pt. 2: nh, ma, the magic castle

ok! if i wait until have the will to find/post pictures, i'll never get this up. so here it is unillustrated. pix tk if i ever truly emerge from the haze of cold medication i pumped myself up with last week.

nh:
it's not just that it's been so long since being in nh that i don't remember what happened, but that, since that time, i have taken such a rainbow of 'quils, boy day- and ny-, that all my immediate memories that occured before my illness are lost in an orange/aqua haze. so i was sick, and LA was wet, and NH is a fog.

i do recall new years at rebecca's house, which has been going on for i don't know how many years. me and my oldest ladyfriends and their manfriends (formerly manfriends du jour, but now, as we age, manfriends por vida) plus other friends get together, i show up at the last minute as not to offend my family and our friends back at our house an hour away, everybody else cooks for hours before i get there, we eat ourselves sick, most everyone gets drunk.

we play celebrity (like taboo, but with the names of famous people from pop culture, fiction, etc, plus a 2nd round where you have to guess the celeb after one word as a clue, and a 3rd round that's just charades). i submit an inappropriate name (see: the big pussy incident of '04-- sorry, rebecca's mom who doesn't watch television and probably still thinks i'm a perv! this year's inappropriate entry was dick sweat, former nh politician and most famous political sign maker ever, but at least she knew who he was and he made for a convenient one word clue with "crotch!").

then we all have to find places to sleep, and rebecca gets mad at me for lobbying for a soft surface since i am physically unable to sleep on floors (let's not mince words-- 15 years of lugging boobs around has turned my spine to a mangled strip of driftwood inhabited by rabid gremlins that are only subdued when fed massive doses of aleve). meanwhile, all the couples are given master suites (not really) while us single peasants unroll our bamboo mats and sleep in the hay and dirt (not at all).

this year i smartly circumvented rebecca and found a mat of my very own, although i'd already weaseled a spare shitty sleeping pad from a nice young lad i won't name because, being that he was the only single dude there who wasn't into dudes himself, and being that i live clan of the cave bear-style minus the clan or even the bear, i feel shame for myself and pity for him at my level of flirtation.

i can't tell whether i'm being reasonable, ie, chastizing myself for being a putz and being a flirtron with some guy who i won't see any sooner than the eve of 2009 (and he smokes! ick!), or if my months of solitude have made me a combination of dudephobic and completely lacking in self-esteem, ie, that i'm less ashamed at the ludicrousness of the situation but of the fact that i'm some sort of camryn manhiem/mel gibson in the man without a face combo beast who should never leave my clock tower because the peasants will chase me with torches and the sight of me will cause not repulsive people to become sterile. and that this poor, cute dude will remember new years 2008 as the night he spent many confusing moments forced to joke around with somebody who looked just like daniel day lewis in there will be blood right down to the mustache and a-1 authentic ye olde facial shine, but then, also, had tits.

i guess the self-esteem thing is the real issue. anywho.

and then i had to wake up elanor (who wasn't actually sleeping, faker) so she could help me arrange the mats so that there was enough room between my mat and dude's mat (he was still downstairs, probably trying to drink the image of my shiny mustachioed face out of his corneas) so that it didn't seem like i was going to stick my straw into his milkshake while he slept, even though there wasn't a lot of space left in the room and we needed to leave space for julia and her man to get by (so they could get to the futon in the back where their precious pair of backs could find cushed comfort). and it worked out, but i guess the point is, happy new year, there was a snow storm, i'm going to die so alone that my reflection will be long gone. but without all the vampiric perks, trust me.

oh, and i voted in the nh primary, woo, and went back to MA for another snow storm, and then to NYC for a day of non-pariah status, and then back to LA.

la:
so aside from rain and illness, two things of notes have come to pass here since i've returned.

1, emma's cat perry has always had a problem with his narrow urethra, getting blocked up with crystals and causing him pain and constipeetion and what not, so last week the vet decided to widen said urethra by removing the constricting cat penis that housed it. so now he has...well, it's not exactly a vagina, because it's not like he's taking hormones or is an arquette or anything. i said it was like an innie penis, or maybe a ur-gina, or a va-rethra, but these suggestions struck emma as mean. my father said the cat should be renamed varethra franklin, and thus deserving of a little r-e-s-p-e-c-t.

and if i were doing images here, there'd be one of a lol cat saying "CAN I HAZ VAGINA?"

and the thing is, i hate cats, so hate cats, but if buzz needed to have his ween removed, i wouldn't just pay for a new vagina, i'd probably give him my own i love him that much (and hey, it's not doing me that much good). and those who know buzz know just how much he loves not just his own penis and the act of keeping it sparkling clean, but the joy he takes in other dogs' penises and keeping their hygiene up to snuff. my heart breaks just thinking about it.

anyway, perry's recovering in cat hospital. or at least most of him is.

2, i went to the magic castle! if you've ever seen arrested development and know of gob bluth's feud with the magician's union, then know that the union is kind of a joke (i hope, at least) but their hq is not-- the magic castle is an actual LA-style castle with stained glass windows of owls and shit on franklin that is open to members only. and tada, my friend lizzy's brother-in-law's bff is a real life magician and a card carrying magic castle member. cue: the final countdown. we were in!

and even if i were doing pictures, i'd have no pictures because there is no photography in the magic castle. there's only expensive food (magic castle (tm) garlic bread!), posters of sigfried and roy, and THE ANCIENT ART OF ILLUSION. after finishing my enchanted chicken breast i went with my party to see a total of 4 magicians who magicified with rope, cards, random audience jewelery, random giant silver balls, doves, novelty trays, more quarters than a laundromat, and scarves, scarves, scarves. it was everything i love-- chicken breast, genuine/non-ironic camp, and jazz hands. please bury me there under the haunted piano so that i can co-haunt it and make it play "the final countdown" all day and night.

oh! also, i saw in bruges, which was inbrilliant, even tho colin farrell showed up afterwards for a q&a wearing a vest over a t-shirt, jeans with the most ornate asspockets ever, long hair, and a black and white yassar arafat scarf around his stubbly neck. gay terrorist chic doesn't suit him, i assure you.

otherwise it's going to rain tomorrow and i will try to make myself care about the patriots. or look for pixtures. or for my lost self-esteem.

Pt. 1 : england (in a nutshell)

[image: dee's back patio. her back yard is more like a pasture, if you want to get technical.]

LONDON:
credit card miles gave me a free ticket, and emma and her birthday gave me a free place to stay and an excuse to go, so why the hell not spent christmas in ye olde accentshire? staying with emma's family is great, not just because her dad looks like the dad on the fresh prince if he were white and her mom is always making delicious soup while listening to cds of the 2000 year old man, or because emma takes me to places like london's oldest tea shop and insists we spend christmas day watching kylie minogue on the dr. who special, but because emma hasn't lived in the house since she was 16 or so, so everything she owns there is like a shrine to the early/mid-90s, which is exactly when i really gave a shit about english pop culture. so when i go to england, i don't just travel to europe, i travel back in time to a magical place where wonderwall is still on the charts and richie manic is alive and accounted for and the next stone roses album still has the potential to be genius (if it would ever come out, i mean jeez!).

[image: this painting hangs in the upstairs dining area of the oldest tea shop in london. in the basement, there's a shop that sells tons of APC clothing. the shop itself sells an almond pastry that made time stand still. that is all.]

to me, london is exactly like boston (or vice versa really, but you know what i mean), except everybody's really funny instead of really angry. that and it's a lot more expensive (so much more expensive, sweet christ!). and everybody hates the irish instead of everybody being irish. but the tube and the t both run their last trains way too early (altho, unlike the t, the underground map does not resemble a swastika). and everything is old. deliciously, beautifully old.

between family visits (i'll get to that later) and academic stuff, i've been to london a bunch of times, so i've done all the touristy shit before, plus i timed my visit right around the time the entire country shuts down for jesus. so i did see a play (the patrick marber dealie about poker, and let me say that for a guy who was so funny on the day today, marber as dramatiste seems to be a humorless, self-important dick, because some of the dialog is so overwrought it's almost like you can picture it being written by a guy in a beret [although it was nowhere near as bad as closer, thanks god, in that it was at least about something besides the offscreen presense of natalie portman's nekt cooch]). mostly tho, i shopped, ate, spent time with emma's family, and, as previously mentioned, watched dr. who.

i've been trying to avoid another scifi obsession and skipping dr. who and torchwood altogether, and emma's grandma didn't want to watch it, either, because she didn't want to miss dragon's den, but emma wanted to see kylie. and it was kind of shocking how much emma enjoyed the show despite hating scifi, and how much grandma enjoyed the show despite the fact she called it "disgraceful" or "atrocious" every fifteen minutes (before returning to gaze at the screen with slackjawed wonder).

and even shopping i didn't buy too much stuff (so! ex! pen! sive!), but i did get some marks and spencer mini chocolately bites for new years eve (also to be discussed later) and a pair of boots that make me look like robin hood (minus the soap star good looks, alas). oh, and an overpriced train ticket to kings lynn. still waiting for my refund, england. let's hope it takes less time than that stone roses album! blimey!

KINGS LYNN/NORWICH:
as previously mentioned, i have family in england-- cousins on my father's side-- who live in a diary cottage an hour or so outside of norwich. the matriarch of this wing of the family is my cousin dee, who started renting the cottage 40 years ago when, as a young hippie, she needed a cheap place to live and didn't mind the lack of plumbing or the goat that lived inside. then she lived in london for a while, had a family, visited the place on weekends, whatever, but now, as an older hippie, she's in norwich fulltime 3 toilets, central heating, and, with the kids all out of the house, not so much as a dog, so i was glad to keep her company, even if it was only for a couple days.

[image: where i slumbered. sigh.]

[image: the indoor plumbing of which i spake. the bathroom itself might have been installed 10 years ago, but the toilet itself is so old i think jesus might have used it to turn his piss into grog. can't be sure where that is in the new testement though. probably right near the passage that says you can't be gay.]

i've always taken after my father more than my mother (see: nerdiness, tact deficiency, mustache), and my dad and dee were pretty close growing up, so dee feels more like an aunt than a cousin once removed on the side whatever whatever. and it was also a treat to see milo, jamie's (dee's son's) kid who i last saw when he was maybe a week old and had no name. i don't think milo had a name until he was almost a month old because jamie and his wife are both architects, and therefore highly perfectionistic across the board. add to that that his wife is from israel (but really nice, i swear to god!) and was looking for a name her family could pronounce, and that jamie wanted to carry on dee's family tradition and give his son at least 5 names (i think jamie has 7...dee's oldest daughter, mary-jane, has maybe 9, one of which is hurricane). so yeah, milo took a while to come up with. but natch, he's an adorable little guy, and i expect great things, even if his mother's teaching him hebrew.


[images: pre-milo living room, post-milo/childsplosion living room]

on saturday, dee and i had a lovely day around dairy cottages, eating lentil soup, tending the fire and listening to bob dylan dj a show on bbc 2 in which all the songs were about dogs. hippietastic! and i love her house, no matter how fucking cold it gets in the winter, because it's so old and built for people so much smaller that you can't not feel like a hobbit. i should note tho that dee, hippie she is, absolutely schooled my ass in scrabble like a word jock. and granted, i suck at scrabble, suck like that guy meadow soprano dated who, when they played in her dorm room, spelled words like fat and poop, but the beating i got was still sobering.

then on sunday we caved and bought milo a tiny christmas tree to prepare for his arrival (he's old enough to know he's missing out, i guess, even though his household is religion-free), ate a lovely early supper, and then poor dee had to drive me back to the train in the dark fog so i could get back to london before emma's mom got worried on my journey from one surogate jewish mother to another. but at least i got to see dee, and i assured her a good room in the house when she comes to becca's wedding (more on that later-- so much to be discussed later!), and when i got back to emma's, there was cake. and more soup.

LONDON AGAIN:
long story short, emma wanted to see a movie and get high tea on her birthday, so not only did i agree to see enchanted, but i wore heels, so let nobody ever question my love for emma and my appreciation for her birth but not long after that i had to fly back to boston on an american airlines flight that is pretty much the airborne version of steerage/traveling to europe on the back of a pick-up truck, and so i traveled back in time to the oasis-less present day while sitting next to an enormous russianess in a sweat suit. then i got scooped up that the airport and went off to new hampshire in a snow storm, having gotten through security with not one, but two containers of mini chocolately bites.

[image: happy birthday, emsie! and no, that's not a lush or happy mondays or cornershop or whoever LP]

next: new hampshire, new year's, n'high school musical two. which, believe it or not, doesn't make for a long entry. shrugs.

i lost the keys to the kingdom! / mini mini review: atonement

[image: in london over xmas, emma figured out her new years resolution early.]

seriously! due a series of technically problem/general lack of mental prowess, i was e-silenced from my own personal one-stop internet source of self amusement! unable to write and read my own witticisms, i had to recite them to myself while alone in the car, but let me tell you, i lose a lot off the page!

anyway, it's supposed to rain tomorrow, so i will do my best then to sum up the last month while sitting in this office and listening to the ice dams break. for now, just know that i got to vote today and you didn't, it's not too late to wish emma a happy birthday, and what my opinion is of atonement.

*atonement
i didn't really want to see this movie, but pickins was slim; we never seem to go to concord, which means the closest movie theaters are the west lebanon 6, aka the west leb anonymous, so nicknamed for the fact that the steps leading up to the projection booth are labeled with the 12 steps of recovery (bill t or whoever was a cinaste, who knew?), and the nugget, the nonprofit/semi-arty movie theater on main street hanover that we all enjoy going to despite the fact that the audiences are always made up of loud, deaf old people and young, drunk dartmouth people. and really, there is so little to do in hanover that going with your dorm buddies and sneaking a few 40s of mickeys into the 8 o'clock of syrianna seems like a strong plan for a saturday night.

i guess i did want to see this movie because james mcavoy is in it, and i'm comfortable with my cliche white girl crushes at this point, although (SPOILER ALERT NOT REALLY!) i do think it's weird that this short, super-pale, semi-ginger actor, as hot as he is, is the go-to male lead to fucks ladies against walls. or bookcases. or i guess in starter for 10 it's more of an awkard push onto a bed, but still-- in the last king of scotland he gets it on against the wall of a grotto! he's a hairless, 5'6" englishman-- would you pick him out of a line-up as the vertical grotto sex haver? daniel craig, maybe, but james mcavoy? will wonders never cease. or recline.

anyway, the reason i can go off on all this non-plot related shit is because this movie doesn't really have a plot, or more accurately, it doesn't have a middle. there's the shocking EVENT of the first act, and that leads to a result, but the getting to that result is essentially filler. bad for the story, good for those of us who just want an excuse to look at james mcavoy.

also, in the way the movie enchanted depicted the most turned on a woman's ever been by chest hair, atonement (SPOILER ALERT FOR CERTAIN!) shows us that tossing around the word cunt can ruin your entire fucking life. but it can also get you laid while standing up. knowing that (and looking at the picture below), you can probably skip atonement. which means i just saved you the price of a movie ticket, ya lucky cunt.