Whine and Cheese

Last night was the annual costume party I attend. It was a fun bash as usual. The hosts were dressed up as the creepy nun from "The Conjuring 2" and looked amazing. What really made me happy was the photo booth, which was set up like a parlor room with a mirror that reflected others from the side.

My costume was a mime outfit. I felt it was a cop-out, but the "KY Jelly" tube costume was just too hard to assemble at such a short notice. I spent the last two weeks getting the pieces together for the mime outfit(the beret, the suspenders, etc.), but it was the make-up that did me in. Not really being well-versed in applying make-up, it was a mess on the first try. The cream make-up dried and cracked and looked more "zombie" than "mime." Since I couldn't find the right make-up, I had to resort to an old trick from when I was a kid -- shoe polish. I'm sure it's not good for the skin, but ... it worked.




After a few hours of enjoying the party, I came home and spent the better part of a half-hour scrubbing my face. Today has been a recovery day. I was beat from the party, but didn't drink, so I'm not sure what wore me out so much. Tomorrow is the costume contest at the office, but I don't think I can handle putting the get-up on again for an entire day.

I've posted before about how my home movie collection is full of horror movies from various decades. My favorites seem to spring from the 1970's. I ordered "Countess Dracula" from Amazon and it showed up in time for me to watch it while doing some work on my comic book last night.

After the death of her husband, aged Countess Elisabeth (Ingrid Pitt) rules her lands with the help of Captain Dobi (Nigel Green). When she accidentally learns that virgin blood renews her youth and beauty, she enlists Captain Dobi to help her find suitable girls to slaughter to maintain her new appearance, while wooing a young Lieutenant who is unaware of her true nature.

This Hammer film is loosely based on the true story of Countess Elisabeth Bathory. The movie has a PG rating, but is full of female nudity strangely. Such is the world of the early 1970s. The acting is actually pretty good and the story is entertaining, if nothing else.

It was Captain Dobi who caught my eye. Tall and bearded, he was played by British actor Nigel Green. He looked familiar and I realized that he played (an older) Hercules in "Jason and The Argonauts". While he wasn't a body builder, he was tall, broad-shouldered, and very furry and definitely pulled off the role... and burned himself into my memory. GRRRRR!


Nigel Green as Hercules in "Jason and the Argonauts" (1963)

Besides photographs, I don't have a lot in my house from my days as a kid. One of the things I have managed to keep is a small white, dingy teddy bear known in my childhood as "Littl'un," a hillbilly truncation of the name "Little One."

The teddy bear has a history. In late December 1973 or very early January 1974, the twin decided to get into the stuff under the sink and drank bleach (or Brasso, the story has been told both ways) and was taken to the hospital. The twin was in the hospital for several days, spending our first birthday there. This pic is Mom and the twin at the hospital. The little bear in the photo was a gift to him while he was there.

After he came home from the hospital, he seemed to have no interest in the bear. So Mom and Dad gave him to me, starting my life-long interest in bears, starting with the teddy variety then seguing into the more human version as an adult. Every year until I was 16, my mom got me a teddy bear for Christmas. I had quite a collection for the longest time, including a giant blue and white one called "76," named after a gas station where my dad bought him. It was about this time, the little white bear garnered his name "Little One."

After I left for college, my teddy bear collection was put away. After I graduated, I moved to Cincinnati then Kansas City. Mom and Dad moved out of our old house because of Dad's health and the house fell into a horrible state. On one of my trips home from Kansas City, I collected a few things of mine from the house, including Littl'un to make sure nothing happened to him and he's been in my custody ever since.

When I had that nasty bout with blood clots a few years back, my sister and twin came up to see me at the hospital. They stayed at my house overnight and noticed Littl'un resting on the bed in the spare bedroom. They couldn't believe that I still had him. I can't imagine why they'd think I'd NOT have him.

He's more off-white, than white. His paws are worn. He is missing an eye, most of the nose, etc., but it's how I remember him from my childhood. He's been drooled on, peed on, dragged outside and back. In reality, he's probably a toxic wasteland of baby germs. I'd throw him in the wash, but I don't think his body would hold up to the agitation. I've given him a thorough dousing with Lysol though.

He's a huge part of my history. It's strange how we imbue inanimate objects with so much of our lives. Like a kid, I worry about his comfort, which is why is sleeps on the spare bed and not on a shelf. I'm happy he's still here with me.


Littlun in His Natural Habitat

I won't lie. Today started out pretty crappy.

Last night, my foot started hurting and I suspected a gout flare up. So in the middle of the night, I got up and took the meds. I was so beat this morning that I slept in. The twin called and woke me to wish me a happy birthday. I'm sure I sounded terrible. I wished him one back and got up. I didn't get into the office until late. I have tons of vacation time, so this isn't really an issue. However, the foot didn't feel better all day, so I spent most of it hobbling around.


Me at 43

My phone vibrated all day with birthday wishes from friends and family, mostly through Facebook notifications. It was definitely a pick-me-up as I enjoyed reading the messages, the funny pictures, the flirting from handsome bears, etc.

I was invited to go to a bear dinner tonight, but I was so beat that I didn't want to drive across town this evening, I begged off. I got home and took a nap. Thankfully, my foot started feeling better this evening. Instead of sitting at home, I took myself out for dinner, followed by cheesecake (oh, my waistline). I went to Friday's just down the road from the house and enjoyed it.

My waiter was a cute, short otter named Steven with big blue eyes and a longish brown beard. I admire anyone who waits table for a living, as it is overall a very difficult job, having done it myself during my freshman year in college. Being polite to everyone, even on your worst day, is a skill. I'm sure Steven was have a decent night and he took good care of me. If only I could have reciprocated (okay, that was a tad pervy). I did the next best thing and left him a 40% cash tip. After he took the check up, he stopped by a second time and thanked me again for coming in. So, I made someone feel a bit better tonight. It's a good self-gift I think.

The night is nearly done and I'm looking forward to getting a good night's sleep tonight.

One of the things that came up during my 25th high school reunion is how the twin and I ended up in separate grades. It made some people automatically assume I was older (more than the three minutes I actually am). If folks knew about me and my twin brother, they appeared to assume that the twin flunked a grade. One of my classmates admitted that she thought he had failed and fell behind. Ironically, her grandmother was my first grade teacher, the grade I skipped, and was one of the people responsible for sending me forward.


The Devious Smile of a 1st/2nd Grader


The twin and I started together in Mrs. Breeding's first grade class in the Fall of 1979. If I recall correctly, the school day consisted of the typical "A is for apple" criteria, to teach students the alphabet. We'd print the letter and then draw the corresponding object that started with that letter. Our math work was done through a large workbook with tear-away sheets that you would turn into the teacher. We'd read aloud from the "Dick and Jane" series. The best part of first grade was the naps.

Thanks to my watching too much television, a large chunk of it consisting of "Sesame Street" and "The Electric Company," I already knew how to read, drawing was fun, spelling was a competition, and basic addition/subtraction was easy. When we had time to do math work, I would do the sheet assigned and move on to the next, then the next, and so on, until I had the whole book finished the first month I was there. I would tear out the sheet to turn in, have nothing else to do, and become a complete nuisance to Mrs. Breeding. I don't recall specifically what the twin was doing during all of this, but it probably consisted of playing and being a smart@$$.

About six weeks into the year, Mrs. Breeding told me that I was going to be going to Mrs. Moore's class in the afternoon. Mrs. Moore taught second grade. So for a couple of weeks, I spent mornings in first grade and afternoons in second. I was learning handwriting in second, which I didn't particularly care for, but everything else seemed to fall into place. At the end of two weeks, Mrs. Breeding told me that I was supposed to go to Mrs. Moore's class all day from that point forward. I didn't really question this. I wasn't asked, I was told to do it. I just thought it was normal. What I didn't know was that the teachers had been talking to my parents and they had all agreed to push me to the next grade.

So, now in second grade, we were still reading, still doing the spelling words, still doing math in those tear-away books, doing the practicing of writing (also in booklets), and odds and ends. Then the same thing started happening. I finished all the math in the tear away books, began turning the long-completed sheets in when asked, and started bugging the crap out of Mrs. Moore while everyone else was working. From what I remember, I also started working ahead in the writing book too.

Mrs. Moore sent me to the "special" reading class in the afternoons. I was the youngest kid in there. The rest of the kids in there were in the next couple of grades ahead of me. I knew a couple of them were not the brightest kids in those classes, so I think it was a mix. I now get it -- I was reading ahead of my class, they were reading below theirs, but at the time we were reading at the same level collectively. We read comic books, worked on writing assignments, etc. It was strange to be pulled out of class like that, but again, I never questioned it.

From that point forward, my siblings were staggered one class apart -- my sis a year ahead of me, my twin a year behind. A few years ago, my mom told me that the school had actually come to her and Dad to discuss pushing me from second grade to third that same year. Because I had repeated the behavior of working ahead in my class work, the teacher had wanted to move me on. I guess she could also have gotten tired of my being bored and being a pain in her butt. Because of my age and concerns about my maturity, Mom and Dad decided that a move to third was not a good idea. I'm also guessing that they didn't like the idea of my sis and me being in the same class.

... And I still love reruns of "The Electric Company." It served me well.

I admit that I wondered about her condition for the last few days. At the age of 81, I figured that her health was good, but fragile. Still, I was a bit surprised to hear on the radio on my car drive home that Joan Rivers had passed away. She just seemed like she'd be around forever.


I've been a fan of Joan's since I was little and first saw her do a monologue on "The Tonight Show." Her delivery was so rapid, her wit was so sharp, and her humor was biting. I was enthralled. My mom didn't want me watching it and sent me to bed. Instead, I turned on my small TV in my room and covered my mouth to muffle my laughing.

Later, at a "book sale" for some school thing, I found a paperback of her book, "The Life and (Hard) Times of Heidi Abromowitz." It was 50 cents and missing it's cover. It was bawdy, even "dirty," and had these fantastic cartoons drawn by James Sherman, all describing the life of a slut named Heidi. I loved that book and read it many times. At some point, that book vanished. I'm guessing that Mom might have snatched it from my room and disposed of it.

A few years ago, I bought a used hardcopy of the book online. I laughed just as much as I did the first time and I'm happy I still have it.

I've followed Joan's career for decades and enjoyed it. I loved her stand-up specials, the documentaries, and recently her "In Bed with Joan" web series. She recently had drag queen comedian Bianca Del Rio in bed with her and you can tell they were kindred spirits (the language is very NSFW!).



Thanks for the laughs, Joan, you'll be missed ...

I'd meant to post about this some time back, but thanks to my office blocking LJ posting, I'd set it aside and had forgotten.



A fire broke out at the Glasgow School of Art earlier this month. While it's a school, the building itself was very cool in itself as it was designed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh. The news article has a few interior photos of the building.

http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-glasgow-west-27541883

When I was in Glasgow, Scotland in December 2012, I was lucky enough to have time to go on a tour of the school. The building has multiple floors and several pieces of work in progress by the student body. Sadly, because of the artwork in progress, no interior photography was allowed, so the picture above is one of the few photos of the school I could take.

I'm glad I had a chance to see the school. I know they are trying to salvage as much of the school as they can, but I'm sure a lot of important Mackintosh pieces were lost.

Last night, I went to an annual NYE party thrown by one of my softball buddies. As always, the food is amazing (sweet/sour meatballs, 3 types of chili, dips, and desserts -- including candied orange peels, which sound odd but were delicious), the company is great (bears, including straight bears), and the festivities were fantastic. These guys do know how to throw a good bash that doesn't get out of control.

I debated it, but decided to pull out the kilt again this year. It always seems to be a draw for some people, including the ones who remember me wearing one last year. I wore underwear beneath it, even though some people say it's a skirt that way. There are kids at the party and there were a couple of hands up the kilt during the party. It's a rated PG party (mostly).

At the end of the evening, we all gathered outside to launch paper lanterns, something I've never done before. It was pretty cool turning them loose, but I have to admit, I wondered where they ended up. If there were any forest fires last night, I was no where nearby.

One of my buddies snapped the pic here. Despite the lack of light, it turned out to be my favorite photo of me from the evening. I got home late, slept in, and tried to work out (it wasn't in the cards).

Happy 2014! It has to be better than the crapfest of 2013!

While I fully admit that it felt good to sleep in this morning, the whole day has felt a bit off with this being my first official "furlough" day. I liken it to feeling like I'm playing hooky from school, even though I have no choice in this matter.

So after a workout and lunch, I did some grocery shopping and came home, wondering what I should do with myself. mort_83 suggested that I do some things that I usually haven't the time for. So I decided to clean the car out. I've been bitching to myself for months that the glove box is full of junk, the windows needed serious cleaning, and there were two distinct blobs of bird crap on the hood for a couple of days. The timing seemed right.


A Clean Car -- Look at the Good I Do...
People have seen the pic and are commenting on my arms. Despite my bicep workout, it's an illusion people, seriously. :)

In not knowing how long this government shutdown will last, I'm worried I'm going to get a lot done.

I have written before about Murphy's visits to the vet's office. While he is a sweet, loving kitty at home, he turns into an absolute terror at the vet. Today's visit was no different.


Murphy is not a happy kitty at the vet.
A couple of weeks or so ago, I felt a weird mass next to Murphy's rib as we were going to bed. At first I thought it was a rib, but it was soft and felt round. He never flinched or gave me any indication it hurt. He's been eating well, but he's not as active. At his age (13 or so years), I never thought of that as odd.


To be safe, I took him to the vet this morning. On the short car ride to the vet, Murphy vocally demonstrated his usual displeasure of being in a carrier. Everything was okay after check-in, and then the vet assistant called us into a room. Once out of the carrier, Murphy got nervous as usual. He meows, his tail balloons to three times its normal volume, and he starts to shed like crazy. He starts to emit a strange growl that he's unhappy, but it's usually not directed at anyone or anything specific.

I held him while the assistant took he temp and got his weight. He's lost a pound (down to a svelte 11 lbs.) and his temp is normal. Then we waited for the veterinarian to come in. He started trying to bite me, growling more, and occasionally wanting to get off the exam table. I'm sure he looked at me like, "you never want me on the table at home, so why are you keeping me on this one??"

Once the vet showed up, I told him about the mass and he was having trouble feeling it. Murphy was tense, which hid it. When he's relaxed, it's easy. Eventually he felt it. I told him that it doesn't cause him any apparent pain. He scheduled an x-ray and an ultrasound. This whole time, Murphy is getting more and more aggressive. He finally managed to bite me. I told the vet that he's never like this at home... seriously.

The x-ray tech came in to get him soon after. Murphy was getting more and more upset. The tech had been warned about Murphy because she grabbed him by the scruff immediately to take him. He cried out, which is hard for a pet owner to hear, but I know it was needed.

I sat in the room waiting for them to return. After 15 or so minutes, the tech walked back in, Murphy bundled up in a bath towel. I started laughing, because I can only imagine what he put them through that required such treatment. The tech told me that they even had to get out the heavy gloves. Murphy's obviously a fighter (and a biter). He had alcohol on his fur where they used the ultrasound gel. I noticed that Murphy was bleeding from his ear. I'm guessing he fought them a lot.

The vet came back and said that the mass isn't attached to any organs and he suspects it is a fatty mass that older cats and dogs can sometimes have. He has no outward signs of infection or bodily reactions to it. He said that other than the mass, Murphy was in great health. However, he gave me the option to have a specialist look at it. Because of the location, the vet wasn't wanting to try to aspirate a sample of it, but to let the specialist do it. He mentioned that it would require sedation. I told him that I can't imagine them trying it any other way.

On the drive home, Murphy was fairly quiet. After the experience and getting his shots along with them, I'm guessing he was worn out. As soon as I let him out of the carrier at home, he was his normal sweet self, flopping over on his side with a purr. Jekyll and Hyde, I swear. We walked up to the kitchen and I fed him. He was famished.


Now he's sleeping it off. Kitty's had a rough day.