Playing the penguin
It’s not uncommon for my daughters to be up before me on weekend. They’re pretty good at entertaining themselves—sometimes quietly and sometimes not-so-much—while their parents try to steal a few more minutes of sleep. This Saturday, after she thought that she had waited long enough, my younger daughter, who I will refer to as Bootsy, … Continue reading
How to be a crazy (wiener) dog lady
It’s best, when trying to be a crazy dog lady, to start with a stacked deck. If possible, get born into a family that considers the dachshund of the house to be your equal and sibling. My only sister, for example, was a dachshund-beagle mix named Panfila (may she rest in peace), and residing below … Continue reading
Christmas music
What do you remember about Christmas growing up? Do you remember when it started? I was walking through Meijer with my kids the other day, just as the store’s Christmas displays were going up. I said aloud, to nobody in particular, “When I was younger Christmas was in December.” An older couple was walking in … Continue reading
Mario gets old
If I had any illusions about holding on to my youth, they were dispelled by Nintendo’s hoopla surrounding the 25th anniversary of the release of Super Mario Bros. (And may I step to the side for a moment and comment on how much I adore the fact that the name of the game is “Super … Continue reading
It’s looking like a limb torn off
I believe in being five my father teaching me to throw in the backyard/ our house on Crescent Avenue: sidearm hard almost no arc on the ball watched it tail as a ten inch comet to my father’s open mitt. From FOR TIM (suggesting I name ten things I truly believe, which is really fucking … Continue reading
The best thing I ever ate
This weekend, my mom and aunts came in to town to visit and to go out to dinner. My first thought was that it was yet another opportunity for me to procrastinate being a healthy, productive human being. The second thought was that the pressure was on. I’ve brought up my aunts in this column … Continue reading
Sparky and his daddy
In 1984, the Detroit Tigers were off to the strongest start in baseball history. On May 16, manager Sparky Anderson appeared on the CBS Morning News with owner Tom Monaghan. It wasn’t their first national interview: ever since Jack Morris no-noed the White Sox in Chicago live on NBC to go 4-0, everyone had wanted … Continue reading
Mad childhood
When you think “Mad Men,” you most likely think of Don Draper all pressed and neat, dark secrets lining his smartly tailored jackets, beautiful lies lingering on his lips. You might think of Betty, the picture of grace (or Grace Kelly) quietly suffering her domestic incarceration behind the mask of perfect pink lips and expertly lined eyes. Or maybe you can’t get Joan out of your head. The way she walks down the hallway of the Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce offices you can’t help but imagine the symphony that accompanies her cool sashay and impossibly girdled buoyancy. But what about the little guys? Those little guys with reason to be mad who are hardly men or women? What do we make of the kids on the show? They certainly don’t seem “alright.”
Eating out, or, The lazy hostess
For the past two weeks, I have had houseguests. Dad and sister and my boyfriend, Charlie, all needing to be fed, even if they’re not expecting anything gourmet. They know me, after all. I have aunts who act surprised when I tell them I make homemade tortilla soup. And that only requires adding corn, chicken, and salsa to chicken broth, heating and stirring. My aunt and her wife are ridiculously good cooks; they will often whip up a “quick” dinner of hand-breaded chicken parmesan with homemade tomato sauce, and fondue for dessert. No big deal.
So I had big plans for my dad and sister and boyfriend last week—lemon chicken parmesan (which is my go-to fancy-sounding food), pad Thai, and for breakfast, they’d wake up to warm blueberry cobbler. Both the pad Thai and blueberry cobbler I’d only attempted once before and both had failed. The first time I made pad Thai, I ended up with an inch of noodles and peanuts and other detritus stuck to the bottom of the pan, so I just called it “smoke-infused” and choked it down. I hadn’t made the blueberry cobbler since high school, when I forgot to thaw the blueberries first and ended up with a blueberry juice, sugar, and raw dough stew. I can’t imagine why I thought making them again was a good idea.
Never Mind The Hack
Neal Pollack is a hack. There. I said it. Many years ago while working in a bookstore (slowly running their music department into the ground) I scored a advance copy of his book, Never Mind the Pollacks, wherein this charming hack re-imagines himself into pivotal points in the historical fabric of rock. I thought the book sucked a bag of dicks but I did find something positive to write for the publisher. (Yes, I realize the intent of the book is to lampoon, but still.) A few years later I received a bag o’ galleys from a dear friend who still works in the bookstore. In the stack was the book AlternaDad by….gasp…Neal Pollack.
I never finished the book, but I did give it a try. There is one section of the book that sticks with me in my old age, and that is the segment when Mr. Pollack (from now on referred to as “The Hack”) has Music Listening Time with his son. I only remember two of the artists he mentions: the Ramones and the Aquabats. The Hack fashions himself a hipster and he is trying to pass on his hipster tastes to his son. This I can relate to.
