involves a bowling competition, "the occasional acid flashback," a trophy wife, a group of German nihilists, a kidnapping gone awry, a mad millionaire and his lackey, in another great performance by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Actually, they're all great performances. Never a fan of John Goodman before or since, he is brilliant in this film. And so are John Turturro, overacting his little heart out, Steve Buscemi in a nerdy, needy role that makes you marvel at his star turn in Boardwalk Empire, and even the actors in the smaller parts, especially Julianne Moore and Sam Elliott. Elliott plays The Stranger (God? Everyman? The part of us that roots for the bad boy?) who elicits from Bridges the immortal words, "The Dude abides." Which prompts The Stranger to comment to the audience: "Don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the finals." We'll never know about the bowling trophy because there's never been a sequel to this 1998 film by the great Coen Brothers, and I hope there never will be. It just abides, as all great films do.
Prince of the City:
Okay, the criticisms of this movie are not totally unfounded: it's too long, and Treat Williams may have overacted a bit, although I found him so deliciously charming I couldn't care less, and there's one part concerning the Jerry Orbach character I just didn't understand. But get over it, The New Yorker, this is one powerful movie. And yes, Dog Day Afternoon it isn't, but what it? The DVD has a great special feature with Williams (I so want to call him Treat) and Sidney (what the hell: I once made a meatloaf sandwich for the man) that explains a lot about filmmaking in general and this movie in particular. Also, Sidney's views on good and evil, and how things are not so black and white as you think. I loved it.
Bad Day At Black Rock:
Recommended on TCM by Robert Osbourne as a film he originally had no interest in seeing, then loved it, and by Alex Baldwin, who pointed out the great actors in the cast, including Lee Marvin, Ernest Brognine and Dean Jagger. Well, after all that, I had to like it, right? I did. A lot. It was a Good Day On My Couch.
Behind the Scenes Stuff: Spencer Tracey was off drinking and wouldn't commit to the film until the producers (who wanted him desperately) told him that they had Alan Ladd, at which point Tracey grabbed it. He was perfect for the part, wearing a dark suit and tie the entire time in a western setting, pulling it off perfectly. Other than that "fashion statement," the film makes a strong case against racism: the hatred of the Japanese during WW2. See it.
Song of The Thin Man:
I usually like these frothy, silly, suave, utter unrealistic films from the 30s and 40s, with William Powell and Myrna Loy as the couple we'd all like to be — if only we had the looks, brains, money, a huge capacity for drinking and a dog like Asta. But this one was a stinker, rather than a stinger, or maybe a sinker, because it turned out to be the last, not to mention the least, in the series. Watch any of the others four sequels, but not this one: Even the pooch jumped the shark.
The Children's Hour:
It had its moments, and just looking at Audrey Hepburn makes life worth living, but mostly I kept thinking that the play, by Lillian Hellman, was so much better. It's about two young women runing a school for girls, who are accused by a hateful little brat of being (GASP!) lesbians. And although the closest we get in this 1961 production to using that actual term is the word "unnatural," it's enough to ruin their lives. A young Shirley McClaine is worth seeing in this, and James Garner, and Audrey Hepburn is, well, Audrey Hepburn. The rumor of the love that dare not speak its name is totally untrue — or is it? And I'll say no more, because you should see the movie for yourself, imperfect as it may be, as is Life Itself.
by martinis alone,
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Comments
No plural for moose? Mooses, mose, mosees? Is there a word for a group of moose? Never heard of one. "Moose-lock" could be ugly.
I know this one!!! She grew up in Wisconsin and if you have ever been there, which I have, cows out number people. Anywhere you look, there is a cow. She brought a little bit of home with her to NYC. Ever have Wisconsin cheddar or cheese curd? Cheddar, good; curd, no so much.
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