Black Friday Miscellany

Black Friday With Ella

It seems ironically appropriate to be listening to Ella Fitzgerald crooning out Summertime from Porgy and Bess on this very cold and snowy morning after Thanksgiving. Ella is amazing. Her ability to be loose and jazzy and yet so completely precise makes her interpretations of the classics the ones we have come to accept as gospel. I also subscribe to the general tenet that Ella must be listened to on vinyl as the nuance and timbre afforded by that medium is the only way to truly experience the vocal and instrumental depth and color that approaches the excitement of her live performance.

Thursdays with Peggy

My sister and I talked for an hour last night. It was the second time this week we have spoken which is some sort of recent record. We used to talk a lot, but not as much in the last few years for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is our mutually busy but conflicting work schedules. It is great during the holidays to spend a little time catching up. Sometimes, regrettably that means you spend time sort of bitching about the tougher parts of life rather than having a good time. I have always been a sounding board for my sister, a role I play happily and freely, but it is really nice when we just relax and talk like we did last night.

Our discussion of our Thanksgiving feasts led us down the road of our favorite culinary stories from our childhood, from our mutual hatred for Miracle Whip, the revelation that we both almost always threw away the lunches that mom made us and bought lunch at school, how neither one us us can look at a pack of bologna and not gag and one particularly fetid casserole that we were made to eat (look for this story in a future blog post which I wrote in 1998 if I can find it on one of my external hard drives). Growing up in our house was sort of like a food roulette. You never knew what you were gonna get. My mother was an R.N. and worked various shifts. She was an otherwise involved and busy person as well. My dad occasionally cooked but it was usually things my mom refused to eat. So when mom worked late, it was a lot of Hormel corned beef hash and Spam brand... whatever the hell Spam is.

One night, Dad was cooking and asked me, his 7 year old son, how much of the box of noodles mom used to make spaghetti. "All of it!" "All of it?" "Yes, all of it." My father of that era was a lot of things, but patient wasn't one of them. Of course it became apparent that there was enough spaghetti to feed an army and my dad was incensed. Another thing dad wasn't, was wasteful. He made me eat my share, and all that was left after he and my sister had their fill. Apparently he was unaware of the drawer full of Tupperware in the ubiquitous colors of the '70s rainbow from burnt orange to avocado green.

When my mom came home, she said I didn't look too good. I didn't feel to good either. In the process of saying "My stomach hurts", I hurled 3 pounds of largely intact spaghetti noodles all over the couch, the ottoman and the carpet. I remember my mom's reaction, a simple "Oh, my!" She was after all a nurse who dealt with patients just out of surgery. I imagine she saw a lot of puke in her life. She jumped into action and took care of me and the mess. to her credit, I remember she took care of me first which must have taken a lot because there was one helluva mess.

My sister spilled the beans so to speak, about the felonious amounts of food I was made to eat. I wish I could have heard the dressing down she gave my dad, but they never exchanged words in front of us. They were a unified front at all times without exception. I can only imagine behind closed doors what was said. Maybe after all these years, the statute of limitations has expired and mom will fill me in.

My sister and I laughed about our shared memories and told stories that have been told a million times, each time more ostentatious and bombastic that the last. We did not talk about troubles, stresses, work or the state of the world. We just had a blast. It may not be customary to give and receive gifts on Thanksgiving, but I feel like that was a great gift I received.

I have a million of these stories that make me laugh so hard it hurts. My sister says I can't blog about them because it will hurt my parents' feelings. I disagree. If I can get a laugh and hurt someone's feelings, I have done good work. I kid. I don't intend to hurt anyone's feelings, it is just undeniable the impact these stories have had on my. Why not share?

Of Things Left Unsaid and Books Left Unwritten

As many of you who read this may know I endeavored to start a blovelette some time back. I haven't forgotten it, it is maturating and marinating in my head. I admit it is more daunting than I initially thought. Also, I am a great starter, but a mediocre finisher. I often think of my characters as though they are real while I plot my next points. I want them feel genuine to the reader. Suffice it to say, I am working on it, even if I am not working on it. The long form is entirely experimental to me as the last long form thing I wrote was a thesis paper of 36 pages... not exactly War and Peace. Not to mention, I am a mostly non-fiction reader, which isn't to say I don't read fiction, I just don't read it as much as non-fiction. My frame of reference is therefore a little skewed. Besides, it's a hobby so why force it, right? And for now I really enjoy blogging. Coming up with things to write multiple times per week, even if they are 9 paragraph ditties is a challenge unto itself, especially when I don't type and there is always a cat on my lap causing my computer to be at an odd angle to me making it even harder than it should be.

The Clever Mr. Brooks

It has been too long since I have seen Blazing Saddles. I am hoping to watch it again today. It is a guilty pleasure. Guilty because so much of its humor is derived from racist themes. It is clear, though that it doesn't take itself in any way seriously and in its painfully funny way makes the racist people the joke, not the racism. In the end of course, it is the coming together to the people of Rock Ridge and the largely black railroad workers that seals the fate of the dastardly Heddy ("that's Hedley!") Lamar.

In my humble opinion, Mel Brooks reached his comic apogee in 1977, the year Saddles and another of my favorites, Young Frankenstein came out. To be that brilliant, even if for a brief moment in time is a great gift. I personally don't think any of his work since has been nearly as good, (yes, even The Producers which I think is so-so). Whatever, these two movies are gifts to the world, all at once diametrically different and practically perfect.

Hunkering Down

If you get the impression that I am in for the day, you got it right. It is cold outside and being a misanthrope, I avoid leaving the house on the big shopping days as much as possible. After Em is done working, we will bundle up and take our walk. It am not looking forward to that as it really is nasty cold and windy. But, we need to do it. Then I think a fire in the fireplace (a good spot, me thinks) and some red wine to finish the evening. This is my kind of holiday. In fact, this is my kind of life, fleeting though it may be.

Benne Fortuna!