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Tuesday afternoon, 4:45 p.m. My work is done here. How are you?
The Turkey Holiday was great good fun, actually. Sonya and I ate with both families and were feeling somewhat bloated by the time we made it home, but everything else was pretty pleasant. I'm desperately trying to remember the highlights here...saw Sonya's grandparents...did some shopping...put up the Christmas tree...ate pizza....put up my mom's Christmas tree...
Oh yeah, we took Robby (Kathy's six year-old son) to the movies Saturday. The original intention was to take Robby as a beard so we could go see the Rugrats movie, but it was sold out. Really, what were we thinking, going to the movies in the suburbs on the Saturday afternoon after Thanksgiving? So there we were, looking up at the movies that were playing...
"We could see the new Babe movie," Sonya suggested.
"What do you think, Robby? Do you like Babe?" Robby was continually head-butting me in the hip at this point. I inserted my elbow between his head and my hip.
"Ow," he said, rubbing his forehead, "I like Babe."
So we saw the Pig Movie, and it was insane. Funny, chaotic and colorful. Go. See. I command you.
After the movie we met Kathy at a sports store a few blocks down to make the child exchange. At this point Robby went wild in Kathy's car, making lots of noise and trying to distract all three of us.
"Robby, I'm talking," Kathy said sternly, "what does that mean?"
"That I shouldn't talk," he answered, wedging himself deeper under the dashboard, "Help me help me help me!"
I descended to his level soon enough. His little blond head popped out of the sun roof and proceeded to berate me.
"You're silly," Robby would declare.
"Shut up," I'd respond.
"You're silly!"
"Shut up."
"You're silly!"
"Shut up."
"You're silly!"
"Shut up."
"You're silly!"
"Shut up."
"You're silly!"
"Shut up."
Kathy laughed at that. "You don't want him to say that back to you," she told me, "but it's so hard not to keep telling him that. He never stops talking. It's like something out of a horror movie - the unstoppable mouth."
I found out later, though, that Jen (who you'll remember from her cameo appearance) had an absolutely Chandlerian Thanksgiving. She:
James came down Sunday evening and we were talking.
"I mean," he said, "I just feel bad for her. She's losing her job, her cooch hurts, her ass hurts..."
"Someone walking in on that statement," I interrupted, "would wonder what kind of monster you were, James!"
So for all you folks who had awkward Turkey-days with your family: quit your whining.
Be thankful you're not Jen, if nothing else.
[And for all of you out there who think it's a bit unfeeling of me to fling Jen's misery against the internet like so much monkey poop: bite me. Jen told me I could write about it. She loves the spotlight, does Jen. If you're out there, Ms. Wood, I do hope you get to feeling better soon. And you'll find a better job; you got mad skills.]
I made a mix tape last night. Is it a hopelessly adolescent thing to do? I don't know. I just feel so satisfied after I make one.
A mix tape is all about transitions. I love to see one song end, another start and watch the listener's eyes light up when their favorite song starts rolling out. Or jarring transitions are good, too. Gentle folk music smooshed up against raging hardcore...or oh-so-serious REM juxtaposed with some bubblegum '80s pap - like Bizarre Love Triangle.
My proudest moment on this one? Edie Brickell to Black Flag to Musical Youth to Jimmy Buffett. It's a sweet combo.
I make it a practice to acknowledge all my unsolicited fan mail, as it is such a rare and special thing. With that in mind I must ask you to visit Siobhan's site. Prepare to be impressed: she's a college student in New York City - her journal is very metropolitan. Reading it is like having a peek into the life of a '90s Holly Golightly. And she has excellent taste, obviously. She linked to me! She linked to me! I feel sovalidated!
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