Category: CAT

BBGE Recap, Episode II

August 19, 2008 – The Russian’s new house (Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen)

For this recapper (Mr. Benchly), the Best Book Group Ever (BBGE) began at 6:15 p.m. when he realized he had forgotten to make a salad for BBGE. After a quick trip to the store during which he planned a salad that would require the least amount of work, Mr. Benchly placed said salad in his mother’s wooden salad bowl and wondered aloud whether or not anyone in the book group would notice such a grown-up kitchen dish coming from such a non-grown-up. Unsure of which house was The Russian’s, Mr. Benchly looked around and saw a number of BBGE cars parked on a corner and assumed they were on to something. He walked through the front door to discover The Russian, The Canadian, CAT, The Heinous Shrew, The Professor, and The Mother had already arrived. Any other time and he would have been embarrassed by his tardiness, but not while carrying a grown-up salad bowl. The Dean was busy being a dean; The Newbie was busy sleeping off her exhaustion.

The book group spent the first hour or so chowing down on appetizers on the kitchen counter (brought earlier by The Dean[?]). The salsa reminded Mr. Benchly of the salsa CAT served during a recent visit to her house, which was left over from a recent party at her house. The Dean was at this party and so Mr. Benchly’s theory was that The Dean brought this same salsa to the recent party at CAT’s house. It was fruity and good. There were other appetizers but this recapper didn’t try any because he wasn’t sure how to eat them. Other book groupers ate them, though, so he’s pretty sure they were good.

At some point, discussion turned to CAT’s recent trip out west with her soon-to-be live-in boyfriend, CAT Lover. After a few details that would subsequently be proven by other news to be inconsequential but which this recapper still remembers (e.g., CAT got free Cliff bars), CAT revealed that CAT Lover complemented the romantic setting of a gorgeous and isolated Wyoming mountain top with a question whose answer instantly made him CAT’s soon-to-be live-in fiancé, CAT Lover. Book group was pleased. As was CAT. And then The Dean showed up and CAT gave him the abridged story (sans the part about Cliff bars), and The Dean gave CAT two hugs.

Other book group relationship news included The Heinous Shrew’s decision to move into a new apartment with her boyfriend (aka, our veggie eggplant entrée chef) in the South End of Burlington. This recapper called her a traitor to the Old North End (ONE) while ignoring the not-discussed fact that he had also moved out of the ONE. The Heinous Shrew seemed happy with her decision, though slightly bummed that she would now have to cross Pearl Street for the first time in 13 years(?). There would be more relationship discussions, but not before dinner.

Dinner was served after 8 p.m. and consisted of said salad in the said grown-up salad bowl by Mr. Benchly, the aforementioned eggplant dish by The Heinous Shrew’s boyfriend, brought by The Heinous Shrew, a cheese/tomato veggie side by CAT, chicken and Cornish game hens by The Russian, Great Harvest bread by Great Harvest brought by The Russian, and wine brought by The Canadian and The Mother. It was decided that yet again, the BBGE had compiled a delicious dinner. After a quick walk down BBGE nostalgia lane in which we determined that our little book group was nearly five years old, talk turned to The Dean’s recent house guests who resisted the temptation to not pass gas in his house. CAT and The Mother thoroughly enjoyed The Dean repeatedly saying “fart.” At this point, and maybe in an effort to prove that book group wasn’t just about fart jokes, The Professor segued into a discussion on the book, which, unfortunately, it appeared as though only three and a half of us had read (The Professor, The Canadian, and CAT, plus half of The Dean). The Professor, The Canadian, and CAT gave us a very descriptive and rewarding panel recap and discussion of the book. For this recapper, it was like BBGE meets Cliff Notes. It should be noted that this panel discussion inspired The Mother to think about borrowing the book. Also worth mentioning is that she wouldn’t be able to borrow it from The Canadian because The Canadian had borrowed it from the library per CAT’s suggestion.

The post-dinner conversation over dessert brought by The Professor, ranged from The Russian’s tales of tails and how close she and her boyfriend are to opening their doggie daycare business, to The Heinous Shrew trying to give away her 1-year-old drunk girl cat (so named because he was acquired last year from a drunk girl downtown), to The Russian trying to give away her parents’ furniture (which both The Heinous Shrew and Mr. Benchly were interested in for their respective reasons), to the Front Porch Forum’s ability to find this recapper’s blog, to The Dean’s recent adventures in dating. We discussed The Dean’s options (Bachelorette #1 and Bachelorette #2); some of us liked #1 while others liked #2. The Heinous Shrew mentioned that The Dean should consider who was the easiest one to plan a date for and that’s the one he “should do.” This recapper was amazed at how red The Heinous Shrew’s face turned at the realization of what she had said. And thanks to the wonders of the Internet, we even saw a picture of Bachelorette #1 who, most everyone agreed, was super cute. The Heinous Shrew was dubious and claimed the picture could just be an optical illusion. The Russian then showed us two options for her new business logo and per BBGE standards, some liked the blue while others liked the green. The Dean was dubious because colors always look different on a computer screen.

After settling down and choosing our next book, meeting time/location, and food/wine bringers, it was time (9:45 p.m.) for book group to come to an end. And as this recapper left The Russian’s house with his mother’s grown-up salad bowl in hand, and as he drove home to his parents’ house where he’s staying until he moves into a new ONE apartment with a new roommate September 1, he thought of all the changes happening in the BBGE’s relationships, whether spoken or not. A lot happens in a month and he can’t wait to hear everyone’s updates next month.

The BBGE, and Bob’s your uncle

As some of you may know, I’m a member of Burlington’s best book group ever, appropriately titled the Best Book Group Ever. Started many years ago through random connections on Friendster (the Myspace of 2004), the BBGE now consists of nine members: The Dean, The Professor, The Canadian, The Heinous Shrew, CAT, Mr. Benchly, The Russian, The Mother, and The Newbie. With this steady Who’s Who of Burlington cast of characters in place, invitations to join are rare and not taken lightly. Mine came via CAT two years ago, and thankfully, I have yet to be kicked out. Since then, only The Newbie has accepted an invitation.

After our most recent gathering, I took it upon myself to write a recap for the BBGE’s private website. Because I had fun with it, and because I’ve been slacking with the Blogger posts lately, I thought I’d share it with you, my faithful reader. And so, without further ado, I give to you a rare glimpse into the Best Book Group Ever…

May 20, 2008 – The Newbie’s house (The Attack by Yasmina Khadra)

For this recapper, book group began in the Old North End when four ONErs (The Professor, The Dean, CAT, and Mr. Benchly) gathered at CAT’s house so that we could carpool to The Newbie’s house. (The Professor came bearing a fishbowl surprise veggie dish from The Heinous Shrew who could not attend.) Mr. Benchly was impressed with how environmentally conscious all of his carpooling book groupers were since The Newbie’s house was only two or three miles away near Oakledge Park. At this point, it was revealed to him that The Newbie’s house was actually in Essex, 20 minutes away, and Bob’s your uncle.

At sometime near 7 p.m., the ONEr carpool express arrived at The Newbie’s newbie house, which is in an area of Essex nearly as wooded as Oakledge Park, but populated by not nearly as many drunk college kids. The ONEr carpool express arrived a few minutes after The Mother, and a few minutes before The Canadian. The other book group member, The Russian, could not attend, and Bob’s your uncle.

Our appetizer hour was spent circling The Newbie and her husband’s new cardboard kitchen island on which olives, cheese, crackers, wine, and champagne were placed. (Mr. Benchly was pleased that there was a bowl in which to place the olive pits, as this is always a matter of social anxiety and distress for him and usually prevents him from enjoying more than one olive at a party.) Champagne was poured and we toasted to The Dean’s new deanship, The Professor’s new tenure, and The Heinous Shrew’s ability to get her boyfriend to make her book group dish.

The pre-dinner/pre-book discussion ranged from whether or not any book group members could be classified as Dignified Middle Aged (DMA), to the recent home improvement work done to The Newbie’s newbie home, to The Russian’s upcoming housewarming party, to CAT’s housing situation, to The Professor’s drug-dealing neighbors, to an explanation of the phrase “and Bob’s your uncle” (a phrase this recapper so desperately wants to understand), to The Mother’s new job at the Front Porch Forum, and to many other topics this recapper can’t quite remember. It should be pointed out that this recapper had two glasses of wine, two more than his usual.

Dinner was served at a little after 8 p.m. and consisted of the aforementioned fishbowl surprise veggie dish, a salad by The Canadian, asparagus by CAT(?), a Russian (?) chicken dish by The Newbie, and bread by Mr. Benchly by Red Hen Bakery. At this point, discussion turned to the book, and, disappointed by a lack of segue, CAT shared with us the segue she almost used before dinner. The Newbie, The Professor, The Dean, and CAT were quickly identified as the book groupers who had read the book. There was some speculation that Mr. Benchly had not read the book as a sort of retaliation against those who didn’t read his book for the last meeting. These rumors proved to be false. This recapper sensed that, all in all, the four readers enjoyed the book, and their discussion lasted 10–15 minutes (?).

The post-dinner/dessert discussion turned into a vent session about bad grammar (thus making this recapper extremely paranoid), as well as a confessional on past crimes of book groupers, which, for the sake of privacy and intrigue, will not be revealed in this recap. Needless to say, though, The Canadian should now be referred to as The Canadian Criminal. We then voted on CAT’s book selections, planned our next meeting, said our goodnights, headed home a little after 10 p.m., and Bob’s your uncle.

Turning on the water

If I have a favorite household chore, The Virgin Mary will assure you that it’s definitely not cleaning out the kitty litter but maybe, just maybe it’s washing the dishes. And her hunch is a correct one backed by a year and a half of detergent-soaked proof. I seem to be always washing dishes and for awhile, my explanation was simply that it was the only chore I knew how to do effectively, but recently, I’ve realized that I do it more for the sense of cleansing satisfaction I get whenever I finish the job. It’s nice to be able to make something clean and pure again; in this world, you don’t get that opportunity very many times.

This weekend brought with it plenty of opportunities to wash dishes. CAT invited all of her friends to her family’s summer home for the weekend, and I graciously accepted the invitation. Considering the emotional repercussions of last fall’s Great Snoring Banishment of 2004 (see October 10, 2004 blog posting), I was hesitant to return to the Bradford, VT wood, but with lowered expectations, and less people in attendance, this weekend turned out to be more rewarding than the previous one spent there. And while I admit this partially had to do with the fact that I was not forced to share a room with The Paraguayan (the snorer, not a guy pretending to be gay), I believe that my improved spirits were more the result of a new friend that I made: The Righteous Babe (named as such for her startling resemblance [both physical- and personality-wise] to the original RB).

The Righteous Babe showed up late Saturday night after catching a bus from Boston and though I had only been at the house for half the day, her arrival was a much-needed antidote for the frustratingly annoying Ma Gorg (picture the traits of this Fraggle Rock character and Fraggle nemesis, and you know what I had to deal with this weekend). Ma Gorg has a dominant personality and because of this, she made a point of having her hands in every activity, food dish, and tangible part of the summer house, while making sure to rule every discussion, joke, and thought of the weekend. I learned very quickly Saturday that my favorite part of the house/property was always wherever there was the required space between myself and Ma Gorg to make her voice disappear. When The Righteous Babe arrived, I no longer needed that spatial filter because she brought with her a spiritual buffer to any and all stress (that may sound cheesy, but it’s the only way for me to describe it).

We set a place for The Righteous Babe at the dinner table and made enough food for the extra person, but because of commuting obstacles beyond her control, she arrived late and a few minutes after we had finished eating. Most of us remained at the table to keep her company while she ate her meal and it was quickly discovered that thanks to Ma Gorg’s generous second helping, there was nothing left of the main course for The Righteous Babe to eat. With a heartfelt appreciation for even having a plate set aside for her, The Righteous Babe devoured what was left of the salad and dessert.

The evening gave us the chance to play board games (CAT’s favorite past-time and the universal G-rated ice-breaker). While a few hours of games wasn’t remotely close to enough time to thaw the many layers of ice I had placed between Ma Gorg and myself, it did allow enough time for the green-house effect to take effect between me and The Righteous Babe. And for that, as is often the case, I can take no credit. And I doubt that The Righteous Babe would take credit either; she was simply doing, I believe, what came naturally to her (ie, she was being herself).

The rest of the weekend allowed for many opportunities to nap, read, write, play games, go for walks, enjoy the scenery, eat, sit in front of a fire, have great conversations, and all the other activities silently implied by the term “R & R.” And after nearly every meal, in an effort to chip in around the house, and while mentioning my inability to do any other chores (specifically cook), I washed the dishes. The weekend would have been perfect had it not been for the fact that Ma Gorg was part of nearly all of it. And then:

Monday morning, after an enormous breakfast I classified as in my list of “Top 25 Breakfasts of All Time” and after a satisfying weekend, which, because of Ma Gorg’s constant interference, was not completely satisfying, I found myself on Closure’s doorstep, washing dishes and standing beside The Righteous Babe, with a towel in her hands. We were alone in the kitchen and took the opportunity to talk about everything two strangers could possibly have time to talk about in 10 minutes, which is to say we didn’t talk nearly long enough. But what we did say was important, I hope, to both of us. While she gave me career (and on a subtextual level, life) advice, in an ironic conversational twist, I may have given her the advice for which she had not yet realized she was looking.

Regretfully, I finished washing the last dish and hesitantly, The Righteous Babe dried it and filed it away in the cupboards. She said that I should write about two strangers/new friends washing dishes in the kitchen and I assured her that I had already written part of the story in my head. A few short minutes later, with a hug and well wishes, we said goodbye and I waved to her as she drove down the long driveway. After watching her car disappear into the trees, I returned to the house where CAT had already begun the process of closing up the house by shutting off the water.

Let’s Not Go to the Movies

There’s a Simpsons episode where Homer realizes his stupidity can be blamed on a crayon he shoved up his nose and lodged into his brain when he was a young boy. As an adult, he decides to have it removed and instantly, he becomes a genius. He’s so smart he accidentally proves there is no God. Unfortunately for him, after gaining intelligence, the simple things in life no longer entertain him.

In one scene, Homer is shown in a movie theatre watching the latest comedy off the Hollywood assembly line. He is surrounded by a theatre full of people laughing hysterically and he can’t understand why. He says something to the effect of, “I don’t understand; this isn’t funny at all.”

The point of all of this is, I felt like Homer Simpson Friday night as I sat there in the theatre with CAT, The Virgin Mary, and The Irish Postman. We were watching Monster-in-Law with Jane Fonda and J-Lo, and my lord, I’d say that I had never seen anything so poorly written and badly acted as this, but I’d be lying because I see it more often than not whenever I go to the movies. What’s worse than that is that nearly everyone in the theatre left thinking it was money well spent.

I understand Hollywood’s point of view here; it’s the same point of view that McDonald’s and WalMart and auto companies, and oil companies, and the government share: if society keeps on buying it, we’ll keep on selling it. So you can’t really blame them for cashing in like that. I’m sure most of us would sell out for a billion dollars. But you have to blame us for not putting our collective foot down and demanding better products. At some point, we decided by majority that we will accept less than what’s good for us so long as we could chalk it up to easily pronounced sayings like “that’s life” or “so it goes” or “welcome to the real world.”

And sadly, I need to bring this rant to a quick end. I’d write more but XXX: State of the Union starts in 20 minutes.

Song of My Anecdotal Self, Volume 2: My Juxtapositional Life

Part 1.
For the next few weeks, the Loser Cruiser will be driven by a substitute driver while its regular driver, Deane, visits with his son who is on leave from the military. I don’t know the new driver’s name but she seems nice and unlike the regular Friday morning driver Steve, she actually knows how to drive a big bus and how to drive on the highway.

Tuesday morning, I was the lone passenger as we departed the B’town bus station. Monday morning, the driver had to ask where to make one of the turns but by Tuesday, having memorized the route completely, her only question was whether or not to stop to pick up a man standing at a bus stop on the side of the road. Without hesitation, I said, “no, he’s waiting for another bus. Deane always waves to him as we pass him.” I was alarmed at how familiar I’ve become with the route and routine.

A few minutes later, I instructed the driver to stop for the silver-haired Daddy Sutherland standing on the side of the road nowhere near a bus stop. I’m not particularly fond of this man, a state senator, but I figured it was my civil responsibility to make sure he made it to work on time. Not coincidentally, I was reminded of a recent conversation I overheard him having with another state senator in which he said, “sometimes you have to vote for the things you disagree with in order to make sure the ones you really want pass.”

As the bus made its way onto the highway and its patrons cozied into their seats for their morning nap or read, I wondered what it must feel like to be a substitute driver. For all I know, she’s only been hired until Deane returns in which case, what must it feel like to do a job efficiently while lacking any job security whatsoever and never knowing if the seat you’re sitting in is a temporary or a permanent one? And if you were worried you were only in a temporary job, would you have it in you to do the job well?

Part 2.
Wednesday was Othello’s 4th birthday. To accommodate everyone’s schedules (including my own), I scheduled a birthday party for Tuesday night. After spending the first half hour eating and talking and letting Othello get used to so many people in the apartment, my mother, Sarah the L, Smoochie Poo, Jay Peak, CAT, Hypothetical, Montana Girl, Surfboard Guy, and I quietly sang happy birthday to the kitty while Smoochie Poo carried into the room a food dish with Fancy Feast and a lit candle in it.

After Othello ate a little of his birthday “cake” and while he went to the bathroom 5 or 6 times (he’s a nervous kitty and his bladder goes crazy whenever he’s nervous), I opened his presents for him. Considering that Othello was able to cope with an apartment full of people and then he spent most of the night playing with his new toys, I think it’s safe to say the party was a success.

Afterwards, after most everyone had left, I sat there with Sarah the L and Smoochie Poo, playing catch up for all the time we’ve lost now that Sarah no longer works with me. At one point, she asked me if I would be willing to watch her kitty for a day or two this weekend while she and Smoochie traveled to Connecticut. Considering I had no way of getting to her apartment, I had to regretfully decline. This prompted Sarah to wonder if her indoor kitty would be OK alone for two days. I reminded her of what I had heard about cats: most cats, after being left alone 2-3 days, believe their food supply has been cut off and start looking for a new home. So while her kitty wouldn’t be able to escape, she would most certainly greet Sarah’s return with a very cold shoulder.

Part 3.
This next part, I’m surprised to say, I’m finding incredibly difficult to write. Last night, as is always the case on the second Wednesday of every month, was Trivia Night. My team, the Hotties, gathered for yet another attempt at the Trivia Crown. Our team consisted of myself, CP, CP’s mother, CP’s brother and his girlfriend. Sadly, Sarah the L was not in attendance. The night started without fanfare as we barely found an open table at which to sit. We were surrounded by obnoxiously drunk legislators and for a brief moment, I considered packing it in and calling it a night. But then…

After the first three rounds, One Flew Over the Hotties Nest (our name for the night) found itself alone atop the leader board with a perfect score. Only after the next two rounds when, unlike past Trivia Nights, we found ourselves just one point out of first place, did we begin to think something different was happening. And even then, we were prepared to lose. You see, we Hotties are accustomed to losing. We’re like Cubs’ fans and our motto has always echoed what a summer beer league softball coach once told my team: “It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s HOW you lose that matters.”

I’ve spent the last three years of my Trivia Night life crafting email invitations and recaps detailing every which possible way we Hotties could lose. And this is why I’m having trouble finding the right words to say. How do you say “we won”? After so many times trying and failing, after so many close calls and near misses, after so many nights when you dared fate by trying to glimpse into your glorious future, after so many heart-breaking finishes, how do you say you won? I think I’m unable to find the right words because I’m in shock and I’m having trouble accepting the reality. I expect to wake from this dream. But man, oh man, what a sweet dream it is.

I’m With Crazy

As some of the five of you know, while I do have a computer at home, I don’t have Internet access, which went the way of the landline phone. And so my ability to send emails and post on my blog rests solely on the shoulders of three separate but equally awkward computers:

1. My work computer, which is owned by the very same company that recently officially forbid its employees to send personal emails and surf the Internet. Thus, whenever I send emails and post on my blog, I’m risking termination of my employment.

2. My parents’ computer, which I use far too often whenever I visit. And truth be told, I visit them far too often. They’re probably sick of me and probably sick of me using their computer all the time.

3. The public library computers, which I use occasionally and which I’m currently using. Typically, I use them on the days I don’t work and whenever I feel like I’ve worn out my welcome at my parents’ house.

And so, after spending at least 5 consecutive days at my parents’ house due to the holidays, and on my day off from work, I have decided to venture down to the public library to post this message. In doing so, I am braving an hour in the building in which I have had quite possibly the most uncomfortable encounters of my short life.

You see, the library is home to the Library Crazies. There are the men who talk to themselves; the women who cause scenes because their allotted computer time expired before they could finish their Internet game; the teenagers who are so starved for attention that they yell at each other and ignore the poor librarian’s desperate attempts to quiet them down; and finally, the staining ones (the individuals who leave stains on the chairs they use). So far, with 14 minutes left, I have been fortunate enough to have only encountered a man singing to himself and luckily, he sang in tune.

Today has been a somewhat disappointing one. My friend CAT canceled our cross-country skiing plans and so, despite the newly fallen 6-8 inches of snow, I stayed indoors. After a short trip to the mall with The Virgin Mary, I got into my car to run some errands. Well, evidently, Inga Beep the Jeep had another idea because she wasn’t running right and I had to turn around and park her in the parking lot. I don’t think her gears were catching; though, let’s be honest, her turn signal could have caused this problem and I wouldn’t have known the difference. The sun has set, the day is slowly ending, and I feel as though I’ve wasted it. If I had it to do over again, this is what would have happened:

I woke up at 9, showered, dressed, and walked to Muddy Waters, a local coffee shop and ordered a hot chocolate. After reading a few chapters in a new book of short stories, and after writing a few pages of a letter to a friend, I returned home, dropped off my things and then ventured out onto the streets of Burlington in my skis. After skiing around town for an hour or so, I returned home again, showered, dressed, and ventured to the local theatre to watch a matinee. Then I returned to Muddys for another hot chocolate and to read some more. As the sun was setting, I walked home for a quiet night of movie-watching and cuddling with Othello. The end. Oh well.

"Get Up, Everybody, and Sing!"

I spent yesterday trying to shake a migraine that has, unfortunately, carried over into today. The headache was the result of a combination of events and nonevents from this weekend:

1. My acceptance of an invitation by some friends to a local bar’s karaoke night Saturday;
2. My consumption of a handful of alcoholic drinks; and
3. My foolishness, before bed, in forgetting to take the “Anti-Hangover Medicine”: two Advils and a tall glass of water.

But I’ll be the first one to admit that my hangover was well worth the sight and slightly worth the sound of my friend singing a rousing rendition of “We Are Family.” For future reference, this friend will be known as Jay Peak, for his tongue-in-cheek desire to climb said mountain. Jay Peak nailed the first two lines of the chorus that everyone knows (“We are family. I got all my sisters with me”) and then resorted to a sad but, albeit high-quality, spoken-word delivery of the verses.

Sitting there listening to Jay Peak perform, with CAT on one side of me, and Montana Girl on the other, I was reminded of a conversation I had with Montana Girl a few months ago, in which she introduced me to the idea of an Urban Tribe, a concept she learned of in a book she had just finished (Urban Tribes: A Generation Redefines Friendship, Family, and Commitment” by Ethan Watters). Stated far too simply, the book analyzes the “white, upper-middle class, post-college, yet-to-be-married (ages 25-39) residents of bohemian garrets who host great New Year’s Eve parties and travel en masse to the New Orleans Jazz Festival.” At its heart, the book describes our generation’s establishment of the “Urban Tribe,” a “rotating network of friends and acquaintances that covers all functions formerly served by the traditional family, thus eliminating the need for marriage and intimacy.”

At first, I didn’t put much stock in this book and its core theory because I viewed the book as just another lame attempt by a member of my generation to turn a profit by trying to explain my increasingly inexplicable generation. But then I thought about it and my life and realized that like it or not, the author’s on to something.

While I often complain that all of my friends are falling victim to the desperation of a married life, truth be told, with few exceptions, the great majority of my friends are in their late 20s and unmarried. Whether by choice or heartache, here we are, legally unattached and desperately seeking Susan…or that all elusive boy named “Sue.” We’re constantly using our get-togethers to define who we are by not only the things we do, but also by the people with whom we do these things. Because if we know who we are, we are more apt to know what we want, and if we know what we want, maybe one day we’ll find it, and until we find it, we’ll have our fun. And what are these things we do?:

1. Game Nights – My Urban Tribe has started to resemble an advertisement for Hasbro. And believe me, I’m not complaining.
2. TV/Movie Nights – Honestly, who here in the last year, hasn’t spent at least one night a week, every week or month with friends, devoted to watching SOMETHING on TV?
3. Book Clubs – We love to read, yes, but it’s the monthly meetings we crave.
4. Knitting/Cooking/Wine/etc. clubs – see explanation for #3.
5. Holiday/birthday parties – I used to think the only parties ever thrown were the Chucky Cheese ones for kids; the slumber party ones for teenagers; the “we really want to be wife-swapping but I guess we’ll have these boring PTA and babysitting horror story conversations instead” parties for our parents; and the birthday cake-card-and-hug ones for our immediate families. And then I hit my mid-20s and suddenly, everyone’s throwing a party for everyone else. It’s just a guess, but I think all of the world’s major problems would have been solved in the last 5 years if my generation had devoted as much attention to the problems as it did to celebrating everything else.
6. Other – Just the other day, I was invited by Montana Girl’s Urban Tribe to participate in Christmas caroling up and down Burlington’s Church Street. Evidently, this is an annual thing for them, as is their viewing of A Charlie Brown Christmas (see also #2).

Did you notice something? A theme maybe? Aside from the fact that they’re all designed in order to make us feel included in the world, if there’s one other trait all of these activities have in common, it’s got to be their recurring nature. We leave each activity assuming there will be a next. And it seems, that is where the genius of this Urban Tribe idea can be found. In the absence of the security and comfort that was handed to us in our childhood by our traditional family, we’ve created these new families that are as stable and loving as can possibly be.

And so, while attempting to plan a February URT to New Orleans with Ms. Parker, True, and Ms. Scharf (though not for the Jazz Festival) and while simultaneously planning this year’s New Year’s Eve festivities (which will be spent with, at the very least, Mia Wallace; and at the very most, Mia, Sarah the L, Mr. Mikes, and a few more unnicknamed friends; but not with my immediate family, who, incidentally, will all be in town), I’ve come to the realization that although my traditional family still has an important place in my life and always will, my Urban Tribe has taken on a much larger role as of late. And I’m OK with that. Because, in the karaoked words of Jay Peak, “we are family!”

Jeff Goldblum Syndrome

My favorite song lyric from the last year comes from Iron and Wine’s song Bird Stealing Bread:

“Do his hands in your hair feel a lot like a thing you believe inor a bit like a bird stealing bread out from under your nose?”

This has nothing to do with anything other than it’s the song playing right now as I type this.

So I’ve returned from the wood. I spent the last 48 hours at my friend CAT’s parents’ summer home in VERY VERY VERY rural Vermont. The house was incredible and so too was the company with whom I spent this weekend. The majority of my temporary housemates were related to each other and this became evident almost immediately as you heard the many years they’ve spent together echoing in their smiles and laughter. But I never felt like an outsider…except, of course, when it involved their family’s complete dominance at card games.

I had plenty of time to play fetch with the dogs and all of them knew the remarkable command “GAME OVER.” If they were begging you to throw the ball and you were tired or it was obvious that they were tired and needed to rest, all you had to say was “GAME OVER” and they’d take the ball from your hand, walk away, and lie down somewhere. That’s a command I needed for myself when I was growing up. =)

I also had plenty of time to read from the book I’ve been reading the last week or two: The Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by David Eggers (I think I got the title correct). Great story and great writing and I often hear my thoughts and feelings in his words. And this is both comforting and frustrating. Comforting to know that I’m not alone in my thoughts and frustrating because now what the hell am I supposed to write about?!?!

The food I ate this weekend was delicious with a capital FREAKIN! I ate so much that I’ll be digesting all winter. And we got to sit in front of the fire place at night, which is always a treat. But then, the straw that broke my 27 year old camel’s back:

I snore. There, I said it. I snore like it’s nobody’s business. I snore like it’s my job and I love what I do for a living. I’m loud. VERY loud. And like ALL snorers, I can’t help this. And believe me, I want to help this. I want to wake up in the morning and be asked how I slept and answer “great” and have that be the end of the discussion. But instead, my life has been spent having the “how did you sleep?” “Great!” “Yeah, I know, I could HEAR you ALL night” conversation. And call me sarcastic, but after 100 times, this conversation and all similar conversations get old…

So, last night, not only did I have to deal with the snoring jokes but I also had the pleasure of being banished from the living room couch and fireplace and sent to a room in the corner on the second floor with the other snorer, as far away from all nonsnorers as humanly possible without going outside. And believe me, when I offered to sleep outside instead, the “oh no, you don’t have to do that” responses came with hesitation. Am I being narrow-minded? Is it wrong that I’m slightly put off by being forced to sleep away from the rest of the group and next to a snorer (who kept me up) so that everyone else doesn’t have to?

I think the real issue here is my self esteem. I hate the outsider feeling I get when people make fun of my snoring and I hate BEING an outsider by being forced to sleep somewhere because I snore. It reminds me of when I was in kindergarten and Dukes of Hazard was the cool show on TV and so when the cool kid in class brought in his Dukes of Hazard matchbox car, the next day all the kids (including myself) brought in cars. Only…I didn’t have the Dukes of Hazard car. I had an orange corvette. And so when I tried to play with all the other kids, they said “That’s not a Dukes of Hazard car! You can’t play with us!” Was it my fault I didn’t have a Dukes of Hazard car? No. And yet, there I was, forced to play by myself in a corner of the kindergarten classroom. You can imagine, as a 5 year old, how crushed I was when this happened. Well I felt the same way last night.

The Big Chill

So I have this friend. For the sake of privacy, I’m going to refer to her as Cat Allergy Teacher (CAT). She’s a teacher and…well…she’s allergic to cats. Anyway, CAT’s parents have a summer home in Vermont and she and her sister have decided to throw a Turning Off the Water Party (ie, one last party at the house before they turn the water off and close up shop for the winter). Well, CAT invited me and I invited Sarah the L and Sarah the L invited her girl Mr. Mikes.

And at the risk of sounding like the dork you know I am, I’m really looking forward to this weekend. Evidently, it’s a big place in the woods with 5 bedrooms and a fireplace and a ton of people are coming and so I can’t help but envision a Big-Chill-like-weekend:

Lots of imbibing (wine, Mike’s Hard Lemonade [a personal favorite of both myself and CAT], beer, etc); lots of long discussions about life and politics and all the things in this life that matter; lots of time to read and write; evenings spent playing games and laughing in front of a warm fire; smores; mornings spent going for walks and getting lost; lots of time to find yourself; and maybe even a little fricky. And I can’t help but think that I’m going to come away from this weekend a changed man. Hopefully for the better.

And so I’m really anxious to see how things play out. Of course, after all this build up, I’m sure I’ll be completely disappointed. I’ll be the Jeff Goldblum character. Blah. But whatever. At least I’m trying. So…to my loved ones and my lesser loved ones, have a beautiful weekend, and here’s hoping you “Kevin Kline” your wife’s best friend…=)