Odd Days: Thongs

They are just wrong.

Don't you remember the elementary school horror of having your panties crawl up your butt? You just *had* to pull them out or you would go nuts. But you had to be really furtive about it. If anybody (especially a boy) saw you yanking on your panties, well, your life was over.

Fortunately we live in the age of technology, so eventually some merciful female (surely) invented a panty that doesn't crawl up.

But then what? Some yahoo invents the thong. Not the thong that goes on your foot, but the thong that crawls up your butt and feels as though its been glued in there.

And why did this yahoo invent the thong? Because he was trying to do away with the other horror of female fashion -- the VPL.

I've been pondering this weighty problem of late. I realize I am not the first, but at least my pondering has led to a solution -- a fashion idea that will surely make me rich. I'm going to bring back the VPL as a fashion statement. The PL on these panties will spell out a message for all to see. Something like: WT R U LKG AT

I think I've got a winner, what do you think?

To be continued.

Shrooms.

Einstein & Durf.

You might have read that recently Einstein's famous relativity equation, E=MC^2, has been called into question because of neutrinos. I don't know if neutrinos were part of Einstein's database, but it's interesting.

I have my own theory of relativity, TTDS = 2TU++. I believe that my equation will outlast Einstein's, or that at the least they will tie.

I developed my equation during thousands of evenings during which I realized that I had accomplished only a fraction of what I'd set out to do that day. The reason is that everything takes longer to do than you think it will, and by quite a lot. You might get a little bit lazy, have distractions, or encounter technical difficulties. 'TTDS' = "Time To Do Something".

For example, yesterday I had the simple task of putting chains on our snowplow (recently converted from a yard tractor). It sounded like a very easy job. I wouldn't have to put them on while lying in snow on the street, but in the warm comfort of our garage. The tires are small, and accessibility wouldn't be a problem at all. But in the end the job took hours. The instructions were not quite correct, and the chains were both a half-link long and a half-link short - too loose if I attached them in one link, and impossible to attach in the next. '2T' = twice the estimated time.

Doubling your estimate of the time to do something is a start, but you'll soon realize that it takes even longer, especially if the job is complicated. That led to an additional modification. 'U++' = unit of time incremented.

It's a formula I used unfailingly, and quite successfully, when estimating software tasks.

For example, if I was given a bug to fix and my boss wanted to know how long it would take, my first estimate might be 1 work day. But then I would apply the formula. 2 x 1 day = 2 days, and day++ = week (the next higher unit). So I'd tell my boss it would take 2 weeks.

And even then I'd be happy to get it done on time.

Odd Days: I Ate Bugs!

You might think that eating bugs would be an unremarkable event for a girl who grew up under the watchful eye of a father who fed her fried bumble bees on crackers at the science fair. But when the bugs are in your cereal, or I should say *my* cereal, it's a different matter. I really don't like surprises.

So anyway, I had poured my cereal, added milk and was shoveling it down when I noticed a funny smell. I stopped eating and retrieved the box. Yep, the paper/plastic (?) lining definitely smelled funny. I decided it was some new fangled type of paper. So I finished my cereal.

A few minutes later I thought, hmmmmm, I'm not sure I want to eat cereal that smells funny. In fact why would people buy cereal with lining that smells funny. Something's not right. I retrieved the box again and looked at the "use by" date. January 2007. Hmmmmm. Maybe the paper wasn't supposed to smell like that. So, cringing a bit at the waste, I tossed the cereal in the trash. My aim was a bit off, though, and some cereal landed on the floor. That's when I saw the bugs.

From the beginning of time, Durf has laughed at my neurotic reluctance to throw away food. He watches me put what he thinks are empty peanut butter jars back in the cupboard. I explain to him that there is at least a half of a bagel's worth of peanut butter -- or jam or butter or whatever -- still in the jar. So when I told Durf I just ate some bugs, what could he do? He laughed.

I always thought those "use by" dates were a scam. Not any more. I guess I'm going to have to quit buying my cereal at Costco!

Odd Days: Freedom to be a lunatic

You can get away with a lot when you live in Colorado. Even the democrats seem to have a libertarian bent. But let's face it, that bent could be construed as a free pass to some bent people.

In the somewhat benign category of bent people in Colorado, you have the guy who rode his horse into a bar in Boulder. In the terminally weird category, you have the frozen dead guy in Nederland for whom authorities carved out an exception to the laws against storing dead bodies. And in the scary crazy category, you have the guy who shot an unarmed burglar in the back to test Colorado's famous Make My Day law.

In the simple "Aw leave her alone" category, there's our crazy newspaper lady. Surely I have mentioned her before. She's the one who found it impossible to deliver our newspaper (at 3 in the morning) without driving through our landscaped stones so that she could get really really close to the mailbox. Soon her car tires had dug a hole so deep that the neighbor kids asked if they could ice skate around our mailbox.

Because I was loathe to greet this woman at the mailbox (at 3 in the morning), I simply filled in the hole with rocks and boulders, whereupon she left me a note asking me to move the boulders because she could no longer get really really close to the mailbox. I demurred, so she moved them herself (at 3 in the morning).

So I called the paper and said I would prefer that our bent newspaper lady not drive in our stones and that if it was too tough to put the paper in the mailbox, she should toss it into the driveway. No problem.

It was then that her boss said, "Oh Geez, I don't know. She really does get kind of riled up when things don't go her way. I'll tell her, but I hope she doesn't do something -- like to your house or something. She probably won't. I'm just saying...."

WHAT?????

"Well, she's a single mom and everything. I really don't want to fire her. But she is kind of...rowdy, I guess you would say."

CRAP!!!!

In the end I stood my ground and left the boulders in place. She in turn continued to put the paper in our box. But she also TP'd our ash tree. Did you get that? She wrapped our ash tree in toilet paper!

Give me a few more years in the wild west and I'll clear out those boulders and put some spikes in that hole.

Crab controversy.

I think I'd better stomp these rumors before they get out of control.

First, according to the National Institute of Health, there are several ways to acquire crabs:

Pubic lice

Pediculosis - pubic lice; Lice - pubic; Crabs

Last reviewed: October 4, 2010.

Pubic lice are small, six-legged creatures that infect the pubic hair area and lay eggs. These lice can also be found in armpit hair and eyebrows.

Causes, incidence, and risk factors

Pubic lice are known as Phthirus pubis. Lice infestation is found mostly in teenagers and usually spreads during sexual activity.

Sometimes, pubic lice can spread through contact with objects such as toilet seats, sheets, blankets, or bathing suits at a store. However, this type of spreading is rare.

I don't know where I adopted my little friends, but it certainly was not from sexual activity. I had split with my girlfriend well before leaving Syracuse, and I hadn't had any kind of sex (with another person) in an uncomfortably long time. My first stop was in Woodbridge, VA, where my sister, a Marine, lived with her partner and fellow Marine. I stayed there a few weeks and, although I did have some rather strange experiences in Baltimore, I did not have sexual contact with anyone. By the time I arrived at my next stop, Oklahoma City, I had severe itching in the place. While in the bathroom there I saw one of the little buggers jump off, and I knew what was wrong. My host was definitely NOT pleased.

Anyway, the crabs in question appeared in the middle of a long dry spell, sexually speaking. Whether they came from bedding or outer space, I don't suppose I'll ever know. I certainly didn't try on any bathing suits in a store.

I also avoid as much as possible toilet seats in public places. Those of you who have experience with men's rooms know why. Twila tells me that women's rooms are squeaky clean and smell like flowers, which I can't verify, but I can attest that men's rooms do not smell like roses.

Odd Days: Ha Ha Ha Ha...

...hahahahhahahah.

I'm laughing at the part of Durf's post where he says his crab infestation was *not* caused by sexual content. Even though that infestation took place before we met (really, I swear!), I have never believed that story. It's not that I believe Durf is untruthful. He is so truthful, it is usually quite painful. Nonetheless, when I was young(er), my father told me people get crabs from having sex with other people. When I argued that a friend of mine got crabs from a toilet seat, he laughed so hard *I* was embarrassed and I wasn't the one with crabs. I'm sure there's a good explanation for Durf's crabs, though. Pretty sure, anyway.

Hey, does this count as a blog?

Dental pain.

In 1971 I loaded my mangled MG Midget with as many of my possessions as I could fit and, with $40 in my pocket and a bank trying to repossess my car, left Syracuse, NY, for whatever adventures awaited in San Francisco. It was a lovely trip, enhanced by a rather annoying infestation of crabs (which I did *not* acquire from sexual contact). I was so broke that having lost my gas cap in Albuquerque, I had to stoop to stealing one from a used car lot, an act of which I am not proud. When I arrived in S.F. my best friend, the only person I knew west of the Mississippi, told me to go home.

Somehow I survived, got a job, got rid of the crabs, made the back payments on my car, and moved into an apartment. When I was somewhat back on my feet I made a long overdue dental appointment. The dentist's name was L. Barry Thielke, whom someone had recommended.

The first sign of trouble occurred when, while examining my mouth, the good doctor called his nurse into the room and said, “Look at this!” She gasped.

A short while later I was sitting across from him at his desk to discuss what work I needed. Facing me was some kind of video device, which was off. He pushed it toward me and told me to look at it. I did, but he told me to get even closer. When I did he switched it on and I was looking at the most horrifying mouth I’d ever seen, with black teeth and bloody gums. I think there were maggots, too, but I’m not certain about that. Dr. Thielke asked, “Do you want to look like that?” He told me that I had serious periodontal disease and was on the road to dental ruin. But for $750 he could fix me up like new.

That was a serious sum for me, so I decided to think it over. A short while later I had a girlfriend and went to her dentist, who was much less dramatic and who told me that, aside from a small cavity, my mouth was fine. I continued to go to that dentist for several years and had no serious dental problems. I probably should have filed some kind of complaint against Dr. Thielke, but I didn’t.

When Twila and I arrived in Colorado, we went to a dentist who was recommended by the real estate agent who sold us our house. She was very aggressive in recommending optional procedures and Twila didn’t like her. Also, she was expensive and we didn’t have dental insurance. We opted to switch to a franchise dental group with sort-of insurance, Comfort Dental.

There is something to like about the minimal approach offered by Comfort Dental. They do x-rays whenever you let them, of course, but cleanings are super easy. Instead of a hygienist jabbing and poking for an hour and doing the pocket measurement thing, at CD the hygienist starts by polishing your teeth. Then a dentist comes in and does two or three scrapes. The entire process takes less than 20 minutes. They gave me a couple of crowns and the surfaces are convex rather than concave, which annoys my tongue, but in general I had few complaints and apparent good oral health.

Early this year I saw a Groupon for a full introductory service at the Loveland Dental Group - checkup, x-rays, cleaning and whatever for $29 - a $639 value! I thought it was a good opportunity to see how well CD had been taking care of my teeth.

I went there a couple of weeks ago. Loveland Dental Group is only a few months old, and the group consists of one dentist, one hygeniest, and a secretary. They were all courteous and professional. Their equipment is very modern. I have a couple of cracked fillings - knew that. I was encouraged when the dentist said they only need to be refilled - CD had said one of them needs a crown. But he also told me I have periodontal disease and that I would be in truly deep dental doo-doo if I didn't let them laser my gums. Total cost: $1500. When I left their office I was thinking, "Yep. Should do this."

But then I remembered L. Barry Thielke.

I decided to do some research. Loveland Dental Group is part of Smile Generation, a franchiser. Their reviews are all over the place, from "best dentists ever" to "false diagnosis of periodontal disease".

Now my plan is to go back to CD for my routine cleaning and ask them to check my pocket numbers. It's kind of pitting one possible evil against another. Probably I'll do that this week.

Stay tuned.

Odd Days: Dracula Part III

Today Durf and I decided to take Dracula out for a real spin, putting him through his paces while we took turns as captain and stoker.

We reviewed all of Lauren's instructions and pushed off with Durf as captain. The first thing he says is, "I think you're wiggling." "No I'm not," I retorted, whereupon Durf veered toward the steepest downhill in our neighborhood, laughing like Vincent Price. All the way down the hill, I'm shouting, "Slow down!" And still he laughs. We survive somehow and reach the main road. But then the pedal wars begin. "You're pedaling too fast!" he shouts. "No I'm not," I retort. Next thing I know my feet go flying off the pedals and I look this:














More demonic laughter.

Ah but soon it was my turn to be captain. We switched and pushed off without incident. "You're wiggling," I said. "No I'm not," he said. "Quit pedaling so hard," I said. "I'm not," he said.

You get the idea. Next time we're going to ride like this:

Odd Days: Dracula Part II

We had the great good fortune to have our friend Lauren visiting us for the last few days. Not only is she good company but she just happens to be one of the best bike riders in the U.S. I'll give you her creds another time, but suffice it to say that she wasn't in the house 24 hours before Durf and I pressed her into service. Durf got stoker lessons.






























Lauren was trying to demonstrate worst case scenarios and tilted the bike far to the right to show Durf that in case of catastrophe, he could simply put his foot down. That was hilarious because Durf was simultaneously demonstrating that he could stay on the bike regardless of how far it tipped, and he kept his feet resolutely attached to the pedals. Unfortunately, I didn't get a shot of Durf and the bike in the horizontal position. But soon Lauren and Durf demonstrated the success of Lauren's tutelage.














Then it was my turn. I wanted captain lessons. As you will see in this short video, I started out as stoker so that I could watch Captain Lauren's biomechanics. You will also see/hear that I couldn't stop giving orders even while she was trying to give me instructions!

Spiders.

I took a close-up of one of our spiders to help identify it. I don't think it's a wolf spider, and Tineye couldn't find anything similar (hopefully Carl will jump in at any moment).

When I was doing spider research, I came upon the following:

That really blew my mind. I mean, what are the chances we'll see that spider? Heck, it's probably dead by now.

Odd Days: Go Broncos

I like sports. I always have. I'm not sure when it all started, but I remember being recruited to play baseball (using a real baseball) with some boys after school when I was in the fourth grade. Actually, they just needed someone to stand in the outfield. And of course they didn't have a glove for me. But I was a girl and couldn't catch anything anyway. In spite of that, when the first batted ball came flying right at me, they all screamed "Catch it!" Did I cringe and cower? No, I was stupid. I reached out to catch the ball. Ouch! Ah, but then I enjoyed my first (and last) few moments as a sports superstar!

I tried many sports (badminton, volleyball, hockey, soccer), but I finally settled on basketball for a very simple reason. I was only an average athlete but a standout when it came to heart and histrionics. You might be surprised by how well that works on a basketball court.

I went on to play basketball through high school, a bit in college and more after college. Later I coached JV basketball (and softball!) in high school. As a coach, I lost my voice during every game. And that experience set the stage for my becoming an enthusiastic spectator.

Enthusiastic spectating is a requirement for living in Colorado. But on Sundays during football season, Durf pretends he doesn't live in CO. ACK! That leaves it to me to stock up on Broncos paraphernalia, don an orange hoodie and blue knit cap on Sundays and sit before a second TV to cheer on the worst team in football.

We won yesterday!

Odd Days: Morning

I am a morning person. Have been since I made my way out of the womb. I've heard that morning-person-ness is the result of a genetic mutation, so I expect most of you do not know what a morning person is. I'm going to explain it to you:

• When I get up in the morning, I'm happy.
• If I get up too late to see the beautiful sunrise, I'm upset.
• I talk in the morning and would sing if those within earshot didn't protest.
• I remember everything I say and do before noon.
• As the sun goes down, my brain shuts down along with it.
• If people call me after 8 pm, I can rarely think of anything to say, so my caller inevitably thinks I'm depressed.
• If someone invites me to go to a concert that begins at 9 pm, I always say no unless I fear they will unfriend me.
• I hate December 21.

Contrast that with a night person:

• When he (or she!) gets up in the morning, he is *not* happy.
• When the sun seeps into the bedroom, he moans in pain.
• He doesn't talk voluntarily for hours and if anyone nearby talks, they should fear for their lives.
• If forced to talk, he is unlikely to remember what he said and will deny it vigorously.
• As the sun goes down, the party clothes come on.
• Under cover of darkness, he is now willing to discuss and solve all of the worlds problems, while playing canasta and listening to Roy Orbison.

Lord save me, I have two night people in my house right now!

Critters.

Due to some apparent confusion, I decided to help out my co-blogger with a bit of research.

I'm pretty sure we don't have wolf spiders, because I'd recognize that face anywhere.

How about funnel weavers?

Nope, don't think so, because we don't have spider webs. It looks like more research is needed.

As for other critters, this just appeared in my mailbox:


Dear Bonnell West Homeowner,
 
I received an email this morning that a bear was spotted this morning at Wild Plum Drive and Kyle Circle.
 
Please be cautious and keep your pets and garbage cans inside!
 
Thank you.

Colorado: +1

Odd Days: It's spider season!

Last week, my friend...hmmmm...my friendly acquaintance, Susan, was here to help me bring my home back into compliance with health code regulations. I was in my office busily moving piles of papers off the floor and onto my desk when I hear a soft, "Twila." I stopped rustling papers, and sure enough, I hear another "Twila" followed quickly by "HEY, TWILA!"

I went running to the staircase, leaned over and asked, "What's wrong?" She said, "Do you want to see the biggest spider you've ever seen in your life? A tarantula, I think." I looked. "Naw, that's just a wolf spider," I said, "and not a very big one at that." "What should I do?" she asked. "Well don't kill it. Just relocate it to the front yard."

She said ok and I retreated to my office. I had barely resumed my squat when I hear, "AIEEEEEEEEE! TWIIIIIILLLLLLAAAAAAA!" (Notice, she didn't call Durf.) I went running out. "What happened?" "I tried to pick it up with my mop but it escaped!"

So I relocated the wolf spider and life returned to normal.

Then this last weekend, I was strolling the neighborhood with a couple of friends (no, not new CO friends, but old CA friends) when one of them stops abruptly and bends over to examine some road kill. "Lookie here," he said, "a squashed tarantula." I rush over and kneel down so I can get a close look. "Not a tarantula," I declare. "It's a hairy rabbit bush flower." I pick it up and hand it to him, ostensibly so that he can examine it, but in truth to see if he would recoil. He didn't. Darn.

We continued our meandering and in short order, a woman comes flying out of her house and waves us down. (STG, I am not making this up.) In her hand is a jar and in the jar is...you guessed it...a wolf spider. She's breathless when she thrusts the jar in our faces. "I think I found a tarantula in my house. Doesn't it look like a tarantula to you?" "Wolf spider," I said.

That was last week. This week I am less sure that we have been seeing wolf spiders. I am now thinking that maybe these are funnel weaver spiders. For you budding naturalists out there, I'm happy to lay out my reasoning. For the rest of you, take heart. When you come to visit and find a giant spider in your bedding, I can (almost) assure you, it's not a tarantula.

P.S.

Nice song.

Slumming.

I don't mind shopping. Sometimes it's even fun. But if there is one store I hate to go to, it's Walmart, because it attracts so much trailer trash. (If any of the dear readers of this blog fit into that category, I assure you that no offense is intended.)

Unfortunately, having perused both Costco and Sam's Club in search of an AGM battery and failed to find one, today I decided to try Walmart. I wasn't successful, but as I strolled around observing the Walmartians, I thought about this blog and managed to snap a few photos with my cellphone camera.

Odd Days: *Un*friending

I have a sneaking suspicion that, as a result of my last post, some of you might think I am overly sensitive, or that you must now tiptoe around me and watch your every word. Well fergettaboutit.

I am not the least bit oversensitive, if you get my drift. My friends, acquired by sifting through the chaff of the world and nurturing the budding relationships through decades of life's highs and lows, are precious to me. They are bound to my bosom with superglue and purple prose.

As proof, I offer up the following samples of insults that have been hurled at me over the years by my friends. I can tell you that these insults bounced right off and, except for the fact that I have kept this list for nigh on three decades, said insults have had no affect on our friendship:

1. "Nobody would ever call you a cook, Twila."

2. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen such big feet on a female before."

3. "Well if it isn't Nurse Ratched...er, Twila."

4. "Your taste in shoes is, well, tacky."

5. "You probably don't vote."

6. After I used a word my friend didn't recognize: "That's a stupid word."

7. "Wow, I think I'm better than you at everything!"

8. Before giving a speech one day, a friend introduced me as follows: "You've just heard from the beauty of the group and now you are about to hear from the brains." Wait...was that an insult or a compliment?

9. "Whenever I do anything with you something terrible happens."

10. "I hate you! I never want to see you or hear from you again."

So, friends, fear not! You'll need more than a bloody insult to pry yourself from the arms of my friendship. Just don't ask me if I have any friends.

Exotica.

I'm really lucky in that I almost never am ill (KNOCK, KNOCK). The last time I was sick was when my friend Dan was visiting during what he described as the worst cold of his life and wanted to have a sip of my Cranberry Cosmo, and I was too polite to decline (and too stupid to just let him have the stupid drink, especially after I saw backwash through the straw). Soon thereafter I had the worst cold of my life.

Be that what it may (and if that isn't what it may, what is it?), about 4 days ago I started having a mild headache, mild malaise, and a low-grade fever. Every few hours I feel better and my temperature goes almost back to normal, then it returns. It's odd, and I had no idea what I'm suffering from, until Dr. T. diagnosed me. I have West Nile fever.

Now, instead of being annoyed that I don't feel well, I'm excited to have a truly exotic disease. Assuming I don't go lateral, that is.

Odd Days: Friending

At the end of this month we will have been in Colorado for six years. And if one more person asks me if I've made any friends in CO, I'm going to...well...I'm going to *unfriend* them!

The first time someone asked me that, I had been in CO maybe two weeks. I thought it was an odd question, so I didn't think much about it, figuring nobody else would ask. I was wrong. Soon someone else asked me the same thing. I said no. For god's sake, I just got here. But the question never went away. Some people still ask me every time we speak on the phone. "Have you made any friends yet?"

Think about it. Do you ask your neighbor if she has any friends? What kind of a question is that? Do people ask *you* if you have any friends? I have never asked anyone that question. It's not that I'm averse to asking intrusive questions. Clearly I am not. But that one never popped to mind.

And yet many many people -- even those who do not typically ask me questions about myself -- are vitally interested in my friend count. Why is that? I don't think it's out of concern for me, otherwise, why not inquire about my mental or physical health? Do my (non colorado) friends ask because they are concerned about being displaced? Are they contemplating a move to a new location and fear they also will fail to make new friends? Is it idle curiosity? Is it schadenfreude?

I'm going to settle something right now. The answer is: no, I have not made new friends. And to forestall all the "whys" I'll ruminate on that as well. I do not have children. I work at home...alone. I do not go to church. I do not borrow sugar.

And finally, to be honest, I expect I'm an acquired taste.

But if you are simply concerned about my well being, let me just say, you're all the friend(s) I need.

I think I know why he's praying.

Odd Days: Telluride Finale

A few final words about Telluride. Someone asked about subtitles. Quite some time ago, a friend recommended a movie to me and I said, "It sounds subtitled. Is it?" She thought for a moment, and then said, "I don't know." At the time, I thought that was very odd, but I have since come to believe that the better the subtitled movie, the less likely you are to notice the subtitles.

And indeed, in Telluride, I never think about it -- unless I am stuck in a seat that is at the far right of the first row of a huge theater AND there is a post in front of my left eye. In that case, if the film is subtitled, I am forced to multi-task in ways that even Leonard Maltin might find challenging. That's because I'm watching a (in this case) 2.5 hour movie with my neck twisted painfully up and to the left. Meanwhile, the last two or three words of each subtitle disappear behind the post forcing me to guess what the remainder of the sentence is. By the time I have finished solving the puzzle, my mind comes back to the screen, but I have (sometimes) missed something crucial.

I experienced the above nightmare only once. And although the vast majority of films at Telluride are subtitled, I generally did not notice.

Even if there were no film festival in Telluride, I would revel in being there. Here's why. (Unfortunately, these are only iphone photos, but I bet you'll get the idea.)

What do you do?

[Deep Thought]

You do what you do. Because if you don't do what you do, what the heck are you doing?

Scouting the enemy.

I just watched about 45 minutes of the GOP presidential debate. Obviously, I don't agree with many of their positions, but it was interesting. Here are three observations and opinions:

1) They rarely attacked Obama. Rather, they focused on the differences among themselves.

2) Two of them seemed intelligent -- Romney and Cain.

3) Two of them seemed so stupid they shouldn't be allowed to vote, much less be president -- Perry and Paul.

I do the dirty work, folks, so you don't have to do it.

[Addendum]

They mentioned Ronald Reagan about every other sentence, even though their policies are not even similar to his.

This guy must read oui-sez.

CNN

Odd Days: The Long Take

I have one more movie to add to my favorites from this year's Telluride Film Festival:

In Darkness (director, Agnieszka Holland). For those of you who have already seen your last holocaust movie, you can forgo this one. But it is a powerful story about a handful of Polish Jews who escape into the sewer system and take up residency there. If you are not familiar with Holland, let me just say, she can really tell a tale.

Interestingly, the movie Tanya and I, and I dare say many others at Telluride, discussed the most is one I won't be recommending. But because we spent so much time on it, I feel compelled to tell you about it. The title is "Shame" and the director is Steve McQueen of "Hunger" fame. ("Hunger" is a movie about Bobby Sands hunger strike.)

Shame is ostensibly about a sex addict who wanders the streets of NYC looking for a hookup. Any hookup. When he is not wandering the streets, he is either watching porn or having online sex. He has a sister with a similar approach to dealing with the darkness of their past.

To me, the most notable aspect of the film is the looooonnnnnnnnnngggggggggg takes. I found them excruciating. For example, Carey Mulligan (the sister) sang New York New York in its entirety at 1/10 tempo. Holy crap. She'd finish a verse and I'd say to myself, please god, don't let her lips open for the next verse. But they did. Over and over again for what seemed like hours. I think she ruined the song for me.

So when Mr. McQueen applies the long take to every third scene of a movie about a sex addict, that means the audience gets to watch this poor protagonist (Michael Fassbinder) engage in the sex act with some random female (or male, or two females or....) for way too long. For those of you who think it sounds fun or erotic or something, let me disabuse you of that notion. What you will see is Fassbinder's butt going up and down (really, that's it. all you see is the butt filling the screen and going up and down and up and down) for...hmmmmm....maybe five minutes. Then on to the next long take. Think about it. Oof.

So we had long discussions about the back story, the definition of sex addiction, what McQueen was trying to say, and whether making the audience as uncomfortable as possible was the best way to do it. While in the gondola with two elderly men, we all discussed the chances McQueen could obtain an R rating for the film. One of the gentlemen gave a loud snort and said, "Ha. What rating comes after X?"

Let me know if you see it.

Bucket lists.

One of the trendy terms of the day is "bucket list", meaning things you want to do before you die. You could just as accurately say "things you want to do," but I suppose "before you die" implies a sense of urgency.

I hold go-go Baby Boomers responsible for "bucket list", though I, being on the cusp, surely had nothing to do with it. The extended definition, "more of the same, but at a more frenetic, less satisfying pace," is anathema to me.

This is one of the few subjects on which Twila and I disagree. Here are our respective bucket lists [I don't know the details of Twila's list, so part of this is fact and part imagined, but the gist is correct]:

Twila's Bucket List
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1) Live in a foreign country.
2) Join the Peace Corps.
3) Write a popular novel.
4) Complete the Race Across America.
5) Do an African safari.
6) Visit India again.
7) Hike at least 50 miles a week.
8) Become an independent film addict.
9) Keep thinking of new things to do.

Durf's Bucket List
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1) Chill.

I mean, really! I've spent close to 90% of my life going to school or laboring 40+ hours a week, followed by doing budgets, taking care of property, trying to stay informed, and studying enough to maintain my employability. We've traveled extensively around much of the world. For recreation we've run in the Himalayas, biked across France, hiked across Scotland, and dived at The Great Barrier Reef. We've completed over a dozen marathons and a like number of ultra-marathons, and competed at a national level in bridge, both of which require so much time and training that they are effectively mutually exclusive at the same times. We've driven around the U.S. twice, the first time running and the next time playing bridge at every stop. In our loose change moments we either climb mountains or ride bikes. And now that what's left of my hair is turning gray I'm supposed to pick up the pace?

O  M  G  !

Because I love my wife I won't abandon her in pursuit of her bucket list, though I'd rather have a daily colonoscopy without sedation than join the Peace Corps. But is there no empathy for my bucket list? Are flying RC helicopters, sitting in my massage chair and flicking, or contemplating my past experiences and trying to grow as a person unworthy pursuits? I truly hope not.

Odd Days: Telluride

Have I mentioned how much I love Telluride? I'll make this short and sweet. We haven't seen a bvim film yet. Here are our top three so far, in chronological order.

1. Albert Nobbs. This is Glenn Close's new film about a person who spends his whole life in disguise. I hesitate to say more about the plot. Suffice it to say, Ms Close has never been better and the film is incredibly moving. And yet there is plenty of humor, surprising humor.

2. Footnote. I am horrified that we almost decided to skip this film based on the descriptive blurb. It is a story about a man's relationship with his father. Both are academics, but the father seems to be slightly autistic. Sound dry? Don't believe it for a second.

3. The Separation. An incredible film about an Iranian couple who separate because they are not permitted to divorce. The film is about the consequences of that separation. Sound familiar? Don't believe it for a second.

I should say that I am not an independent film addict nor am I a pretentious twiddlepoop. I would bet an excellent bottle of champagne that any of you reading this bog would like all three of those films. Report back, please.

We fully expect to see at least three more masterpieces before we leave Telluride. You'll be the first to hear about them!

Odd Days: George Clooney

Here we are in Telluride, one of the most beautiful places on earth, as I know I've said before. Oh and there's a film festival here too.

We just saw our first film, a silent movie called "The Artist" (well worth seeing). Unfortunately, our screening was delayed by an hour because George Clooney was spotted outside the theater and, well...he was mobbed.

That bit of information is interesting (IMO) for two reasons: 1) Telluride fancies itself to be a festival where all participants can relax and enjoy themselves without the intrusion of the paparazzi. Cameras must be left in their cases; and 2) apparently some people consider George Clooney an actor.

Glenn Close is here. So is Tilda Swinton and Werner Herzog. Alice Waters too. But the crowd surrounds George. George of the bowl cut hair and neck-stiffening sideways glances. Go figure.

Chatter.

A few weeks ago I was doing something outside Twila's office when I heard her chuckling. I asked her what was funny.

"I was just listening to you subvocalizing."

"Oh. Ha ha."

Fortunately there was a dictionary at hand. "Ah," I thought, "I was talking to myself."

"Did you say something, Durf?"

"No, sorry!" Oops.

I suppose I'd known at some level that I went around merrily chatting with myself, but I'd never really focused on it. Now seemed like a good time to start. After all, I didn't want a couple of meathooks to put me in one of those tops where the arms tie behind the back and cart me off to floofy land. I made it a project to stop subvocalizing and talking to myself.

So far I'm doing okay. I've mostly shut down the audible part. When I do start chattering, I realize it quickly and think, "SHHHHH!" (Sometimes I say "SHHHHH", but I still think it's progress.)

The mental part is harder, but it's important. When I thought about it, after all those years, subvocalizing is mental noise that interferes with thinking. Instead of concentrating on what's happening, my brain is creating words and articulating them, even when my speech organs are idle. That's a distraction.

As time goes on I'm doing better, but it's difficult. It's like meditation, which is also very difficult, but extremely rewarding when you succeed. You can quiet your mind for a while, but when you relax the noise starts again. It's not a failure, you just have to keep trying.

Just a thought.

When machines obviate the need for human labor, as they eventually will, we'll have to develop a new paradigm not only for our economy, but also for society. I doubt those who lean left politically will have any trouble adapting, but what about conservatives? The individual worker is the bedrock of their philosophy. Will the new machine age mean the end of conservatism?

Wordiness.

The reason I'm doing this blog is because Twila thought we should have a blog to succeed the world-famous, "He Sez, She Sez". NuSTAR and NYC gave us an easy blog to start with, and now we're here. I'm not the kind of person who attaches balloons to his cubicle on his birthday - I really would rather that nobody know. But NuSTAR ended and I'm unemployed, and NYC ended and I'm in Loveland. Sometimes I have to talk about myself, and sometimes I just have to say what I think - or it would be a long time between my posts. The good thing is, no-one has to read more than they want to, so I'm off the hook.

Recently I did a 3-part post about fear and pain. I know it's wordy and Dr. Phil and all that, but you should read it. 

People don't talk about it much, so there could be billions, but I'm the only person I know who doesn't suffer from fear. I'm also the only person I know who doesn't suffer from pain. I told you how to do that. It's valuable.