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since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
-- ee cummings
To help you understand how fully out of whack my life has been since lightning blasted my house I need only say this: The Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince trailer came out on Tuesday, and I only just watched it about five seconds ago.
As far as teasers go, it is the best Potter trailer yet. I had goosebumps right up into my brain.
Here it is, just in cases:
There will be a delay on this week's Top 25 Television Shows recap. Blame the lightning or my homeowner's insurance or my insurance adjuster. Then feel free to kick any of those people in the gonads. When my television/DVD player/cable works again, I'll fire up the ol' recap machine.
In the meantime, let me tell you a story.
A couple of weeks ago I started to think there was something sinister afoot in the next town over, because every time I drove through, there were more and more scarecrows lining the road. It started out around a dozen, and by last Friday there were at least 200 of those straw-faced bastards along the street, and in people's front yards, and propped up outside of businesses. I'm not sure what they're playing at, but I feel sore afraid.
These fellas are holding some kind of ghost rodeo.
These guys don't mind mind the Georgia July heat. They're all creepy yarn smiles.
Farmer, I think:
Chef:
Lady with a boner:
Some guys workin' on a car:
And if you're not too scared out of your wits, stop by, and shop local.
I know I originally said the deadline was 7/23, but my house got struck by lightning this week so I've had other (blown up) things on my mind. If you want to play Newberry/Pulitzer Bracketology, today is the last day to turn in your brackets to Abigail. abigail.m.schilling [at] gmail [dot] com.
Free books if you win! Ridicule if you don't! (Not really.)
Yesterday Julie emailed to ask how much exercise Scout gets each day. The answer is two walks and one jog. Margaret is a good jogger. She paces herself right beside me from start to finish. Scout, on the other hand, runs as fast as she can as far as she can, until she has to be carried home.
The veterinarian's office is the only place in the world where — in the course of filling out paperwork — you can hold up a sack of dog poop and someone will say, "Oh, good: you've brought it!" This happened to me last week when I took Margaret for her yearly checkup, and I was mid-giggle when the vet tech sobered me right up by asking if I wanted to go ahead and start Maragaret's pre-senior blood work.
I instinctively reached down and put a protective hand on Margaret's head. "Her what?" I asked.
"She'll be seven next year," the vet tech said. "That's considered a senior, and if you'd like, we can go ahead and start her senior testing."
Surely they had their math wrong: there was no way Margaret was almost a senior. I counted backwards to 2003 when I'd left for Jamaica for three months. In my carry-on backpack I'd stuffed a plastic photo album with pictures: Margaret in a trucker's cap, sitting in Amy's dad's Chevy; Margaret in a football jersey, holding a ball in her mouth; Margaret and Amy cuddled on the couch; Margaret in a party hat... on her first birthday. "07-06-05-04-03," I tallied on my fingers. "Plus one for her birthday."
It was true: Six years ago Margaret found me and Amy. Six years.
In the vet's waiting room, I promised Margaret that her years as a senior would be the best of her life. No more letting Scout chew on her. No more letting Scout chase her 'round the house. No more letting Scout share her water bowl, or run in front of her when we go for a jog. In fact, I would just keep Scout separated from her at all times, to vastly improve her quality of life.
The vet diagnosed Margaret as healthy as a show dog, as he always does. She has perfect teeth, a perfect coat, a perfect disposition. She snuggles all the vet techs so they'll coo and give her treats. Every time Margaret goes for a checkup, the vet tells me she needs to lose 5 pounds, because don't we all, but this year she'd actually lost the weight. "She'll live longer this way," the vet said. "Her joints will be much healthier."
As soon as we walked in the front door at home, Scout was on Margaret, hanging by her neck as she went into the kitchen for some water. I pulled them apart, and banished Scout into a whole other room. "Sorry," I said to Margaret, when I returned to the living room. "I won't let her do that any more."
Margaret laid down in the floor beside me and sighed; then she hopped up and went into the room where I'd exiled Scout. I looked up just in time to see Margaret dragging Scout back into in the room by her ears.
Back and forth they went, tugging, gnawing, flipping, tackling, until half an hour later they lay in an exhausted heap on the living room floor.
Margaret was looking for me and Amy, I've no doubt about it. Scout found me and Amy, but I'm pretty sure she was looking for Margaret, all along.
Last night my house was struck by lighting three times! It blew up the air conditioning, the treadmill, the DSL router, the television, the DVD player, and all the lights in the kitchen and dining room. It's good that Amy knows something about fuses and breakers and stuff or we would still be sitting in the dark.
For at least a year Amy's been saying we need a flat screen plasma television. I kept saying, "We don't need it, you want it."
This morning while I was over in the corner wringing my hands, Amy was dancing around the house, singing merrily, "Now we need the TV! Now we need the TV!"
If I didn't know how much she's going to miss that treadmill, I'd say she orchestrated the whole storm.
Abigail wants me to remind you that you have four more days to turn in your brackets for the Newberry/Pulizter game. Email me or comment if you'd like the brackets in a PDF.
Or click for a larger JPEG.
Abigail's email is abigail.m.schilling [at] gmail [dot] com.
Why this episode made the list: This is The O.C. in perfect form: parallel story-telling, witty banter, brilliant music, and a nod to something great — in this case, Pretty in Pink.
Tiny-Cap: Caleb has been chosen Rivera Magazine's Man of the Year, and Kirsten plans to host a cilantro-free party in his honor. Kirsten wants to invite Uncle Shawn, who isn't so much an uncle as much as he is Caleb's own personal mobster. Sandy compromises his integrity and agrees to represent Uncle Shawn because it means he can keep Kirsten out of jail. After his Man of the Year party, Caleb tells Julie Cooper he wants to work out their relationship, but these days she's bonking Luke, so she demurs.
Ryan tries to make a relationship work with Theresa, his ex-girlfriend from Chino. Their problems are multi-fold as pointed out repeatedly by Sandy and Seth: Ryan has no money, Theresa has no place to live, she should still be in school, etc. There is also the pesky matter of her blue collar finace who shows up in his mechanic's uniform at Ryan's school to threaten him. Marissa tries to cope with Theresa by befriending her. She lends Theresa some of her doll-sized clothes for the Man of the Year ho down. The mechanic shows up at Caleb's party, punches Ryan in the face, and gets himself blacklisted from all future O.C. barbecues.
Anna announces that she is going back to Pittsburgh and Seth goes berserk. He asks Anna why she's leaving, and she says a whole bunch of things like vinyl records and peanut butter cup pies, which a person apparently cannot procure in southern California. Seth is afraid Anna is leaving because of him so he talks to Ryan, who says Seth should just tell Anna how he feels. Summer is surprisingly cool about the whole thing, even advising Seth to go after Anna at the airport to apologize for hurting [smashing, annihilating, bashing, battering, clobbering] her feelings at various points in the past.
Ryan drives Seth to the airport, where he chases down Anna at security and breaks her heart some more because he only wants to say sorry, not to ask her to stay. She leaves, he cries. Seth and Ryan go to The Mermaid Inn, where Theresa is supposed to be staying. However, she has packed up and headed back to Chino, but not before stopping by Marissa's to ask her to take care of Ryan. Which is the most patronizing and condescending thing a person can say in a breakup, ever. My disdain for that sentiment knows no bounds.
Seth and Ryan retire to a bench on the pier. They wonder aloud what Luke is doing, and even though the camera doesn't show it, we know he's having his own ho down at Julie Cooper's house. Seth and Ryan agree that practically being brothers is pretty awesome, and they each have a slice of pizza.
Words + Pictures
Seth: Gramps looks so angry.
Summer: I don't know why — he's on the cover of a magazine.
Anna: It's hard to believe that doesn't leave him feeling happy and fulfilled.
Summer: Totally, I know.
Julie: Luke, you know not to come to the house. We meet at the hotel.
Luke: I just thought you needed help with your DSL.
Julie: As much as I want high speed Internet access, it isn't worth Caitlin becoming suspicious.
Jimmy: Hi, Jules. Umm... Luke.
Julie: Luke just came by to defrag my hard drive.
Seth: So, she's leaving.
Ryan: No, she's staying.
Seth: What, when did you talk to Anna?
Ryan: Anna?
Seth: She told me she's going back to Pittsburgh.
Ryan: Anna's going back to Pittsburgh?
Seth: Uhh.. not anymore, according to you.
Ryan: What are you talking about?
Seth: She, Anna, is leaving.
Ryan: She, Theressa, is staying.
Seth: Right, got it.
Seth: Do not change the subject to me and... dammit, I'm powerless not to talk about it. She gave me a list of reasons why she's leaving.
Ryan: You didn't make the cut, did you?
Seth: She's lying. I want her to know that I'm sorry I hurt her feelings, but she doesn't have to be doing this.
Ryan: Just tell her.
Seth: Just tell her, huh? Simple, honest, direct, no wonder I never thought of it. OK, I will. I'll tell her tonight. Might have to have a little bubbly first, though. A little veritas in vino. Know what I mean?
Ryan: Hardly ever.
Kirsten: I told you that I didn't want you to get involved.
Sandy: I will always do what's best for my family.
Kirsten: I would rather go to jail than be responsible for you being mixed up in this, getting into bed with my father.
Sandy: I promise ya, I'd rather send you to jail than get into bed with your father.
Seth: Come on, man. Her flight leaves soon!
Ryan: I'm going 75 in a 65!
Seth: Everyone knows 80 is the new 75!
Ryan: Who talks like that?
Seth: What is up with this A/C. My Jew-fro is frizzing out. I look like Screech.
Ryan: The A/C is fine.
Seth: What IS this music?
Ryan: Do NOT insult Journey, all right?
Read Ashely's awesomer countdown here.
Amy's home!
Five Perfect Novels
— Holes, Louis Sachar
— The Tale of Desperaux, Kate DiCamillo
— Emma, Jane Austen
— Anne of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
— To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
Five Perfect Movies:
— Pride and Prejudice
— Wall-E
— Stranger Than Fiction
— Hoosiers
— Love, Actually
Five Perfect Picture Books
— But Not The Hippopotamus, Sandra Boynton
— How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Dr. Seuss
— Chrysanthemum, Kevin Henkes
— Olivia, Ian Falconer
— Harold and the Purple Crayon, Crockett Johnson
Five Perfect Driving Songs
— Don't Stop Believin', Journey
— Pictures of You, The Cure
— Brian Wilson, Barenaked Ladies
— Joking, The Indigo Girls
— London Calling, The Clash
Five Perfect Movie Quotes
— "I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly."
— "Yer a wizard, Harry."
— "P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney. I remembered!"
— "Strap, God wants you on the court."
— "Just as I expected. 'Mary Poppins, practically perfectly in every way.'"
My one goal for the week is to have the office completely finished before Amy gets home. That means I need to get to IKEA today, and then cry like a baby tomorrow so my sister will come over and assemble some furniture. I also have to get three prints matted and framed, and I'm thinking of getting Amy an iPod dock for her desk — but only for listening to music when I'm not around. I love that girl, but when she cranks up the African Children's Choir when I'm trying to work, my brain explodes all over the place.
I am copying Ashely's awesome idea, just like I said I would. (Ashely, you're amazing!)
First up is The Office - Season 2, Episode 1: The Dundies. This is the episode when all the main characters make that magical transformation to fully-dimensional. We find out what everyone wants, what they really want. And we get to enjoy some classic '80s tunes.
World's Best Boss — "Tonight is The Dundies," says Michael Scott, brandishing a businessman trophy. "The annual employee awards night here at Dunder Mifflin." It is, according to Michael, everyone's favorite day, because a lot of people don't get trophies very often, and that lack of recognition leads to folks hanging themselves in their garages.
Jim is at reception, drumming his fingers on Pam's desk. He asks if she is ready for The Dundies, and she can only muster an "ugh" before she interviews: "You know what they say about a car wreck... where it's so awful you can't look away? The Dundies are like a car wreck that you want to look away, but you have to stare at it because your boss is making you."
Michael interrupts and causes Jim to shoot his first disgruntled look of the season at the camera. "Hey, hey, hey," Michael says, in a pretty spot-on Fat Albert voice. "It's fat Halpert."
"What?" Jim asks, and he Halperts the camera one more time for good measure.
Micheal drops it and asks Jim to show his past Dundies to the camera, but Jim can't: he keeps them hidden because he doesn't want to look at them and get cocky. Micheal thinks that's a good idea. Dwight says he keeps his Dundies in a display case above his bed.
That is, according to Michael "TMI," which, he tells us, stands for "too much information." He used to say "don't go there," but he quit that phrase on account of the lameness. Michael asks Stanley the Manly to flash his Dundie all-star bling at the camera, but Stanley refuses. He thinks he probably threw his trophies in the garbage. Michael looks at the camera, and then back to Stanley. "No, you di-int," he says.
"Yes," Stanley says, he did. Also, this year Stanley would like more apa-teezers because last time they ran out. Michael agrees about the appetizers and calls out Kevin for eating all the skillets of cheese last year. Kevin looks one part affronted, one part guilty. It's a practiced face.
Conference room. Pam watches a video of a previous Dundies ceremony. Michael wants her to find some highlights.
On the television screen, she sits at a table with Roy, her back to Jim. With Dwight's accompaniment on the recorder Michael launches into a rework of Lou Bega's Mambo #5: " A little bit of Pam all night long, a little bit of Angela on the thing, a little bit of Phyllis everywhere, a little bit of Roy eating chicken crispers, a little bit of Jim with some ribs, a little bit of..." In the middle of his song, someone on screen sits down in front of the camera. It is Kevin. Pam says, "...great." In real-time she gives Jim a withering look, and pretends to choke herself. He chuckles. Always in each other's periphery, these two.
Phylis, Kelly, and Pam giggle in front of the water cooler taking it in turns to say, "You did it." "Nu uh, you did."
Dwight comes over to let them know that secrets don't make friends. "So, what's the joke? You're not perfect either," he says. Pam assures Dwight they're not laughing at him, and because some middle school wounds never heal, Dwight wants to know who they're laughing at, then. Pam tells him it's just something, um, someone wrote. "Who?" Dwight wonders. "Dave Berry?" Kelly, still not laughing at Dwight says that it was something written on the bathroom wall. Pam says it's private. Phylis says it's about Michael. At this, of course, Dwight loses his shit. (The one man he's been hired to protect.) He shouts about defacement of company property and demands to know what is written on the bathroom wall. He offers Kelly a lesser punishment if she'll tell him. "Okay," Pam says. "Now I am laughing at you."
That One Night, You Made Everything All Right — Michael's office, speakerphone.
"Will her highness, Jan Levinson-Gould, be descending from her corporate throne this evening to visit us lowly serfs here at Dunder Mifflin Scranton?" Jan is all sighs; she tells Michael it is a two-and-a-half hour drive from the corporate office in New York to the Scranton office, and no, she will not be making the trip.
Maybe you think that's rational, to not drive two-and-a-half hours for a fake awards ceremony; or maybe you think it's mean. What you probably don't think is that it's perverse. What would be perverse is taking that two-and-a-half hour drive for a booty call — with Michael Scott. But Jan is above that, I assure you. Until she's not, which is later, and explains the disdain in her voice.
Jan and Michael get into this push-me-pull-me thing that involves Jan listing off the parties he's thrown this year — the 050505 party on May 5, 2005 because, as Michael points out, that only happens once every billion years. Also a Tsunami Fun-Raiser — and lets him know that corporate will not be paying for the Dundies. Michael calls this an A-bomb, and kicks the camera crew out of his office.
He interviews: "There's no open bar because of Jan and it's the reason why comedy clubs have a two drink minimum. It'll be fine, I just...wish people were going to be drunk." I am doing a quick mental run-down of all the reasons you would want other people to be drunk, and it's basically validation, karaoke, and possibly sex. This does not bode well.
Rooster in the hen house — Break room. Dwight waits for Meredith to leave the Ladies', and then sneaks in. He is greeted by Phylis, who starts swatting him away and calling him a pervert. "Why were you in there? Why were you peering over the stalls?" she demands. Dwight deftly turns it around: "Why were you in there?" he asks. "Pervert, pervert," Phylis shouts some more, and if she had a handbag, she's be beating him over the head with it.
It's what we do, our name is virtue. — Conference room. Pam watches as she wins the Dundie for "World's Longest Engagement." On screen she rolls her eyes, on the screen Jim shakes his head. Screen-Roy puts down his beer and accepts the award on Pam's behalf, saying he hopes they'll win it again next year. Real-time Pam looks at the camera and then down at her shoes. Real-time Jim looks at Pam, and then down at his.
Michael's office. Michael tells Jim there's no way he's changing that award, it's hilarious. Jim looks at the ceiling and agrees. "No, it's hilarious, you're right. I just think, um, 'world's longest engagement', we're all expecting it, you know?" Michael says that's what makes it so funny. Every year Pam doesn't get married it just gets funnier. Jim's face tightens and he says it's lazy to use the same jokes every year. That hits Michael where it hurts, as Jim knew it would.
This isn't really an aww moment; it's not heroic. See, because, unlike the rest of America, Jim doesn't survive Monday through Friday, nine to five, and it is more than Pam's best interest — more even than his own best interest — that drives this conversation with Michael. What Jim needs to live his eight hour days, what he needs to live, is to not draw attention to the Pam outside of him.
What makes Pam and Jim's relationship one of the best on television isn't just the chemistry between Jenna Fischer and John Krasinski, though that's part of it. Pam and Jim's relationship is multi-layered and subtextual. They say more in one line of dialogue or 30 seconds of silence than Ross and Rachel said in ten seasons. Watch, you'll see.
That was when I ruled the world — Dwight calls for silence: he has an announcement to make.
"The women in this office are terrible. Especially the ones who wrote that stuff about Michael on the bathroom wall. Having a bathroom is a privilege. It is called a ladies room for a reason. And if you cannot behave like ladies, well then you are not going to have a bathroom."
Pam walks out of the conference room, arms folded. After repeated Dundies viewing, she's ready to attack anything that moves. "You're taking away our bathroom?" she asks. Dwight says that from now on there will be two men's rooms. Phylis asks the obvious: where will they go? Dwight's on the brink of telling her to hold it all day when Michael comes out and shouts at Dwight to shut his yap.
Then, rather than confront the problem at hand (no money for The Dundies), Michael tells everyone they can bring their families to Chili's for the awards ceremony. Dwight gives a giant fist pump, and in an episode full of feelings, that's the saddest one.
Church at Chili's — Inside the restaurant, Dwight makes some inconsequential announcements about keeping acceptance speeches short. He has wrap music, and he's not afraid to use it.
Michael takes the stage in a gray hoodie, and start rapping while Ryan tries to keep up with the poster-board cue cards. "You down with The Dundies? You down with the Dundies?" The music comes to an abrupt halt. The camera cuts to Dwight who is holding an unplugged power cord. The waitress tripped over it, he explains apologetically.
Michael says the joke has landed, and while he welcomes everyone to the 2005 Dundies, he takes off his hoodie to reveal a tuxedo, because of course that's what he's wearing. Kevin tells the waitress to put his drink on the group tab. Micheal stops in the middle of disrobing to explain that there actually won't be a group tab this year. Stanley gets huffy, as is his wont, and calls Michael on his bullshit, which is equally his wont. Michael asks why Stanley didn't bring his wife, and Stanley says he did: it's this [white] woman whose hand he's holding.
Plowing through awkward is Michael's specialty, so he moves right along and starts telling a joke about being on a date with a woman from HR last night. Dwight interrupts to say there are no women in HR. Michael stutters that it is for the sake of the story, and ends with the punchline that just when things were getting hot and heavy, his HR lady made him stop and fill out six hours of paperwork.
"Like an AIDS test?" Dwight asks.
"No!" Michael says. "God!"
Roy and Daryl have had enough. Without consulting Pam, who is sandwiched between them, they decide to go to Poor Richard's and open beer bottles with their toes, sit around and count what's left of their teeth. Pam hesitates when they stand up to put on their jackets. Michael asks her where she's going: "The show's just getting started."
"Sorry," Pam says.
Ryan asks Jim if he's staying. Jim says yeah, he's gotta eat somewhere.
Michael gives out the first award of the night to the woman who always lands the biggest accounts. "The Busiest Beaver Award" goes to Phylis Lapin! Phylis is all smiles when she accepts her trophy, until she realizes it says "Bushiest Beaver." Oh, man. That just never stops being funny. Michael says he'll get her another trophy, she doesn't have to display that.
Outside of Chili's Roy has hand on Pam's arm trying to coax her into his truck, and she is pissed. ("Pissed" as in angry, not "pissed" as in drunk. Wait for that, too.) He's like, "Get in the truck." And she's like, "Eff off." And then she's back inside at Jim's table. He says hi, and that he thought she'd left. She says no, she decided to stay, and Jim's face lights up like Christmas.
While Michael does a completely racist Ping impression, Pam nicks Jim's beer, and then orders a drink for herself.
"You Sexy Thang," starts playing and Michael announces the next award is for someone who really lights up the office. "Somebody who I think a lot of us cannot keep from checking out," Michael says. "The 'Hottest in the Office' award goes to... Ryan the temp!" Ryan reluctantly walks up to accept the award, and Michael plays a little cat-and-mouse with it, proffering it then snatching it away. Ryan finally seizes the trophy, but before he can slink back to his booth, Michael smacks him right on the ass. Not like a "nice field goal" pat, but a genuine palm plus fingers slap. I fully believe you can go gay for one person, and Michael is so there for Ryan. Funnily enough, if Michael knew the truth: that he was way too good for Ryan, it would change the balance of everything. (Same with Jan, later.)
The next award is the "Tight Ass" award, and it is for Angela, because not only is she good with money, she also has a nice caboose. Angela, unsurprisingly, refuses to come up and accept the award.
At the Table of Destiny, Pam is slurping her third margarita. Jim looks at her in amazement and says, "I think those might be empty." She laughs, of course, and says cutely, "No, no. 'Cause the ice melts and then it's like second drink!"
See, there it is, that subtext. How differently does that play out if Jim puts his hand on her arm and says, "Pam, there's nothing left." How real does it become if Pam answers, "No, there has to be something left. The ice will melt, you'll see."
Instead Jim grins, bemused, because they live in the tension between silence and reality. "Second drink?" he asks.
Then Pam swipes Stanley's wife's booze. Stanley's wife gets it, I can tell by her face.
Next up, Kelly wins the "Spicy Curry" award, and Michael cannot explain what it means. Kelly, however, is mostly concerned with why her trophy has a bowler on it. "They were out of businessmans," Michael explains. "Just sit down, Kelly."
Back"stage", Michael interviews that now he knows what Bob Hope felt like in Saudi Arabia.
He says Dwight is sucking the funny out of the room, and then Dwight cues the music early. Michael rushes back on stage. He starts singing "Tiny Dundie" to the tune of "Tiny Dancer," and then some guys who ought to be over at Poor Richard's with freaking Roy start heckling him. Michael tries to chat them up, but they start throwing food at him. Literally, food. I don't know what is wrong with Dwight in this moment. For a guy that was about to shut down the bathroom over some graffiti, he is oddly absent.
Michael, so exhausted from inflating the wind in his own sails, decides to call it a night: "I had a few more Dundies to give out tonight, but, I'm just going to cut it short. And wrap it up so everybody can enjoy their food. Um...thanks for listening, those who listened." It's so sad, like when your parents go from being mad to disappointed. Michael sits the "Don't Go in There After Me" trophy on Kevin's table for that time he went into the bathroom after Kevin and it was really, really stinky.
Pam's face has that special brand of loyal anger: You can only talk shit about your own brother; if someone else has a go, you fight. "Whooo!" Pam shouts, clapping. "Yay Kevin. Whoo hoo for Kevin! For stinking up the bathroom." Jim joins in: " Yeah, alright Kev." Then Pam does the most self-sacrificial thing she's ever done on this show, she says, "I haven't gotten one yet!" She heaps the humiliation onto herself, to take it off her family. She can bear another "World's Longest Engagement" trophy, for Michael. "Dundies! Dundies! Dundies!" they chant.
"Alright, alright, alright, okay," Michael smiles sweetly, a moment's respite from keeping his self in the air, this is what he wants. "We'll keep rolling. Okay, this is the fine work award. This goes to Stanley, for all the fine work he did this year. You know you did!"
Stanley, inspired by Pam or completely liquored up, cuts Michael some slack. " Well, last year, I got great work, so I don't know what to think about this. But at least I didn't get smelliest bowel movement like Kevin."
Everyone laughs and cheers, because if Stanley can be on Michael's side, anyone can be on Michael's side.
Michael announces that the next award is going out to their own little Pam Beesley. There is a moment of sober realization on Pam's face, the kind she gets every damn afternoon when she has to go home with Roy. "I think we all know what award Pam is going to be getting this year," Michael says. Jim's face flashes that special brand of anger that runs one slice deeper even than the family kind. Michael continues: " It is the 'Whitest Sneakers' award! Because she always has the whitest tennis shoes on!"
Pam rushes the microphone, elated, disbelieving. She squeals and says, "I have so many people to thank for this award."
The camera cuts to Jim whose face is alight with wonder. He's never seen her like this.
It's played, the idea of gazing adoringly at someone you're so deeply in love with, but that doesn't make it any less real. The internal dialogue of watching her sleep, watching her interact across a room, watching her make an ass out of herself when she's drunk: Jim has had the second and third without the first. It's a perfect ache, the kind that takes the taste out of peanut butter.
Pam thanks her Keds, she thanks Michael and Dwight for hosting the show, and then she thanks God. "I feel God in this Chili's tonight," she says. She shouts one more time into the microphone, gives Michael a quick peck on the cheek, rushes Jim who is holding out her chair and kisses him right on the mouth.
He sits back down, knowing she's drunk, caring very little.
At the bar, Jim and Pam chat with the camera.
"What a great year for The Dundies," Jim says. Pam stares at him and nods solemnly. "We got to see Ping." [Pam nods] "And we learned of Michael's true feelings for Ryan." [Pam nods] "Which was touching. And, we heard Michael change the lyrics to a number of classic songs." [Pam nods] "Which for me, has ruined them for life." Pam still stares, nodding.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," she says.
He says, "OK."
"What?" she asks.
"I don't know, what?" he says.
And rather than say what they both know, she falls off the stool.
Jim says, "Oh, my God! You're so drunk!"
Michel interviews: "Was this year's Dundies a success? Well, let's see, I made Pam laugh so hard, that she fell out of her chair, and she almost broke her neck. So I killed, almost."
Pam agrees. Outside she nearly tackles the camera man.
"Best. Dundies. Ever." she proclaims. Then she takes it in turns to hug and kiss everyone, because she's not too drunk to know she has to re-level the field.
Ryan and Dwight help Michael to the car with his props. He tells them great work, and Dwight tells him to watch his step. Dwight says he just did what any Deputy Sheriff would do in the event that a co-worker fell off her barstool: check her for a concussion. Michael says, "Yes, that too, but I mean with the audio. Great work."
Dwight's heart grows three sizes, this is what he wants.
Pam and Jim sit on a bench and wait for Angela to pull her car around.
Pam says she feels really sorry about what she wrote on the bathroom wall. Jim says no, she doesn't. She grins, he knows her.
Jim helps Pam up to walk to the car, and she stops him. "Hey," she says, "can I ask you something?"
Doesn't she know? Everything, everything yes with Jim. "Shoot," he says.
Again the silence, what they both want, until she remembers the camera. She flashes her trophy at him. "I just wanted to say thanks."
He half-laughs. "Not really a question."
"Okay," Jim says, "Let's get you home." He puts her in the car, watches her drive away.
The problem with being in a four-bedroom house with two dogs when your Amy is gone is that you can't keep your eye on everything. Because she's a kindergarten teacher, Amy has an intrinsic sense of when someone or somedog is trying to pull some sneaky shenanigans. I live in a half-world in terms of reality eighty-percent of the time, so I never know the shenanigans until Scout has swallowed a 9-volt battery.
I've had to quarantine us to my office and the living room because that's the only way I can keep a (half) eye on everything that goes into Scout's mouth. She chewed some carpet yesterday, but hardwoods are going down next week; I didn't wince. Even with the containment, in Amy's absence I've managed to lose my iPod charger, both emergency flashlights, my favorite flip flops, and a CD that Amanda Mae made me. I also bought something called a Pancake Puff off of QVC.
Tomorrow I am starting Ashely's project of recapping the best 25 episodes of television. Abigail, the voice of constant reassurance in my ear, told me it could not be done; told me Ashley would do it better. It shook me, I'll tell you. We'll place the entire blame of the Pancake Puff on her shoulders. I'll go ahead and tell you 25 is The Office, but I'll bet you knew that already.
Amy Sue, we miss you.
Last night I had my fourth bad dream about The Joker, based solely on The Dark Knight trailers. I think perhaps the only cure is to see Wall-E for the fifty-eleventh time.
You kids gonna see Batman?
Amy is out of town and yeah, she stocked the fridge and cupboards with my favorite foods before she left; and yeah, she did all my laundry and put it away before she packed; and yeah, she even had her brother come by yesterday to make sure I was remembering to stop work long enough to eat lunch — I get it, Amy's great.
The problem is that we've got two unwatched discs of The O.C. and two unwatched discs of Battlestar Galactica sitting on the kitchen counter, and I promised not to watch them until she gets back. She took the Nintendo DS, and the books I ordered from the library aren't in yet.
I guess I'll spend the weekend playing Clue with Margaret, which will be a waste of everyone's time, really. It wasn't Mrs. Peacock, it wasn't Mr. Green. There was no rope or candlestick. If havoc has been wreaked, it was Scout plain and simple. Scout in the kitchen with her teeth. Scout in the sun room with her teeth. Scout in the office and the bedroom and the hall.
Maybe I'll try Scout's method of dealing with boredom: maybe I'll chew the paint off the wall.
Or maybe I'll try Margaret's, and have a nice, long nap.
I have created a contest that will henceforth be known as The Best Contest Of All Contests EVER! It came about because I recently was discussing which is a more prestigious prize: The (Fiction) Pulitzer or The Newberry. My friend was inclined to say Pulitzer because it's an award for grown-up books with grown-up themes. I, on the other hand, leaned toward Newberry because the children's publishing industry is much smaller, much less diluted, and really is there such thing as a children's theme anymore?
Anyway, that led to this contest. Here's how it's going to play: I am going to read (or re-read) the last 8 years worth of Pulitzer Winners and Newberry Winners. Then I am going to pit them against each other in a Bracket Cage Match. I'll fill in the brackets and update you as I read. All you have to do is print out the brackets, (I can email you a PDF or you can print out the JPEG from my Flickr), fill in the books that you think will win, and then email/fax/call in/whatever your brackets to Abigail. (abigail.m.schilling[at]gmail[dot]com) You can scan the brackets or take a picture or just email her your answers all typed out.
And here's the best part: When I am finished with the readings, the winner will receive ALL 16 BOOKS:
Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri (Pulitzer 2000)
Bud, Not Buddy, Christopher Paul Curtis (Newberry 2000)
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon (Pulitzer 2001)
A Year Down Under, Richard Peck (Newberry 2001)
Empire Falls, Richard Russo (Pulitzer 2002)
A Single Shard, Linda Sue Park (Newberry 2002)
Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides (Pulitzer 2003)
Crispin: The Cross of Lead (Newberry 2003)
The Known World, Edward P. Jones (Pulitzer 2004)
The Tale of Despereaux, Kate DiCamillo (Newberry 2004)
Gilead, Marilynne Robinson (Pulitzer 2005)
Kira-Kira, Cynthia Kadohata (Newberry 2005)
March, Geraldine Brooks (Pulitzer 2006)
Criss Cross, Lynne Rae Perkins (Newberry 2006)
The Road, Cormac Mccarthy (Pulitzer 2007)
The Higher Power of Lucky, Susan Patron (Newberry 2007)
Anyone can enter. The deadline for turning in brackets is 7/23/08 — two weeks from today. 16 free books! It's okay if you're turned on right now. I get it. Now, hop to, and send in those brackets.
[Click for a larger version or email/comment for a PDF]
You guys, Ashley had this freaking brilliant idea to recap the best ever 25 hours of television. (An idea that I may or may not steal.) Today is number 25 and it is the Lois and Clark episode "Tempus Fugitive." Her recap is so clever and she tackled the campiness of the show with such empathy that I was grinning like a lunatic the entire time I was reading. You should go there now, and I mean business on this one.
When my sister got pregnant she promised — swore, in fact, on the margarita glasses from which she could not sip — that she was not going to be one of those parents. None of that rearranging family get-togethers around the baby's nap time, no altering traditional family menus to accommodate the baby's taste buds, no tiptoeing around because the baby was asleep: no sir, not my sister. Then Hogan was born, and it turned out she was a filthy liar.
My laugh was too loud, I had to hush because Hogan was asleep. When is the birthday party? We'll have to see what time Hogan is scheduled for a nap that day. What's for dinner? Gosh, I don't know. Everyone likes applesauce and green peas, right?
Oh, I was furious. Want to lose your autonomy, I was heard to say on more than one occasion. Well then, why don't you just go ahead and have a baby.
If it had been ten minutes earlier, I wouldn't have needed the flashlight.
If she was color blind, the way dogs are supposed to be, she would have just chewed on the blue Kong — the one that was lovingly sent to her all the way from the midwest. But no, Scout wanted her red Kong, not the medium-sized red one specifically designed for Beagle jaws, but the huge red Kong because it holds the most peanut butter.
She took it outside when she went to the bathroom, because she refuses to go outside without a toy in her mouth. She forgets the toys once there are grasshoppers to chase; our yard is littered with plastic squeaky chew things.
The walk is from 8:00 to 9:00 p.m. The half hour after that is crucial: if she sleeps at all, it messes up her circadian rhythm and you can forget about getting in the bed before 1:00 a.m.
The red Kong keeps her awake for one half hour. Bed time is 9:30 on the dot.
From: Heather Hogan
Subject: Homeless Pets
To: Family
Amy and I are going to the UK for the New Year and we need to shove our pets onto three of you. Margaret is easiest, of course. Nala is also a snap. Scout is a terror, and you would be a fool to accept the challenge.
*
From: Jenn the Sister
Subject: Re: Homeless Pets
To: Heather Hogan
I'll take Scout.
*
From: Heather Hogan
Subject: Re: Homeless Pets
To: Jenn the Sister
Are you serious?
*
From: Jenn the Sister
Subject: Re: Homeless Pets
To: Heather Hogan
Duh, it's what sisters do. Besides, I have a toddler; I think I can handle a Beagle.
"Amy," I said last night. "Could you please turn down the volume on the Nintendo DS. You're five seconds away from waking up the baby."
My fear of bears is well documented all over the Internets, but yesterday I went ahead and adopted one anyway. The World Wildlife Federation has a program where you can adopt about a gazillion kinds of animals, but it's the poor polar bears who are falling through the ice on account of how we're trashing the planet. I already have a kid in Kenya and a retired couple in Pittsburgh. I guess I needed some wildlife to round out the family.
Last night Margaret was having a full-blown panic attack because of some thunderstorms, and Scout was restless and sprightly because it was way past her bed time. They were both pacing and barking and finally I said, "Your brother Herbert never acts like this!" And then I showed them a picture of their new brother and they were shamed into obedience by his cuteness. Or either they were frightened for their lives.
Bears are scary for sure, but, as it turns out, not so scary as Human Beans.
Here's all the animals you can adopt from the WWF. There's something for everyone, even a horned puffin. Whatever that is.
A list of free things you can get while running the Peachtree Road Race.
Water
Gatorade
Political pamphlets
Donuts
Religious tracts
Power Bars
Water guns
Holy water tossed onto your head
Beer
Today was my sixth Peachtree, Amy's seventh. 55,000 people, 6.2 miles, and there's no way we'll be awake when the fireworks start.
"From your 63 subscriptions, over the last 30 days you read 3,273 items, starred 68 items, shared 37 items, and emailed 27 items."
What's your trends, friends?
Goodness me, where did June go? I vaguely remember a few blissful days at the pool reading magazines and eating my grandparents' homemade cookies, but that seems as far away as The Eiffel Tower now. (And even France was only two months ago!) I've been frantically busy the last few weeks, waking up as early as 4:00 a.m. to write. Which, yeah, you're right, is practically not going to sleep. I found out two weeks ago that I'm a finalist in one of the many creative nonfiction contests I entered before I left for Europe. Hopefully I can tell you about it soon, even if I don't win.
Scout is officially off her heart treatments as of today, and that means we can start taking her for walks and runs and hikes to burn off some of that Beagle puppy energy. Hallelujah, says I. About damn time, says the cat.
Even as we've walked through the Shadow of Chaos over the last couple of months, Amy and I have made it to the theater almost every weekend, and I'll tell you like I told Abigail yesterday: this is the best summer for movies EVER. I haven't been disappointed in a single film. That is quite a different tune from last summer when I hated nearly everything we saw. So far it's been:
The Chronicles of Narnia: Price Caspian -- So much better than the book! These Walden Media Narnia movies are truly wonderful.
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull -- It was fun on nostalgia alone.
Sex and the City: The Movie -- Cute, even if it wasn't as good as the show. It's always nice to look in on old pals. I'd go see a Friends movie.
Kung Fu Panda -- Definitely Dreamworks Animation's best offering. It actually felt like a kung fu movie, and it had a lot of heart.
Get Smart -- Loved!
Wall-E -- Best love story ever told. And yep, I am including the Darcys in that equation.
The summer's television (via Blockbuster.com) includes The O.C., which Abigail has been begging me to watch for years, and also which I really, really love; Battlestar Galactica, which I've been meaning to watch for a long time; and Lost, which I am sure not to understand at all.
We saw the Atlanta Dream's home opener with some stellar courtside seats. We rooted for the LA Sparks because their team is chockablock with former Lady Vols.
There's talk that the New Year will be spent in Scotland; I hope I can work that out.
Things are really picking up over at The Collective. I hope you'll check us out over there. We have some really fun stuff planned for the rest of the summer.
And that's about all I know.
Happy Canada Day, y'all.