Better Homes and Psychics

Last night, at the house where the Keelhauler and I are babysitting two dogs, we were going through our recent bounty of thrift-store goods, which includes:

  1. A box of "Writing Delights" brand stationery, featuring the slogan the magic of thoughtfulness
  2. A bag of plastic fruit; and
  3. A fake stained-glass tumbler advertising Schlitz beer

The Keelhauler was looking through the complete set of nauseating Better Homes and Gardens recipe cards I insisted on buying, and I got bored and started making a Christmas card list.

Just as I finished writing the name Mr. Gelato, a friend of mine in San Francisco, the Keelhauler held up a card and said, "Gross!"

The picture showed a skillet full of mixed, chopped chartreuse vegetation. And here is the amazing coincidence: I have been vaguely trying for the past several months to recall the unusual name of a dish served to me eight years ago by Mr. Gelato's aunt, a woman I met only that one time. There it was, on the card: CHOW CHOW.

To be fair, the Chow Chow pictured on the recipe card didn't bear much resemblance to what Auntie Gelato served me, but still...

Weird.

Now I'm wondering if the recipe box can act as some kind of conduit to the after-life, or something. Should I ask it another question? I mean, I didn't really even ask anything last night--it was almost like the recipe box was watching me, and used the Keelhauler as a medium to communicate. It's so great! What am I thinking?! I am totally going to ask it more questions!

This is better than the Lonely Doll Prophecy Corner, in that it involves colorful pictures circa 1979, and helpful cooking tips such as, "serve with warmed catsup."

I'll let you know how it goes, and then you can send in your own questions! It's going to be so fun.

In which it is always a pleasure

'tis a pleasure to know Mr. Lear...

Do you know that limerick? I don't. Well, I know that one line, and that's all. I'm thinking of it because this weekend the Keelhauler and I went to Loyal Dan and Darcy's for what turned into an impromptu sleep-over, although not in an "orgy" kind of way, and when we left after brunch on Sunday, I thought, borrowing the words of ol' Al Perry, "It's always a pleasure." And then, because my brain races like a gerbil in a wheel, I got stuck on the Edward Lear limerick, to which I don't know all the lines. Is this what senility is going to be like? I can't wait!

We invariably have a good time at Loyal Dan & Darcy's, first because they're great hosts, and second, because they always introduce us to someone new and interesting. Well, mostly. There have been a couple duds, but I won't mention their names. (Will I...? I'll have to see how charitable I'm feeling at the end of this entry.)

So, we went, primarily to see McKenney's new movie, The Off Season, (a ghost story! creepy!) but also to hang out with Mr. Bill, a friend from Boston I haven't seen in ten years. He looks exactly the same, except now he has short, scientist-style hair instead of his former neo-Ringo Starr coif.

When we arrived for the shindig, two hours late owing to traffic, we met new and interesting Eric and Mindy, where Eric = an amusing, personable guy and Mindy = his delightful, adoring wife.

We had a good old time, with me telling all my long-winded old boring stories to a brand-new audience, and the Keelhauler rolling his eyes and yelling, "Not THIS one again!" when I brought up how I was once snubbed by the current owner of a boat previously owned by Sylvester Stallone. (I WAS, you know.)

We all sat outside. Loyal Dan was grilling portobello mushrooms, and Darcy was on her way home from the emergency room (unrelated to the mushrooms), and we all got to talking about how great Jonathan Richman is. Mainly, I am certain that this was my fault, although to be fair, "New England" was playing on the stereo at the time.

Eric and Mindy stated that they love him, too, and that they'd met him in San Francisco, where Jonathan had told them some sort of iffy joke, which Eric did not repeat for our pleasure. (Damn!) And we all started talking about music and different clubs and whatnot, and eventually it became clear that Eric must be in a band, so I asked him. It took a couple of direct questions until he quietly said the name of his band, which is the Mekons, which caused a great, sinking feeling of "Oh, RIGHT. Excuse Me, I am a Big Krod for Not Recognizing You" on my part. (I would like to stress that he did not imply that--It was strictly my own, wonderful feeling of obliviousness revealed.)

Darcy got back from the hospital, and we all had more wine and/or beer, and laughed it up for a long time, while Sweetie the dog sat nearby, staring with disturbing precision towards the sausages on the table.

The Keelhauler invited everyone to come sailing, and Mindy & Eric said goodnight, and Darcy insisted that we stay over and go to brunch the next morning in honor of the lovely and talented Rachel Arieff, who is moving to Spain to continue her great and startling cabaret lifestyle we should all be jealous of and support fully.

We watched "The Off Season," and "Zombie Honeymoon," and some episode of a show called UFO, and by 3:30 in the morning, even Loyal Dan was tired, so we all turned in. In separate beds. Please. We are not swingers.



Star of the day. . .
posted @ 8:23 p.m. on 12.13.04 before | after

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She lay awake all night,

zzzzzzzzzzz......