The photo of the week is of our cat, Jones, sitting on the back of the couch looking either sleepy or pissed. Not sure which. It really can go either way with him.

The Outlook

Recently, I discovered running at the Metrodome in Minneapolis on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Yes, that beleaguered building is at least good for providing exercise to runners too cheap to join a gym. Besides, it’s much better, if you need to run inside, to have a circumference like that of the Dome’s instead of a smaller track.

At the Dome, if one runs along the outer edge, 2 laps around equals roughly 1 mile. At the gym I used to belong to, it was something like 10-12 laps per mile.

Running is supposed to be a somewhat zen activity. The rhythm of the running helps you leave your worries behind. Or maybe it’s that you don’t have time to think when you’re trying to breathe. The Dome’s repetitious scenery helps this along – soon enough you’re lost in the loop of identical beer stands, doorways, DiGiorno pizza stands, etc. You have to stay somewhat alert to note a return to your starting point and tick off another lap.

But, at least for me, running in a group of other runners makes it harder to think, well, nothing. I simply trade my worries for thoughts about the people running with me. I wonder a lot about them as I run. I divide them into categories. When I forgot my iPod the other night I was reduced to eavesdropping on their conversations.

I have uncharitable thoughts. Here are some:

• I wonder if the guy who has the tattoo on the back of his calf of a man lifting a barbell over his head will one day regret it. Sure, that calf is nice and taut right now, making the weightlifter look appropriately muscled. But what if one day this man can no longer run? Or get much exercise? It would be sad to see the deflated weightlifter, a shell of his former self on a deflated calf.

• I don’t like pairs of young women who plan weddings as they run. If this makes me a horrible, old bitch, well… guilty. I don’t want to hear, as they glide effortlessly past me, about how one’s thoughtless aunt said she should have her wedding in her hometown so that more family could attend. I don’t want to hear about party favors and fish vs. chicken vs. beef.

• There are people for whom running is their entire lives. They even have “running crushes.” I heard a woman say, “Well, he was my first running crush.” She was very thin and had ropey calves. Her calves looked like Madonna’s arms.

• I don’t believe in barefoot running unless one is at the beach. I don’t believe in barefoot running at the Dome. I don’t like the way Barefoot Runner Woman’s feet slap the ground, pounding away any arches she once had. The look on her face scares me. She’s in a place where the rest of us can’t follow.

• While I’m running and thinking bad thoughts about Barefoot Runner Woman I start to think about Paula Deen. No, Paula Deen was not running at the Dome. But I found myself wishing that one of her legs would have to be removed due to gangrene from mismanaging her recently-announced diabetes. As I said, these are uncharitable thoughts that float up from nowhere, maybe due to the fact that running in a circle, even a very large circle, can get boring. I’m more than a bit annoyed that the woman who urged people to eat things like hamburgers on doughnuts now reveals she has diabetes and will profit from it due to a deal with Novo Nordisk, a drug manufacturer. Fuck you, Paula Deen.

• There is an older man, with sliver hair, who is always running at the Dome. He runs without his shirt. He looks great for his age, for any age. But I wonder about people who need that kind of attention; who simply cannot run with a shirt on even at the Dome. I wonder how much better a runner I’d have to be, and how much trimmer, before I would dare run in a sports bra and no t-shirt. For no particular reason, I think of Roger Sterling from Mad Men every time he laps me.

• A woman was jogging and talking on her cell phone at the same time. Not even exercise is a reason to “unplug” anymore. I think that’s sad. I don’t want to talk to anyone on the phone while I run. How would they understand me? Why would I care what they have to say? Unless they are calling to tell me I’ve come into a lot of money, I have no reason to talk to them. This woman who was running and talking on the phone… let’s just say she was not fit. She was heavy and she had to put a lot of effort into the entire thing, just to keep going. As I moved past her she gave up the running part, deciding that the conversation was more important.

• A lot of people talk about work as they run and a lot of people have very boring work. And they are worried about very boring things at work. It sort of drives home the point to me that, unless you are a stuntman, I don’t want to hear the details of your work.

Running at the Dome continues until the end of March and then, presumably, we will all be set free on the streets and trails again for another season.

The Round-Up

Reading – The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2011; some amazing work in this volume and I’m only halfway through. Also, guiltily finished Beauty Disrupted by Carre Otis last night. Skimmed the last 50 pages when she was working on her Buddhism and having kids. The bottom line, at least in my mind, is that getting only a 9th grade education can really put a hamper on your options in life. I mean, hooray for you if you can be a model but that doesn’t mean you’re going to make good decisions. Oh, and Mickey Rourke is an asshole. But we knew that, right?

Watching - The Last Days of Disco (1998). After I got through watching this I was like, “OK, why didn’t anyone ever tell me about this movie?” For a few minutes, I was actually pissed. Then I realized that it was silly. Because no one can be your pop culture mentor. What I mean is, I really loved this film and wondered why it took me over then years to find it.

I’ve now seen all three of Whit Stillman’s movies, having watched Barcelona over the weekend when it was shitty and cold and I didn’t want to leave the house. Once you get into the rhythm of Stillman’s humor and sarcasm, it’s terrific. Of his three films, Last Days of Disco is definitely the best. I said this in an earlier post, but he finally has another movie coming out this year and I am greatly anticipating it.

Anticipating: I never thought I’d say this, but I want to go to Arkansas. The reason? I must see the new Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. Yeah, the one built by the Walmart heiress. I’ve done a lot of reading about this, and seen some stories on TV and I think, yeah, I want to go. The combination of art and nature at that spot would be highly enjoyable. Zen-like, even.

Categories: Wednesday Outlook
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Here is one major decision I came to this morning while watching the Oscar nominations. For the Oscars, I must craft a bowtie for my dog to wear around her neck, much like the bowtie Uggie, the dog from The Artist wears when he wants to look a bit more dressy while making public appearances. I can get away with this because my dog, while female, is not what you would call dainty or feminine.

The bitch is kinda butch, is what I’m trying to say.

That heavy decision out of the way, I can focus on the nominations.

Best Supporting Actress – I’m all for Melissa McCarthy winning this one for Bridesmaids. It’s time for the Academy to recognize comedy as a legitimate art form. You don’t have don a prosthetic and weep/drown/or kill someone in order to deserve recognition. It’s much harder to make people laugh.

Berenice Bejo, while beautiful and peppy in The Artist (in fact, her character’s name is Peppy), didn’t have to speak. I’m just saying.

Octavia Spencer was very good in The Help but I fear  her performance won’t hold up over time. I fear that the entire The Help phenom might make us either wince or shrug in 2020. Many movies dealing with race relations feel instantly dated. Have you tried watching Dangerous Minds lately?

Best Supporting Actor – I’m placing my bet on Christopher Plummer. OK, it’s because he’s super cool more than because of his performance. But it seems fair that I support him because Beginners is the only movie I’ve seen in this category (the others being My Week With Marilyn, Warrior, Moneyball and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close).

Watch this profile of Christopher Plummer on CBS Sunday Morning and you’ll probably love him, too.

Note: What the hell is Warrior? When they first read this on TV, I thought they were referring to The Warriors, which would have been more interesting except Nick Nolte wasn’t in that.

Also, Nick Nolte seems to be back amongst the living. No more drunken arrests complete with crazy hair in the near future. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Note: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close was panned by almost all the critics. And yet it got the nod for Best Picture. Why? It’s Tom Hanks. There are a few things that equal nominations no matter what. Here is a brief list:

• Famous actress donning a prosthetic that makes her ugly. Everyone knows this.
• Anything Tom Hanks does, is in, produces, mentions that he likes. Exception: Larry Crowne
• Double the above rule if it’s something with Tom Hanks or sanctioned by Tom Hanks that involves WWII.
• Dames Mirren or Dench. You want awards? Hire a Dame.
• Most bio pics. This year’s heavily-awarded biopic that no one saw is My Week With Marilyn.

Best Actress – We’re not going to have any democracy in this category until Meryl Streep is either too infirm to leave her house or dead. I wonder if it’s not just a little bit embarrassing for her at this point. If she voiced a raccoon dying of mange in a Pixar movie, she would get a nomination. “Oh, Meryl, that inflection you gave Rita Raccoon! Unbelievable! For the first time I felt as if I knew what it would be like to have mites.”

It is my dream, and I know this makes me an awful and petty person, that, upon her death, one of her daughters will publish a Mommy Dearest-style memoir and we as a nation will be shocked and chagrined. And then there will be a biopic made from the memoir and the actress portraying her – Anne Hathaway with a dye job? – will win an Oscar.

I don’t know what to do with this category. Besides Streep for The Iron Lady, there’s Viola Davis for The Help, Michelle Williams for that Marilyn movie, Glenn Close for the disturbing Albert Nobbs (the trailer sure made it look like some funny business goes on between Close and Mia Wasikowska but not in a fun, lesbian kind of way), and Rooney Mara for The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

Best Actor – I’m going with The Cloon. I saw three out of the five films in this category and I think George Clooney turned in a fine performance in The Descendants. Is it life-altering? No, but none of the performances I saw are. I like Jean Dujardin’s expressive eyebrows as much as the next gal, but I don’t think his performance in The Artist is Oscar-worthy. Maybe the two foreign guys in this category – Dujardin and Bichir, cancel each other out – because we’re in a Theodore Roosevelt-inspired, jingoistic mood. Then Gary Oldman goes out because it’s determined that his glasses and trench coat did the bulk of the heavy lifting and Brad Pitt… well, I heard he’s busy dealing with a severed head.

Best Director – Of the two people I know who actually saw Tree of Life, neither one had anything good to say about it. Perhaps Malick is nominated in this category because it took him so long to make this movie and people feel bad about that. “This took you how long? Oh. Well, bravo. Here’s a… statue.”

This is one film I will have to try to see before the awards though, so that I can keep putting it down but in a more intelligent manner.

For me, this category is between Woody Allen for Midnight in Paris and Alexander Payne for The Descendants.

Best Original Screenplay – I’m waiting until I have more information on this one – there are two films I still need to see in this category, which I take ridiculously seriously. In a contest that has no bearing on my everyday life, this category means more to me than the price of a gallon of gas and maybe more than who is going to get the Republican Presidential nomination, although in that contest I’m rooting for Gingrich because it will be more fun for all of us.

The nominees are Michel Hazanavicius for The Artist, Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo for Bridesmaids, J.C. Chandor for Margin Call, Woody Allen for Midnight in Paris and Asgar Farhadi for A Separation.

Best Adapted Screenplay – Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash for The Descendants.

Best Picture – They could have nominated 10 films in this category but, for giggles, they nominated nine. Those tricky Academy members! By the way, I know of two people who are actually in the Academy and they have awful taste and the film projects they’ve been involved with are shit, so it raises the question of whether we should put any stock in Academy members’ opinions in the first place, but then again it’s not just one or two votes that matter, it’s the aggregate, so in that sense it’s like the popular vote in the Presidential race.

I guess.

The nominees are The Artist, War Horse, Moneyball, The Descendants, Tree of Life, Midnight in Paris, The Help, Hugo and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

I’m going with The Descendants because it’s got it all – Clooney, Payne, Hawaii, the other Bridges brother, some laughs, some tears. What more do you want from a movie?

Or it could be Midnight in Paris, just for Corey Stoll’s portrayal of Ernest Hemingway alone.

Categories: Film
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I came across some notes I made in 1999, when I was still fairly new to Minneapolis and looking for an apartment to live in on my own. I’d spent the first 6 months in town living with my sister and brother-in-law, and patience on all of our parts was wearing thin, so I was looking for some Single Gal Freedom.

Here is a transcript of my notes. If you live at any of the addresses I insult below, I’m sorry you have to live in such a terrible place.

Oh, I almost forgot a very important detail. These notes are in a spiral-bound notebook with a black-and-white photo of a cat on the front. Well, rather than describing it, I’ll show it to you:

The only thing worse than using this notebook then is that I recently found it in a drawer, realized it had a lot of paper left  in it and started using it again.

The notes:

$10 month/cat [Note: I had a cat named Ella. A very bad cat.]
$30 application fee
$510 security dep. (one month rent)
Alarm systems installed.
Grand Lake Apt.

[Note: Interestingly enough, I drove by this building with my sister and she forbade me to actually look at the apartment, declaring it unfit for a single woman living alone. She meant that it seemed sketchy. About eight years later some friends of ours moved in to this same building and my husband helped them move a piano up two flights of stairs. They did not seem to be aware that people are in the business of moving musical instruments of this size professionally.]

2 1/2 story, 10 unit    $460
1828 Columbus Ave S
All-brick building
Secured entrance
Extra large 800 sq. feet
Maple floors
3 arched openings, 2 china hutches
panel mahogany doors
floor to ceiling
shower (!!?)
cable

[Note from 2012 self: when can I move in?]

Grand Avenue 1 block
323 W 31st Street
1/2 mile to Lake Calhoun [might as well be 20 miles]
$700 1BR
20x
shower
$510
sewer, water, trash, heat, laundry

[Yes, again with this apartment. I don't know why it is written down twice. It must have been like forbidden fruit to me.]

3404 Emerson $500 MAYBE
3236 Garfield $559 NASTY
2621 Pleasant $535 BRICK BUILDING NOT BAD

2621 Pillsbury *** OK
19xx Ridgewood Ave South $550 ADDRESS??? COULDN’T FIND
Aldrich & Franklin 1 BR $475 NO SHOWER
James & 31st small 1 BR NICE STREET/HOUSES/LAKE

Final note: I did not live in any of these places. No, I opted to move into an apartment directly above Bryant Lake Bowl. Yes, this was a huge mistake. Yes, I thought I was being incredibly urban and hip.

I may be urban (but the older I get the more I suspect I’m not; I was raised in the country and it seems that, at some point, I will make my return) but I have never been hip.

To give you an idea of my lameness: there was a video store on the corner of Lake & Bryant at the time, which I  also lived directly above. I rented videos there. I would have to pass their door everyday in order to go anywhere and yet I racked up so steep a late fee on rented videos that I was no longer able to rent there unless I paid it off. I felt I could not afford to do so. I was no longer able to rent videos at the store right beneath me.

This was before Netflix.

Categories: General Weirdness, Uncategorized
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A photo I found recently at an antique mall:

I hit the photo jackpot the other day, finding an entire basket of color photos from various people’s albums. Color photos are harder to come across than black and white photos. I think this is because the black and white photos have probably reached the stage now where no one is left to claim a lot of them and they got released out into the world.

The back of this photo says:

“Boogie off to college (admittedly, the first word might not be “boogie” at all but something else – it’s tough writing to read) with Mom’s car for 1 week. Her bike was our grad present. I was sad seeing #7 leave. xxx Peg”

The time goes quickly, Peg. One minute you’re seeing your daughter off to college, the next minute your photo is in the hands of some weird woman in Minnesota.

Sweet grad present, though. I approve.

I’ll be sharing more photos soon.

This week I’ve been thinking of words and phrases I’m considering using more in daily speech. Here’s what I have so far:

• “Better than pushing broom.” A statement to use when someone is complaining about something work-related. Example: “I hate having to sit in these meetings all afternoon.” “Hey, better than pushing broom.” I think this could get annoying pretty quickly though, if you’re the person always saying this. Especially if you don’t ever have to push broom yourself.

• “Why you gotta front?” Reviving this from the 90′s, when Wheezer asked this question with great aplomb. I still think it has relevance today. Maybe more so. I’d like to go on Facebook and put under a lot of “stories,” this exact question. “Why you gotta front? We know your life ain’t that great.”

• “Don’t just sit there biting your beard.” A good put-down to hipster guys, especially, but not limited to, those who live in Williamsburg. Means – don’t just sit there, judging, but doing nothing.

• Rinky dink. Saying something is rinky dink is still, to me, an exact and devastating putdown. No one wants to be accused of being small time. Right up there as dismissing someone as boring.

• Hatchet job. I find a lot of delight in saying someone did a hatchet job on something or someone.

• Jinking. I learned this word by looking over Keith’s shoulder while we were on a plane and he was reading a Tom Clancy “novel.” That’s his thing – he reads Tom Clancy when he flies. I no longer question. Well, I do when I look over and see the word “jinking,” which apparently describes something a plane does. Shaking? Listing to starboard? I’m not sure. But it’s fun to say and can describe any number of movements. Works well with cats.

• Escape-uate. This is Keith’s but I like it. “Let’s escape-uate.” A cross between “escape” and “evacuate.” To use when a situation or place is bad news.

The Weekly Round-up

Reading: OK, so I’m reading The Puppy Diaries by Jill Abramson of the New York Times. And loving it. I remember so much about my own days as  frustrated human with puppy. It’s a very fast read. Also reading Best Nonrequired Reading 2011.

Watching: I tried to watch, in all earnestness, Uncle Sam Magoo, a cartoon from 1970.

It is supposed to be about… I guess the history of America. It is beyond terrible. As in, you start out laughing, thinking it’s going to be a great time, and end up stewing about everything that’s wrong with this country. First it glosses over our entire history with American Indians, high- kicks its way through the Revolutionary War and then reverts to a song and drawings to “Illustrate” the Civil War, with no mention of slavery at all.

Keith and I decided the only way one could possibly enjoy it was if one were high on nutmeg.

Also, along with the rest of America, watching Downton Abbey.

Doing: I’m on page 150 of the second draft of my book. I do five pages a day because that is all I can stand. One day I did 8 pages. That was a major day. It is hard work. And lonely. But sometimes I make myself laugh out loud. I have no idea why I’m writing short sentences as if I’m Hemingway.

Anticipating going to seeing the performanc of  Dirty Girls Come Clean, by Freshwater Theatre, in Northeast Minneapolis (Nimbus Theater) on Friday night. Should be fun. Karaoke party afterwards!

Categories: Wednesday Outlook
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This is number 17 in the series First Ladies Cook!, an exploration of The First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you in the 1960s by Parents’ Magazine and in the 1980s by Fritos. Brought to me via estate sale.

On the same morning President Lincoln died, Andrew Johnson was sworn in as President. Of course, since the White House was still occupied by a grieving Mary Todd Lincoln, lying in bed, he and his family could not move in.

This was in April; the Lincolns did not leave until June.

It must have been a bit irritating. You can see your big mansion but you can’t live in it.

Johnson’s daughter, Martha, arrived in Washington DC from Tennessee in July. She took up the duties of First Lady because her mother, Eliza, was sick with  tuberculosis (see my post Understanding the Olden Days: TB for more info on that disease). Eliza did come to Washington in August but she immediately retired to a bedroom and stayed there for the next couple of years.

In one of her first public statements, Martha said, “We are plain people from the mountains of Tennessee, called here for a short time by a national calamity. I trust too much will not be expected of us.”

That’s an interesting way of saying, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

The Johnsons were a folksy folk. Martha insisted upon sewing her own dresses, making all the butter used at the House and cleaning the place up. Apparently, after the Civil War and the looting after Lincoln’s death, it was a dump.

One senator referred to Martha, her sister and mother as “sensible and unpretending.” You know what that means?

Nice enough, but ugly.

Let’s take a look. Here’s Mom:

Ouch.

OK, here’s daughter:

Not too bad. I mean, she’s probably not going to come out on top in a “Hot Or Not?” competition, but those are some kind, butter-churning eyes.

Anyway, there was at least one good year at the White House. There were grandkids running around and some solid dinner parties were thrown. The place wasn’t such a pig sty anymore. The First Ladies Cook Book says it took, “Soap, water, mending, patching and a $30,000 appropriation from Congress to do the job.”

Meanwhile, President Johnson was busy screwing up Reconstruction in the South by pissing off the radical Republicans and not doing  much to help the freed slaves (Wikipedia explains that, despite some actions to the contrary as Vice President and early in his Presidency, Johnson possessed “heart-felt white supremacy.” I can’t say I’ve ever heard white supremacy described in quite that way before).

Eventually, he was impeached by the U.S. House of Representatives although it failed to pass the Senate.

What was going on was that Johnson was really a Democrat, back when “Democrat” sort of meant what “Republican” means today. Let me put it this way: it would be like if Obama was assassinated, Joe Biden was sworn in as President and then he was like, “Guess what? I’m a Republican. And not only that, I like what these Tea Partiers have to say.”

The First Ladies Cook Book, in true 1960s fashion, skirts the issue, choosing instead to describe President Johnson as the hardest-working man in Washington.

“He got up at 6 in the morning in the summer; at 7 in the winter. He would write, study or read until 10. For the next hour he saw visitors. At 11 came lunch, and in the next hour he met with his Cabinet or special visitors. Often at 3 he took a walk if he could get away; 4 was his dinner hour and relaxation. At 5 he was back at his desk, often working until midnight, with a cat and a coffeepot for company. At 8 he stopped briefly for refreshments with his family.”

Sounds like a lot of eating to me. And so early! Dinner at 4? Was it the Early Bird Broasted Chicken Dinner with an iceberg lettuce salad, mashed potatoes, a roll and a slice of lemon meringue pie for $8.99?

[Side Note: Perhaps the most interesting nugget about President Johnson is that, at his and Lincoln's inaugural ceremony back on March 4, 1865, he was wasted from drinking the night before and all morning and made a long, rambling speech that made no sense. Apparently, this was a one-time thing. Lincoln said afterwards, ""I have known Andy Johnson for many years; he made a bad slip the other day, but you need not be scared; Andy ain't a drunkard."

Andy Ain't a Drunkard is the name of my new album.]

At the end of the term, Andy did not get re-elected. The Presidency went to Ulysses Grant because he had the cooler first name. There were hard feelings all the way around. One of Johnson’s last acts as President was to grant unconditional amnesty to all Confederates on Christmas Day, December 25, 1868.

So, what was the racist bastard eating for dinner, anyway?

Saddle of Lamb a la Duchesse FTW!

Did simple Tennessean folk really eat Saddle of Lamb? By the way, this is a lamb’s back, not a saddle that you place onto a lamb to ride it around if you are, say, an elf.

The first thing this recipe says is that, should you not be able to locate a saddle of lamb, go for the loin and have the butcher crack the bones between the joints for easier carving and serving. But you knew that, didn’t you?

What you need:

8-pound saddle of lamb
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
5 or 6 strips of bacon
1/4 cup flour, for dredging and gravy
hot water, for gravy

Rub the saddle up with the salt, pepper and flour. Place on rack in open pan with a few slices of fat bacon on top. Roast at 300 degrees, allowing 30-35 minutes per pound. Americans prefer it well done; the French prefer it rare. No one is sure how the Canadians like it and, frankly, I didn’t ask them.

Pour off surplus fat, add flour to drippings, stir carefully to avoid lumps, brown slightly, add hot water for gravy to serve in sauce boat.

You have your gravy boat, right? The one you got for your wedding? Oh, you gave that to the thrift store? Oops.

Put paper cuffs on the little bones before serving for a festive dead animal look.

Categories: Cooking, First Ladies Cook, Icons
1 Comment »

This is one of my favorite works of art at The Minneapolis Institute of Arts. It’s “Santos Dumont – The Father of Aviation II,” 2009, by Kehinde Wiley. Until recently it hung in the Baroque Gallery among other works depicting the go-to subject matter of the Old Masters – religious figures and scenes. It was stunning to see “Santos Dumont” side-by-side with these paintings because the poses of the two figures evoke that of religious paintings from times gone by and yet it’s a thoroughly modern painting in tone.

I enjoy going to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts because it’s a place to unplug. You wander about, looking at art and making what you will of it. No need to Facebook it or tweet about it.

I’ve been thinking about Twitter a lot lately. The thing about Twitter is that it is such an ephemeral medium until the moment you die. Then, if you are a Twitter user,  it can suddenly define you. Your last tweet encapsulates you. It’s your last message to the world and, sort of, what you stood for.

This scares me a lot. It could go horribly wrong. What if your last tweet was something like:

Ya first Tatt …Oooweee #unforgettablefeelings

or

Hey who has a science exam tommorrow?? I do and im gonna fail!!!!

You know who got lucky with this? Heavy D. His last tweet, before dying of a blood clot, was “Be Inspired!” I believe that the “I” was indeed capitalized. Be Inspired. How inspirational! And so we remember him as an artist, as someone who broke through boundaries and enriched our lives with “Now That We Found Love.”

His last tweet could have easily been something like, “H8 waiting in line at Arby’s.”

Then what would we have thought?

Other famous last tweets include:

• “Green” by Dan Wheldon, the Indy 500 champ who died in a wreck
• “My interview in Bazaar with Kim Kardashian came out!!” by Elizabeth Taylor

• A photo of himself drinking with friends tweeted by Ryan Dunn from Jackass just hours before dying in an auto wreck.
• “… Stuck in the plane on the runway. You can always count on US Air.” by Billy Mays, the infomercial king, after the tires of the plane he was on blew out during landing. Cause of death was heart disease (the silent killer).

• “oinka oinka oinka why you awake” on Amy Winehouse’s official Twitter feed. True fans are quick to point out that it was NOT her personal account. Still, baffling.

What to do about this? Treat every tweet as if it could be your last? You see people on Twitter taking this approach with their goodness. Their tweets are things like, “Good Morning Twitter Friends!!! What can I help you with today??” One imagines them sliding into their chair with a headset on, like a customer service representative.

Or they spend their time diligently pounding out tweets that are quotes from Gandhi or the Buddha or even Mark Twain.

While I can’t imagine becoming a Twitter Do-Gooder, my tweets are far from what I’d like to be my lasting legacy. Let’s take a look at some of my recent activity:

Rebecca Collins @NotShallow

• James Cameron is like, “Yeah, I can do anything I want. Anything at all. So I’m going to spend my time making this old movie of mine 3D.”
• Walgreens called me while I was in Walgreens. Whoa.
• “Disappointment is a beautiful woman reading Ayn Rand.” From the short story “A Bridge Under Water” by Tom Bissell. Two thumbs waaaaay up.
• Hey, MN friends. I’m looking outside and I can see. It is not dark out. It is 4:57. We will win this
• Here’s something that’s not boring: Handmade Ryan Gosling. bit.ly/txiHlB
• I agree with my sister, the phrase “skill set” has to go in 2012. If you define yourself by one “set” of “skills,” you are boring.

Actually, while a single tweet could be embarrassing when trying to sum up a life, it turns out that a decent eulogy could be written from just a handful of tweets. For example:

“Rebecca was a person charmed by the little things in life. Once, she got a call from Walgreen’s automated call system regarding her prescription while she was in Walgreens picking up said prescription. Her mind was blown! She was determined to make it through the harsh Minnesota winters, she found Ryan Gosling and crafting to be two things that made life worth living and she loved her sister. While she, like many of us, found the ways successful filmmakers like James Cameron choose to squander their time confusing, she took comfort in good short stories.”

Done and done. Note to my loved ones – feel free to use this should I die within the next few weeks or even months.

The Round-Up

Reading: Finished Just Kids by Patti Smith (Yes, it’s as great as everyone says it is) and Sleepwalk With Me by Mike Birbiglia (going to see him on Feb. 13th at the Guthrie Theater). Next up: a titillating memoir by Carre Otis (she of modeling, Mickey Rourke, heroin fame) called Beauty, Disrupted. I got this book from the library and I had to wait months, yes, months to get it. Shows you what people really want to read.

Watching: I just watched, for the first time, Metropolitan by Whit Stillman. It’s about some preppy college students who are home for Christmas break and making the rounds of the Christmas balls (I’m not sure this kind of thing actually happens anymore. The Christmas deb balls, I mean). Whit has definitely been one of my cultural blind spots. He’s custom-made for me and yet I was only marginally aware of his existence until a few weeks ago. I think this is what keeps art and culture exciting – who’s out there that you don’t know about yet?

I really liked this film, once I got used the stiff line delivery. In some ways it felt like a play.  I need to watch it a second time, now that I’ve got the hang of it. I put his other two films, The Last Days of Disco and Barcelona on my Netflix queue. Well, Barcelona is available for streaming but not The Last Days of Disco because that would make it much too easy on me. Metropolitan is available for streaming, then Disco is not and Barcelona is.

Just to make it tough for you to see the man’s entire 3-film catalog.

Then I found out that he has a new film (his last one came out in 1998), which will screen at Sundance (or I may have just made that up) and will be released in April. It’s called Damsels in Distress. So look out for that if you’re a Stillman fan. Or quick watch his other three films and become a fan. Become superfan, if you want.

Listening: I believe Tom Petty is having a moment with me right now. Also, the Elvis song “It’s Now or Never.” And Red Hot Chili Peppers. I’m stuck in the past, people.

 

* The Wednesday Outlook is a weekly feature on Not Shallow. In the past, it became something of a “hit-or-miss” affair but in 2012 it will make a strong resurgence. It generally features a photo that has nothing to do with anything else tin the post, a mini-essay and a round-up of what I’m reading, watching, listening to, doing, going to do or eating. Past Wednesday Outlooks may be found here if you’ve got the time and inclination.

Categories: Wednesday Outlook
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Impromptu Date

“That was great. But I guess I should get around to actually fixing your cable. I’ve got other people waiting for me to show up between 1 and 6 p.m.”

“Can I interest you in a tempeh sandwich before you go?”

The Making of A Weirdo

“See, Sequoia, what your mom and I are doing here is a grand experiment. You’re either going to be an interesting person with a great sense of humor who finds her own path in life or a real fuck-up. But either way, you’re not going to like to have to wear clothes.”

Deep Thoughts

“Yeah, I think I could make it  in hip hop, if I really put my mind to it. There has to be room for a sensitive lady poet in the scene.”

Rock Lobster

Woman: “Just another pinch of salt… This is going to be a lobster boil the likes of which Kennebunkport has never seen!”

Man: “Do I have to change out of my mini-robe before people show up?”

The Path To Womanhood

“No, it’s true. Whoever drinks a ladle-full of this sauna water will finally get her period. I swear.”

The Path to Manhood

“No, it’s true. Whoever drinks a ladle-full of this sauna water turns gay for the afternoon. You should try it. Things could get interesting. I don’t know about you but I’m getting mighty hot in this towel.”

Torture

Man: “I told them they can’t come out until they renounce the teachings of Justin Bieber. That was three days ago. But that’s fine – I’ve got nothing but time.”

For Fans of “Lost”

Man: “Say what you will about the Dharma Initiative, they sure know how to build a hot tub.”

Woman: “I’m so over trying to build that raft. Want to see what the Others are up to tonight?”

Categories: General Weirdness
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Solitude

“I can’t believe Mom used to use this for the geraniums.”

OR

“Tomorrow I go over the Falls and prove everyone wrong.”

Lame Party

Lady In Hot Tub: Guys, the invitation said, ‘Bring your suit for hot tubbing!’

Man In Rainbow Shirt: No, it said ‘Wear your high-waisted jeans!’

Staff Meeting

“So, please have the report on the edge of the hot tub by tomorrow morning. Here’s what I’ve been working on – I think the deck needs some more foliage. Not around it but on it. So I’m doing a Power Point for that. And then I have some phone calls to make. Are you sure you don’t want to strip down and hop in here? No? Well, next week we should at least have coffee and bagels. Otherwise it doesn’t feel like a real staff meeting.”

Safety Sauna

“Dr. Phillips said that whenever I don’t feel safe, I should put my robe on and go sit by myself for awhile. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Don’t be silly, David, it’s just me. Come out of the sauna.”

“No. You’re the devil.”

Jealous?

“Monica, you think you’re better than me, but once we’re both in our floor-length knitwear, we’re equals.”

“How long are you going to stand there, blabbing? I’d like to take my bath.”

“Well… OK… I was hoping to see your boobs but…”

“Trust me, they’re better than yours.”

“OK. I’m just going to go into the sauna and turn it up to 1500 degrees.”

Bobbing

“Oh, Helen, this is as wonderful as you said it would be. Except you know I can’t play Dominoes ever since I lost my arms in that whirlpool accident.”

Categories: General Weirdness
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This afternoon I’m listening to “Peanuts Portraits” by Vince Guaraldi. It’s a CD with the  themes Guaraldi wrote for many of the characters.

Good listening on a winter afternoon. My favorite song is still “Linus & Lucy.”

Categories: Stuff I Like
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Van Halen announced a 2012 tour with David Lee Roth; tickets on sale January 10th. It’s all happening, people. The recognition that Diamond Dave so richly deserves is all happening.

Please see my post 2012: All I’ve Ever Dreamed Of, point #1 to understand the full extent of my excitement.

Only downer: can’t find a list of cities they will be playing in. C’mon VH!

Categories: YES
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