See it!

LaLa Land, LaLa Land! If an entertainment columnist isn't raving about Hamilton, he's rhapsodizing about LaLa Land!

The reviewers were right about Hamilton, they're right about LaLa Land. Where Broadway's hit is all-new and transformative, LaLa Land is an homage to the Hollywood that's gone.

Mia keeps trying and trying to get a break as an actress while paying the bills as a barista. Sebastian keeps playing weddings and garden parties as he dreams of opening his own jazz club, even though everyone tells him there's no money in jazz or intimate clubs anymore.

They meet, they fall in love. They break into song and they dance. 

Emma Stone is adorable, ready to pick up the mantle of America's Sweetheart that Julia, Jennifer and Sandra have all outgrown. Ryan Gosling is so intense and so handsome. You really want them to live happily ever after.

It's not a perfect movie. It doesn't have a memorable score. There isn't a song that stayed with me or that I'm still humming. None of the supporting cast is remotely interesting.

But it's joyous and consequential. It's what we go to the movies for. See it!

 

Where did these bug bites come from?

My friends don't literally live in Key West. Their house is on Stock Island, a small and less-developed island about 15 minutes away from the center of touristy Key West.

I've never before spent much time out there. All the fun stuff is "in town." But on Christmas Day, Henry took me on a walking tour of Stock Island and it really is lovely. (At least for now, before the proposed marina and hotels are constructed.) But today, three days later, I'm scratching and scratching because I did my wandering and picture taking while wearing shorts and sandals.

The rich folks and their boats, docked year around

A tugboat, a different kind of boat on the working side of the island

The as-yet undeveloped area

WWW.WEDNESDAY

To participate, and to see how others responded, click here. 

1. What are you currently reading? An Appetite for Murder.Haley is an aspiring but down on her luck journalist who tells everyone she would do anything for a job at Key Zest, Key West's new lifestyle magazine. Then unfortunately (or perhaps fortuitously), the potential boss who was unimpressed by Haley's CV is found murdered and the Key West PD is knocking at Haley's door. So far I'm enjoying it because author Lucy Burdette has nicely captured the Key West foodie scene.

2. What did you recently finish reading? Hercule Poirot's Christmas. An eccentric, wealthy old Brit unexpectedly decides to invite his family (some estranged) and friends for Christmas. Somebody gets dead. On the one hand, the mystery was really unsolvable by anyone but Poirot.  I suppose the clues point to the perp, but the mystery and the circumstances surrounding it really are rather fantastic. On the other hand, I appreciated the way Christie set it all up. It's the framework she herself devised, so it's no wonder that she's expert. She's coloring within the lines, but she's doing it masterfully and I thoroughly enjoyed being in the hands of an old pro.

3.  What will you read next? A biography from my tall TBR pile.

I wonder what JFK would think of this

At the Tropic Cinema in Key West, the Seward Johnson sculpture of Marilyn stands before the poster of Jackie. Icon vs. icon. Carnality vs. elegance. Mistress vs. wife. What an odd coincidence!

Henry and I saw Jackie, a most intense movie. And close to the facts as established by reputable historians and oral histories. We have a tendency to forget what a violent crime that assassination was, and this movie is unflinching in portraying the brutality. The brains on her face. The blood in her hair. According to this account, her strength and resolve were unleashed by the savagery of the crime. Henry was so moved by what went on in the backseat of that Lincoln Continental that he actually began to cry.

But my favorite scene was a wordless one toward the end of the film. She tells the reporter -- obviously modeled on Theodore White -- that she wants to see his article before it's submitted. He looks at her with great skepticism, since journalists of his caliber don't show their work to their subjects. A few moments later, there she is, his pad in her lap and his pencil in her hand. "That's my girl!" I whispered to Henry. Was she right to personally edit the first draft of history? No. But it gave her the illusion of control at a time her world went mad, and I admire her for doing what she believed needed to be done for her family and for her sanity.

"Do you know who James Garfield was?" she asks the ambulance driver who drove her and her husband's casket away from Parkland Hospital back to Air Force One. "What about William McKinley?" When the driver can't answer, you can see the wheels turning. The horror had to mean something. Her husband would not be forgotten. She would not allow it.

Natalie Portman did a wonderful job in the title role. I'm glad that future generations will see that there was a brain beneath that pillbox hat.

A hiccup

We were going to have Christmas dinner at Duffy's Steak and Lobster House, a Key West restaurant that I'm unaccountably fond of. It's fine, standard fare, but I think the reason why it makes me so happy is its location. Duffy's is a light green/white structure on one of the main drags, and it was one of my first "landmarks" when I first began going to Key West, decades ago.

I had Cubs champion baseball caps for Henry and Reg. I, of course, would be wearing one of my many Cubs shirts and a holly, jolly time would be had by our little group of 3.

That was before Cynthia. Cynthia is a 60-something local who worked at a coffee house/internet cafe a few blocks from the joint where Reg tends bar. Her home was foreclosed on sometime in 2015 and her furniture is in storage. Lately she was the houseguest of a couple and the three of them got in a spat and they threw her out. She came in to the bar each day and down a few before retiring to her rented room. Reg told me that she was discontented but hopeful that she would find an apartment she could afford.

All of a sudden, Cynthia stopped coming in. None of the other bar patrons knew her well so no one could tell Reg what happened to her. Finally she shot him a text -- she was in the hospital, recovering from a stroke. He visited her in the hospital and found her very frightened. She let her boss know that she had lost partial use of her left side and was told that they couldn't afford to hold her job for her until she could perform her duties again. With no job, she had no way to pay for her rented room.

Reg and Henry took her in. She moved into their house on Wednesday and I arrived Thursday.

Things are bad for a woman when the only one she can turn to is her bartender.

On Christmas Eve afternoon, we had a summit at Duffy's. I was glad because I at least got to eat lunch there (seafood salad). I gave Reg and Henry their Cub caps then because, well, I didn't have one for Cynthia and I didn't want her to feel left out.

Her happiness and comfort was especially important to Reg. Cynthia was embarrassed about her stiff left arm and hand and her walker and wouldn't want to dine out with us on the 25th, and the thought of her left alone and behind on Christmas night was just unacceptable to him.

Reg's actual turkey and carrots

We had our assignments: Reg would make a turkey and his fabulous glazed carrots. Henry would prepare the potatoes and pick up a pecan pie for dessert. I would come up with a small gift for her. Something inexpensive so she wouldn't feel embarrassed, but holiday-themed to put her in the spirit of the season. (I decided on a gift bag with chocolate Santas and coconut wreathes and candy canes, etc).

So Christmas Eve, Henry and I went to church and said goodnight, knowing what we would do on Christmas Day.

The only flaw in our plan was Cynthia. A friend she knew longer than she did Reg invited her to a home-cooked brunch. Reg was thrilled because it would get her out of the house when he was cooking. However, Cynthia had too many bloody marys and returned sloshed. She lay down "for a minute" but was lost to the world and never joined us for dinner.

Still, this story tells you what good people my friends are. They are giving a woman a private room with her own bath for free simply because she needs it. I'm very proud of them and their Christmas spirit.

PS JUST CALL ME WRONGY MCWRONGERSON. I found out it wasn't an old friend who invited her over for bloody marys on Christmas morning. It was an elderly LGBT support group that the hospital introduced to Cynthia when she was in the hospital. They have helped her arrange rides to follow up doctor appointments, etc., as well as giving her a few cups of holiday cheer.

My home away from home

This year I stayed four nights at Key West's Orchid Key Inn. I was very happy there. Here was my routine ...

I want to remember this view forever

I woke up each morning and just lay there, sometimes drifting in and out of slumber. Then I'd shower, don a Cubs t-shirt* and go out and grab my continental breakfast -- usually a hardboiled egg or two, a mini cinnamon roll, yogurt and apple juice. I'd dine from a deck chair beside the pool, reading and looking up at the sky. There's something pretty spectacular about being a Chicago/snowy Yule gal and being able to look up and see this palm tree at Christmastime.

Then I'd put on my suit and swim laps. Back and forth. Breast stroke one way, back stroke the other. I liked the back stroke because it enabled me to hear the carols piped in from the poolside bar. Swimming while singing along with "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" is really cool.

When I was sufficiently pruny and tired, I'd move from the small motel pool to the tiny whirlpool. It was pretty, tucked over there beside the bar, and, like the pool, almost always empty. Which meant I could pretend it was mine and mine alone.

Then I'd go back to my room and shower (again) and wait for Henry to come pick me up for the day's adventures.










*As they did in Memphis, men all over Key West would stop me to talk about Game 7. This year, my guys meant something to the country.

The boy loved his fish

My friend Henry loved his birthday dinner at Sarabeth's. We had calamari and fried goat cheese and boneless yellow snapper. I enjoyed it as my first meal in Key West as we were seated outdoors, along the white picket fence, and watching the diverse denizens of the island wander by helped me decompress and feel at home again.

It annoyed me when Prince did it ...

... because it's unacceptable in anyone over 16.

I'm speaking, of course, of sliding into slang abbreviations. It's lazy* or pretentious.†

Right now I'm angry about this because of my oldest friend. Last Wednesday I sent her an email, letting her know "I'm beginning to unspool" and asking if I felt especially sentimental over Christmas I could call her.

Her response? Crickets. I heard nothing Thursday or Friday. I began to worry. After all, this is a woman who told me she would always be there for me. I let her know I was getting emotional over the upcoming holiday and she didn't respond at all.  Henry, my friend in Key West, knows about my oldest friend's battles with bipolar disorder and he thought I'd feel better if I called her and spoke to her. He knew I was beginning to imagine her literally frozen by depression, which has happened more than once over the last few years.

So I called her cell. It rang and rang before it went to voicemail, which was full. So I texted her and asked if everything was OK. She immediately answered me with:

We r good. Billy is here. How r u?

So let's see ... She saw I called and just didn't answer. Then she responded with fewer characters than a Donald Trump tweet. Apparently she believes that the mere mention of her son's arrival for Christmas explains/justifies everything.

It doesn't. I was really upset Wednesday night over something I'll post about later, after I've processed it a bit more. I reached out to her and asked for her help. I got 31 spaces/characters.

This morning I got an email from her -- apologizing for being "MIA." Not for not being there when I needed her, ignoring me when she saw my name on her phone and needlessly frightening me. At least her email included entire words.

*How much energy do you actually conserve by keying "U" instead of "you?"
†"50 is receding in my rear view mirror, but I'm still soooo cool!"

Rest in Peace

Carrie Fisher and I were very nearly the same age (just 13 months apart) and had similar senses of humor -- though my writing isn't as sharp as hers, and my life isn't as dramatic as hers, nor are my demons as fierce. So, when I heard this afternoon that she died, I was sad. She suffered a great deal and survived a great deal, all with her wit and perspective in tact.

I decided years ago that were I ever to write a memoir, I would call it, Just Over There. It's an homage to Carrie, who perceptively wrote of relationships, "Nothing is ever really over. Just over there."

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Happy Holidays! (from the archives)

1. As you can see, Sam loved giving her annual wish list to Santa. Yet some children are reluctant to climb into Jolly Old St. Nick's lap. Did you enjoy the tradition or were you shy? Or did you by pass it altogether -- either because you wrote him a letter or because your family didn't celebrate Christmas? I never enjoyed going to see Santa, but when I still believed it felt terribly important. Like my job as a kid at Christmastime.

2. Are you currently on the Naughty or Nice list? How did you get there? I'm Nice. I have my faults, but in the main, I'm a good egg.

3. Did you ship any gifts to friends and family this year? If so, which one traveled the farthest? My oldest friend's gift went 2,032 miles. Chicago to Tarzana. She's getting a bedazzled refrigerator magnet of a cat that says, "You had me at meow" (she has three shelter cats) and a mug emblazoned with this saying of Captain Kirk's (she's a Trekkie).

4. Did you buy yourself a gift this year? I took myself to Graceland for my birthday last month. I had a lovely time, but now I'm sad because I broke the Graceland snowglobe I bought myself as a souvenir.

The main staircase at Graceland, festooned with poinsettias.

5. What's your favorite holiday-themed movie?  This year, while I wrap gifts, I'm going to watch A Diva's Christmas Carol. It's a made-for-TV movie starring Vanessa Williams as Whitney Houston as Ebeneezer Scrooge. I really like Vanessa Williams. She's a nifty little actress and she knows her way around a carol.

6. Thinking of movies, Christmas is lucrative for Hollywood. Have you ever gone to a movie theater on Christmas Day? Nope.

7. Have you ever suffered an embarrassing moment at the company Christmas party? I'm still a little embarrassed about that night a decade ago when instead of the ladies I accidentally opened the men's room door. I wasn't even drunk. I dearly wish I had been bleary-eyed. You can't unsee some things.

8. What's your favorite beverage in cold weather? This year I'm liking Rumchata. It's that hint of cinnamon.

9. Share a memory from last Christmas. Dinner at the Harbour View at the Pier House in Key West. I was already suffering from my stomach malady, so I don't remember much about the meal. But the walk to our table through this lush green garden was great. And then we dined at a table with a seaside view and watched big, big boats float by. For a Chicago girl who has seen her share of white Christmases, this was an amazing way to spend the holiday.

About The Birthday Boy

In trying not to freak out about this week's travels, I'm concentrating on the destination. I like saying I'm spending Christmas in the Keys because it's true and I like the alliteration. But I'm really arriving on the 22nd so I can celebrate Henry's birthday with him.

We'll be having dinner at Sarabeth's, one of his favorite spots. We had dinner that together last year on Christmas Eve, but I was already starting to get sick and remember little of the cuisine. At that point we didn't know how ill I really was, and Henry felt bad that I didn't love the restaurant he chose. This year I'm celebrating him by showing him it was my gut, not the menu, that had me so meh about this local gem he wanted to share with me.

Dinner's gonna be expensive, so his gift itself can't be. But that doesn't mean it wasn't carefully considered. I'm wrapping a set of Kikkerland Flasher Bike Lights for him. There's a steady pale light for his handlebars and a flashing red one to attach to his seat, facing behind him. These lights are tiny and will be easy to slip into his ubiquitous backpack. He rides all the time, and when his regular lights go out, he can slip these on and still pedal safely.

I don't want to go!

To Key West for Christmas.

Instead, I wish it was December 27. Then I'd be safe at home, rubbing my sunburn/mosquito bite and looking back on what a good time I had.

I dread flying. I really do. My flight is at dawn and what if I sleep through all three (3!) alarms that I shall set and the automated phone call?

What if, when I get to O'Hare, the endless TSA waitlines have suddenly reappeared and I miss my flight? Yes, today the line at Delta gates are only 11-20 minutes. But I'm not flying today, am I?

Then, since I cannot fly directly to Key West, I have to deal with TWO take offs and TWO landings. That's when there's the greatest chance of incident, you know. And I'll be flying over water. With sharks and gators. Oh, my!

When I get there, I know that my friend Henry will want to complain talk about Trump. I really cannot do much more of this without screaming. The man hasn't even taken the oath of office yet and has already been chosen the Worst of All Time. I simply cannot spend four years being depressed and bitching about the President. Talk to me about issues -- how you're supporting women's or LGBT rights. Tell me what you're doing in your community to mobilize and protect your town from possibly regressive environmental and civil rights policies. But don't quote hysterical online articles and MSNBC hosts. I have the internet and cable, Henry. I KNOW!

You know what else I can't do? Worry unendingly between now and Thursday 3:00 AM -- when this adventure starts. It's only Tuesday! I know I'm on a fast-track to stress-induced diarrhea at this rate.

So today I'm going to treat myself to a nice big lunch at George's, a neighborhood mainstay. I'm going to read my Agatha Christie mystery -- set in the 1930s, so no mention of flights over water. I may do some housework. I'll definitely squeeze a little more into that last Goodwill bag of 2016.

And I'll concentrate on this. My view of EYW, with those dear, dorky Seward Johnson sculptures glistening in the afternoon sun. And Henry on the other side of those glass doors, waiting to welcome me and begin celebrating his birthday and Christmas.

I can't. I won't. It does no good.

This is at least the sixth time I've posted this photo on my blog. I have said over and over and over that I'm hurt and disgusted by the way this man mocked a disabled reporter at a rally. I've also said that Hillary Clinton is right -- anyone who applauds such behavior is indeed "deplorable."

But that doesn't mean that the United States is filled with nearly 63,000,000 voters who think this was OK. They just didn't think it was disqualifying.

Likewise, I don't believe that each of the nearly 63,000,000 voters who chose Trump over Clinton are misogynistic, racist and xenophobic. I can't believe that. I refuse to believe it.

Latinos voted for Trump. Are they racist xenophobes? Women voted for Trump. Are they misogynists? Of course not. There has to be something else going on here.

My doctor -- a smart woman -- believes many votes were swayed by "kitchen table issues," specifically an economy that has felt stagnant to many middle-class working whites. She doesn't think it's an accident that Obamacare and open enrollment took place concurrently with early voting.

Joe Biden, certainly no racist/xenophobe, feels that the Democratic Party forgot middle-class working whites. I can see where they may have felt alienated and misunderstood by their choices on the blue side of the ballot: the establishment elite and the self-proclaimed socialist. I admit I was sorry that Hillary and Bernie were my only two choices. Though I found nothing disqualifying about either of them, and because I'm a party girl who believes the Democratic Party is about inclusion, I knew I would support whoever my party nominated. But neither of them stirred my soul and I really wished my party had a deeper bench.

At any rate, I cannot get up each morning with the conviction that 63,000,000 of my fellow Americans are bad. It's not true. And besides, it does no good.

We have to learn to talk to each other -- to listen to each other -- without judgement. We have to remember what Barack Obama said back in 2004, that what unites us is greater than what divides us. We have to figure out how to move forward in a productive way.

So I'm sick of all the apocalyptic social media droning and whining. We don't have to have social unrest and riots. It is not our destiny. We can change it. By reaching out and trying to make things better. By trying to understand.

One of these things is not like the others

For those of us in Illinois, the election of Donald Trump is very confusing. Two minutes after the polls closed, our state was called for Hillary Clinton. It wasn't even close. It never was.

Yet all our neighbors went red this time. What's up with that?

I had assumed it was because the Dems always have a good and dependable ground game. We all know when/where we can vote. We all know how to get a ride to the polls if we can't get there on our own. Also, Chicagoans of color are accustomed to making themselves heard at the ballot box -- especially this year, when police shootings have made Laquan McDonald and Paul O'Neal household names.

But my friend Kathleen has an interesting theory: We voted Clinton because we know Bruce Rauner. A billionaire businessman,* Rauner ran in 2014 with the slogan: Bring Back Illinois. He claimed that with all the corruption and "business as usual" in Springfield, we needed to shake things up with an outsider. Does any of this sound familiar, America?

Gov. Rauner is completing his second year in office, and so far, it's been a disaster. He simply cannot work with the State Legislature. Currently Illinois has no budget, in large part because Rauner has tied just about every line item to term limits. So because of his political fetish, our lottery winners aren't being paid, pensions aren't being funded and now homeless shelters will be closing.

Rauner's approval rating hovers at 30%-35%.

Bruce Rauner refused to speak Donald Trump's name during the run-up to the election, and I don't mean to link him to Trump's more incendiary and insensitive rhetoric. That wouldn't be fair.

But Kathleen could be right: Perhaps our up-close and personal view of a successful businessman with no legislative experience could have made us less likely to take a chance on Trump.

*Although Rauner actually is a billionaire. He was very open about his personal finances. I suspect Trump is worth considerably less than he wants us to believe.

Sunday Stealing

Sunday Stealing: The Here-to-Serve 16 Questions 

1. Which is worse? Being gossiped about or being lied to? Lied to. I'm old enough that being gossiped about rather amuses me. At this very job, I've somehow gone from she-who-sleeps-with-other-women's-men to lesbian. I wish the real me got as much as the gossiped about one does.

2. What is your favorite "Starbucks" drink? Or if you have better taste, Dunkin’Donuts? I don't drink coffee.

3. Name an embarrassing moment (Make it good). Using my office phone -- a landline -- I was on hold. Listening to a peppy muzak version of "We Are Family." Out of boredom, I began chair dancing. Rather enthusiastically. There may have been tuneless singing involved. The chord got tangled around the chair. When the customer service rep suddenly came on, I tried to spin around in my chair and the whole thing -- chair, me and big, black deskphone -- tumbled to the floor with a resounding thud. Much to the amusement of my coworkers. It was so humiliating that it must qualify as "good."

4. Is it hard for you to ask someone to forgive you when you have wronged them? Yes. Though it feels better after I do.

5. Who do you wish you could meet? Lisa Marie Presley. Let's see, what could we talk about? Elvis, Michael Jackson, Nicholas Cage, Scientology, OJ Simpson, her own career ... I visited Graceland recently and was impressed by someone's business acumen as evidenced by the way it's expanding. I mean, The King has now been gone almost as long as he was alive, and the place is still a spinning turnstyle, making money from a variety of demographics. Is she the savvy marketer behind it? Her daughter, Riley Keough, is a very busy actress. What was it like to watch her eldest enter the family business? For someone who has been famous literally since birth, and who has lived one hell of a life, Lisa Marie is actually rather mysterious. 

 

6. Best food comes from which country? Italy.

7. Do you like small talk, or deep conversations? I am pathetic at small talk. 

8. Who do you most want to encourage this year? My nephew.

9. If those who know you best gave you one piece of advice, what would they

say? Would they be right? What will you do about it? My doctor wants me to lose weight. She is right. Excess pounds could be behind my ongoing fatigue issue. Of course, if you're tired all the time, it's hard to get motivated and to the gym, so it's a circular problem. Oh well! Someone (Tennessee Williams?) once said we're all virgins in the morning. That's how I feel about January 1. The Massive Reset Button is hit and we start anew and I'll work on my weight/exercise/health.

10. How often do you get real sick? I got "real sick" a year ago next week and it lasted for months and months. The condition was C. diff. The day in/day out of it was exhausting and depressing. I hope to never be that sick, that long, ever again. The changes mandated in my diet made me healthier over the long haul, though, so I suppose there's always a pony somewhere.

11. Are you a person who has a whole lot of acquaintances, or just a few very close friends? I'm blessed with good, close friends.

12. If you could cure a disease, or heal a sickness, which one would you choose? Dementia. I get that we all have to die sometime. But dementia robs people of their dignity at the end and makes the loss even harder on those they leave behind.
 

13. What was your favorite book of 2016? 

What a ride this was!

14. What was one of your biggest accomplishments in 2016? Getting the fuck through it. What an awful year this was! I actually dealt with three of the Four Horsemen. The only one missing was War. (BTW, War, you were not missed.)

15. If you could be guaranteed a spot on the reality show "Survivor", would you go? I've only ever seen one episode of Survivor and I barely remember it, so I have nothing intelligent to say.

16. Which is worse? Shopping for jeans or a bathing suit? BATHING SUIT!!!!!

17. How old was your oldest living relative (still living or in the past)? My great grandmother lived to be over 100. She was in a home, and as a wee one it was quite the event to be dressed up and dragged over there. As her health faded, we visited her less and less. In retrospect, I wish I had gotten to know her.

I did nothing today

I feel guilty about my nothingness, since I rescheduled this morning's hair appointment because of a storm that didn't quite materialize as predicted. I know this puts undue stress on my stylist, who is squeezing me instead on Wednesday at 5:00 -- which is his own time. But truly, TV's "storm trackers" warned us over and over about freezing rain and black ice and I thought, "Fuck this. I'm on vacation next week! I don't have to [get my hair cut, go to the post office, pick up prescription kibble at the vet] on Saturday morning!"

And so I didn't. I slept in. I binged on Will and Grace reruns. I had a massive brunch -- cinnamon apple crepes with a side of bacon. I watched the village kids line up to ride in one of two horse-drawn sleighs traveling up and down Main Street.

As I was leaving the coffee shop, I got to see The Big Guy up close and personal as he slipped in to get warm with a quick cup of java at the counter. I learned that when he's in the red suit, Santa is always on duty. A girl -- shy, perhaps because she's on the verge of no longer believing -- stared at him long and hard before approaching him with her tentative request: "Earrings. Pierced. Dangling." I felt sorry for her, because both the shop owner and a patron were taping her exchange with their phones. Apparently they thought it was so adorable -- and it was, young girl unexpectedly meeting Santa while having brunch with Mom --that it needed to be immortalized. I don't think they thought about how uncomfortable it was for the "star" of their video. It was really her memory and they were infringing on it.

Then I did a little utilitarian shopping -- oversized, padded envelope, drain cleaner, and other such boring shit -- made my way back home in the rain/snow and took a nap. And now I'm bingeing on the new SJP show, Divorce.

See? Nothing!

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: O, Holy Night (1967)

Unfamiliar with this week's tune? Hear it here.

1) This beloved carol takes its lyrics from a French poem. What else can we thank the French for? French toast. I haven't had it in a while. Maybe it's time to treat myself!

 
2) How well do you know  "O, Holy Night?" Without looking up the lyrics, could you sing along with Ella? Not well at all. I don't really like it. Here's the thing: It was chosen because it seemed to be popular with our Saturday 9 regulars when last summer we were asked what carol popped into our heads. 

Not only don't I care much for this song, but (hold on), I'm not that crazy about Ella Fitzgerald. I know, I know! No less an expert than Frank Sinatra said, "It doesn't get any better than Ella." But both she and this carol leave me cold. If I were queen of the blogosphere, we'd be doing Andy Williams singing "Silent Night." My favorite carol by the man whose voice just means Christmas to me.

BTW, even though this Christmas Eve I will be away from home, we'll attend a church in Key West that ends its service by inviting the congregation to sing this by candlelight. That's an important Christmas tradition for me. I so love that I'm able to continue it.

3) In order to get this record into stores in time for Christmas 1967, Ella had to record this in late July. So let's reverse that. Now that it's Christmastime, what do you miss most about summer? My guys! Have you heard who won the World Series? MY GUYS!

I miss you so much, Anthony Rizzo!

4) Sam is crazy about the open-toed pumps she'll be wearing to holiday parties, but that means she needs to get a pedi. Will you be at a salon between now and year-end? Yes. I'll have a haircut/color Wednesday evening at 5:00. It was supposed to be this morning but I threw myself on the stylist's mercy to get it changed because of today's winter blast. I don't want to take a cab on streets slicked by freezing rain, and the thought of public transit in these conditions makes me want to cry. Fortunately, I've known him for a very long time -- I've been in his chair for decades and before that (right after high school) we actually dated for a summer -- so he'll see my right after he closes on Wednesday. Which reminds me: I must tip him extra big this time. I'm on his personal time.

 
5) Will you be consuming any egg nog this holiday season? And if you do, will it be spiked? I don't know if I'll be having egg nog, but if I do, it will be spiked.

 
6) Thinking of holiday cuisine, what's your favorite Christmas cookie? My grandma made almond cookies similar to these every year. They were my favorite on her tray of cookies, but I found out recently that she didn't like making them, or eating them, for that matter. She thought her only daughter, my aunt, liked them and so she made batch after batch. Turns out my aunt really didn't care for them but thought my grandma was proud of the way the recipe came out, so she raved about them. Kind of like a cookie Gift of the Magi, I guess. At any rate, my aunt and I agree we both miss my grandma and her cookies very much this time of year.

7) Sam knows she will get a bottle of red wine from her boss, because that's what he gives his staff every year. Is there a gift you can count on receiving? I haven't received it yet, but I bet my cousin will send me a calendar, as she does almost every Christmas. As a private joke to myself, I sent her a Lord of the Rings calendar this year. (She's loves her some hobbits.)

 
8) What one gift would you most like to receive this year? Do you think anyone will get it for you? The new movie Jackie is only playing at a handful of theaters and none is near me, or convenient to public transportation. I'd love someone with a car to take me. (Though since the subject is the immediate aftermath of the assassination, I appreciate that it's not a  feel-good holiday movie.)

Love this poster because the real JBKO was self conscious about her gnawed nails.

9) This time of year is big for charitable fundraising. Here's your chance to plug a cause or organization that's near and dear to you. Toys for Tots. I hate it, HATE IT that some child will feel he was naughty or that Santa doesn't love him, or gives up on Santa before he's ready, just because his parents can't afford a gift. If you haven't donated to a toy drive in your own neighborhood, please consider helping out by clicking here. There's still time, and Toys for Tots still needs your help. Let's keep the Christmas magic alive for some wee ones.

You can donate here.

It has a name!

Went to the dermatologist today. She's a specialist in scalp issues and diagnosed my thinning hair as seborrheic dermatitis. I have a skin infection, kinda like a yeast infection but on my head, and it should be easy to treat with steroids, prescription shampoo and OTC Rogaine. While she doesn't think it's serious because the hair on the unaffected areas of my scalp is still "dense," it may take a while to cure.

So it's good to know what I have. She dismissed autoimmune disease because my pattern of thinning/loss is inconsistent with that diagnosis, and that's also good. But, since she doesn't believe I suffer from an autoimmune condition, it means that the scalp issue and my ongoing fatigue are unrelated ... and I still have no reason to point to for the fatigue. So in 2017, I guess I have an apnea/sleep study to look forward to.

But let's keep focused on the pony: What I have has a name, it's treatable, and it may be tenacious but not serious. YEA!

Happy birthday to me, part 8

Last night I had dinner with Kathleen where we celebrated both her and my birthdays and Christmas. We went to a new (to me) Mediterranean restaurant and shared a variety of small plates as we exchanged gifts.

She gave me these adorable little notecards. Each one looks like a Beatles 45 rpm record, as well as a book about "the swinging 60s." Clearly she knows where my heart is!

It was good to catch up with her. She's an interesting woman -- a good mother, an ever-evolving career woman, wife to a challenging but fascinating man, good daughter to ill and aging parents. Well over 50, she's become a passionate runner. I enjoy hearing about how she connects to her body now that she's a cancer survivor.

Thinking of that, it was a relief to talk to her about Barb. I think of Barb, her husband, and cancer all the time. It weighs heavily on me. It confuses me. I want to help but I don't know how. I want to help, but I don't want to intrude. Kathleen not only knows Barb, she understands what it's like to face cancer.

Kathleen promises that we have to get together soon to see the Christmas blockbusters. I know she means these things when she says them, but we'll see if it comes to pass. She was also going to watch a Cubs play off game with me, too ... I think I have to learn to enjoy her when I see her but not expect more time/involvement than she can deliver at this time in her life.