Tag Archives: from the desk of coot

My true calling

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It ain’t packing, that’s for sure. Last night I realized I had diligently sealed up all the plates and utensils 3 days in advance of the big move. Eating was a barbaric undertaking, right out of Tom Jones.

But my real life’s wish? To be a rich eccentric. “Oh, now that I’m retired, I mainly race a stable of pigs, ridden by monkeys.”

Glad we sorted that out. I don’t think it’s *that* odd that I have no desire to hold down a job. Both my parents didn’t work when I was a child. A steady diet of seeing your formative role models doing whatever they damn well please may adversely affect one’s inclination to take orders from fools. Unfortunately, they spent my trust fund already by not working. That and some ill-advised day-trading.

-xxoo

Dah-ling I love you but give me Park Avenue

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Licketysplit

I am reading my sister’s telenovela, and it’s coming right along. There is a mustachioed villain, who ties a poor orphan to some railroad tracks, and then there is a guest appearance by Cher, who teams up with yet another orphan to save the day. I wish all those things I just said were true. Actually, it’s a lot of thinly-veiled autobiographical material. I think I am the the fussy older sister, except I don’t fucking shop at Target. And I don’t power-walk with little ankle weights, I do Pilates!

Anyway, we are on an unbearable memory lane promenade. So much of what she’s brought up is simply horrifying. For instance, she reminded me of all the gaping voids in my cultural knowledge. We didn’t have a TV until I was at least 8, maybe 9. Compound that with being home schooled until the age of 12 (breastfed until 3!), and you have a real freak on your hands. Lately I’ve been thinking of taking up sharpshooting for fun.

But when the TV did finally arrive, on a faux wood finish rolly cart, I rightly set out to cram as much pop culture as possible. I knew they were holding me back with their crunchy weirdness. Our mother and father had this delusion that we were only going to watch educational programs. There was much squalling and complaining, so they amended that to include anything they’d already seen that they knew wasn’t “insolent.” They last had a TV in about 1975, before their crazy “drop out of society” experiment of 1976-1986. So that meant I could watch all the Bewitched, Green Acres, and I Dream of Jeanie that I wanted. All fine, parentally approved stereotypes. “Oh Master!”

Insolence, if you were wondering, included Charles in Charge, Growing Pains, The Facts of Life, and so much more. Also objectionable: Alvin and the Chipmunks, because of their whiny little voices. What were these people thinking? I ask myself that to this day. If you ask them that very question, there is confused blinking, as if you are shining a painful light directly on them. At least they finally allowed that the Golden Girls was a pretty great show. For some reason, Small Wonder, with the robot daughter, was also OK. Then my mother eventually became hooked on Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reruns. She would tape it so she could fast foward through the commercials. She became so wrapped up in the character that when we told her that she might like to see Six Degrees of Separation, she jumped at the chance. But then after she saw it, she was nonplussed: “MY Will would never do those things!”

What was I saying about shooting?

Want to see what I look like with wheels?

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So my boo’s crazy uncle is the master of baffling communication. He likes to pretend to be someone else. Recently he sent this to the family email list, including his own real email address:

From: “Burt Davis” (not his name!)

Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2003 11:46:33 -0500

To:

Subject: Hi everyone It’s Burt!!!!

Hi! I am writing from the Cruise Ship Sauffley in the Indian Ocean. What a great crew. Every night, right after dinner, we have life boat drills and life vest drills. We have met some great people during these drills.

Some people we met at dinner, were Bob and Samantha. They were married the Saturday before we left. Although Samantha is not my type, she got Burt laughing so hard when she was blowing raspberries on his belly.Bob is about 30 and he works in San Francisco as a salesman. Samantha works as a model.

Captain Rochette has been very informative. He says that we are going past the Cape of Good Hope tonight. We will be in South Africa this evening and Mr Mandela will be our guest on board. I hear he has some stories about the old times, and you know how much of a history buff I am.

Next week, the guest of honor is someone named Khadafi. Henrietta thinks he is sexy and mysterious under that turban. I just think of that guy in Harry Potter who unwraps his turban and there is a face that talks!!! Yuch! Can you imagine eating and having that guy unwrap a face!!! Not me. Henrietta can go alone. I’ll watch Samantha blow raspberries on Hollingsworth.

The weather hasn’t been bad, except for that day of rough seas. We had hit some typhoon or such and a few people got blown overboard. They have not been found yet, but it is assumed they swam toward those islands we saw the day before. While I was walking along in the bulkhead, I saw the room that they had. It was huge and spacious so, knowing they wouldn’t need it anymore, I asked the Steward if I could get the cabin. After paying the upgrade, both Henrietta and I feel it was well worth the price.

Hollingsworth has his own bed, and it is a relief for us.

Well, thats it until next week. I’ll send some more photos next time, and god bless.

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So, I decided to out Uncle him:

From: “Mimsy Varden”

Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2003 4:21:15 -0500

To:

Subject: Mimsy’s Baaack!

Burt!

Mimsy Varden here, I used to be Mimsy Van Der Ploo? I know we haven’t been properly introduced, but perhaps Henrietta has spoken of me? Hopefully she didn’t say anything that bad, ho ho! Anyhoo, I am so glad I’ve tracked down the elusive Davis family… A friend just mentioned the lovely letter they got about your latest cruise and I thought to myself “Can it be? Henrietta! It’s been years.” So if you can put Henrietta on the computer to read on from here, I’d be much obliged. Kisses, -mim

Henrietta, darling, it’s been far too long! This is such a stroke of luck. What a small world really. You see, I’ve been moving around quite a bit in these last few years. I’m sure you heard about Armand’s accident through the usual grapevine. I just couldn’t face the world for months after that. So off I went, one bag and a heavy heart. I stayed in Switzerland at first, in and out of various spas. It really got terrible boring. You can’t imagine the American Nouveau Riche and how they dominate a dinner conversation. I do not understand to this day what is a “dotcom.” Is that like a kibbutz? Such a long way from our simple days at school!

I’ve thought of our friendship frequently. I tried to send a postcard from Peru, but I wasn’t sure if the address was right. Did you get one of Lake Titicaca? No matter, I’m sure it was nothing but dribble…I was having quite a time with the pills. From there it was off to Tanzania, where I met the most wonderful guide while I was on a safari. He’s my idea of big game! Yes, I’m still a naughty lass, Henrietta. But I didn’t let him get away, I married him! He wanted to stay in Africa, but I really don’t trust the natives, even though they seem a beautiful people. Now we’re back in New York, just trying to get the renovations on the apartment wrapped up. The one bright spot in Armand’s whole ordeal was the settlement from the petroleum company.

But enough of my trials. I did receive the adorable photos of Hollingsworth in a Christmas card, what, 2 years ago now? They were luckily forwarded to my deposit box in Paris. How is he progressing? I hear they can do wonders in those special schools these days. Ah Henrietta, do write me back! We have so much to catch up on. Missing your wedding left me feeling like such a heel. I owe you one or five, old girl!

All my love – mim

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Ooh, I hope Henrietta writes back! It’s so nice to have a loon in the family. Lambchop said it reminded her of a genial T. Herman Zweibel, and I’d have to agree. I hope Mimsy connotes enough of a gin-soaked fading harlot?

xxoo