Can it be three whole weeks since my last post?

That's it. I'm fired!

Okay, not really.

So much has been going on, most of which is not blog fodder, so I must abstain. But here are a few things that are worth sharing.

First, I did several hours of yard work today and if I didn't know I did it, I wouldn't notice I did it. There are many parts of home ownership that suck. This is one of them.

While I was working on the yard, I applied some sunscreen so I could try to avoid premature death. I bought some sunscreen at the Greenfields Market that is all-natural, so it's not as bad for the environment or anything (because some of them are pretty bad). It was made with zinc oxide, so it made me sort of white and pasty (or should I say, "whiter and pastier"?) than normal. When I was finally done being outside, I went into the shower to return to my normal human state, and I could not wash that stuff off. It took a ton of soap and water and actual, factual scrubbing and carrying on, and the water was still beading up on my skin like I had been freshly waxed. It was like tar.

(Aside: Remember Actual Factual Bear?)

Part of what I did was clean up some leaves that were leftover from fall. I found a whole bunch of them in my brassierre when I took a shower. Awesome!

This week was the best week I've ever had at work, ever. I got nominated by my peers for an important and prestigious award - and then I won it. And all of this happened without anyone spilling the beans to me, so that when they announced it in front of everyone in my division (100 or so people), I was so surprsed that I instantly started weeping and walking around in a daze like Miss America.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: Jennifer always cries. And it's partially true, but I really try to keep the out-loud-and-in-public weeping to the minimalest minimum at work. They don't smile kindly on ladies in career separates getting their weep on in earnest 'round about my corporatey-corporate workplace. But I did it. And it was on a teleconference too! I was pretty embarrassed. But afterwards, everyone was coming up and hugging me and congratulating me and it basically didn't matter at all. In fact, my old bossidy-boss came up to me later to tell me how touched he was that I was so surprised and happy about the award.

My crying brought people together! Even so, I'm going to try not to do that again.

In the bastard plantar fasciitis news, it went away for about a week, then came back again, but I'm confident I can get it to go away again. It's so frustrating. But I've been taking short walks and basically giving it a giant middle finger, so that helps. In a related story, I bought another pair of shoes in an effort to fit my foot and my orthotic into a shoe at the same time. Upon wearing the shoe for one work day, I discovered it doesn't actually fit me. Fucking yeah!

I had a membership to Planet Fitness. A few weeks ago, Scott helped me face the reality that I never go. Not just seldom. Never. So he drove me over there and I cancelled my membership easy-peasy. It was nothing. But I wouldn't have gone over there without his urging. And because he was there, I didn't get caught up in feeling like a loser for quitting the gym. Honestly, I couldn't stand it in there. It was a lowest-common-denominator playground, as far as I could tell. When I was going regularly for a while there, there was a series of nutso people basically parading around me the whole time. This one insane mother in particular screaming at her son for about a thousand hours while I was just trying to exercise for about 30 minutes set me into a bit of, oh, I don't know. If it weren't so goddamned funny, I might have had the panic. When did mothers start screaming at their kids like dogs in public? My mother always had the courtesy to whisper-shout at us through gritted teeth. If you weren't right next to her feeling the anger radiate off her like thermo-nuclear waves and experiencing her death grip sear your arm fat while her growly whisper-shout singed the extra-fine cilia in your inner ear, you might not even know she was angry. (I'm not sure I've adequately thanked her for keeping the public mortification to a minimum.) In any case, the number of people working out in their pajamas was basically stunning. Also, teenagers getting their pose on in earnest. It was madness is all I'm saying.

You might be thinking, "Jennifer, the common denominator in all this is you." And indeed you may be right. But no self-respecting establishment purporting to be a health and fitness gymnasium should have a weekly all-you-can-eat pizza night. Just sayin'.

This morning, my mother called my very popular radio program to put on Grandpa No-legs's Bass Boat. It was sold within a very short time, which gratified me to no end. In any event, there was a glorious moment while we were on the air when I asked my mother what the boat was made of, aluminum or fiberglass. She approximately replied, "Whatever Bass Boats are made of." I approximately said, "They can be made of either." I only know this because of the show that I host. We talk about these things. She approximately said, "People who know Bass Boats know what they're made of," like she was some kind of person who knew Bass Boats, which she couldn't be because she didn't know what it was made of. I approximately said, "Yes, of course, ma, either aluminum or fiberglass." I added "approximately" in there because I didn't record it. I only wish I had so I could get those quotes exactly and so I could listen to it in perpetuity and laugh and laugh. We raised the curtain on our relationship to the listening public. When it was over, my bossman at the station popped into the studio and said, "You've gotta have your mother call in more often." I said, "I wasn't sure if that was funny to outside people or not." He said, "Oh, it was."

It is a radio program on public air waves, so my mother can certainly call in whenever she wishes to do so.

I think we're all caught up now.

Tonight's show

One of the comics I worked with tonight did street jokes for much of his set, which is, like, totally lame in stand-up comedy world. There is no circumstance under which street jokes are an acceptable way to fill your time on stage. It was shocking. This guy was getting paid! Probably more than I was!

The other comic on the show is one of my favorite-favorites, so I had some good laughs. I really love the comedy.

I was on the way home from the show listening to Kimya Dawson's album Hidden Vagenda, which I heartily recommend, when one of the lyrics prompted me to think of another new tagline for the No-legs joke. I'll save it for when you come to a show because it's basically going to make you hate me, but it's dynamite. I called Scott and told him about it, and he laughed until he coughed, which isn't saying much, necessarily, since he's still getting over a terrible sickness*, but it counts.

I had some serious hecklers tonight. I burned one pretty bad early on, which I thought would shut them the fuck up, but it seemed only to fuel their fires. It was tricky, but all I could really do each time is go along with them for a minute and then shut them down. Over and over. It was almost as though they were trying to derail me. I would not be derailed, however. They did cause a few digressions, but no true derailment.

*Our Facebook friends may already know about the terrible sickness and what it rained upon our household. Thank goodness for bleach cleaner. That's all I'll say.

Waves of sadness

I'm surprised by how sad I am about No-legs. It keeps washing over me in waves.

When Grandpa Myszkowski died, I cried for about 24 hours straight. I have felt choked up about him a number of times since, of course, but I haven't had to cry and cry about him since the day he died. With No-legs I keep accidentally crying about him in public, including at work, which is pretty uncomfortable for everyone involved. I try not to reveal that much humanity all at once at work.

Maybe the difference is that there wasn't a service for Grandpa Myszkowski, so maybe it didn't feel as real to me as this does. Honestly, No-legs' service seemed to be when my unraveling started in earnest.

I had a particularly hard time looking at the collage of photos and seeing photos of Grandpa standing up. He'd been sitting down so long I hardly remembered him being just a regular guy. There was a particular photo of him standing in his garden in his shirtless old-guy way that made me cry out loud. He was really into his garden. I regret not including that in his obit or in my eulogy. It's been so long since I saw him like that.

I was flooded with memories of him when he was just my regular grandpa. I included some of those memories in my eulogy, but they keep coming and I keep being sad.

I feel smooshy on my insides. And I know the smooshy part is going to pass. I'm almost afraid that the smooshy part will pass and I'll accidentally forget the good parts about No-legs (I'll have no problem remembering the bad parts, I'm sure).

Here's the obit I wrote for him. I was concerned that if I didn't step in it would be too much like the "into the pearly gates" "onto his heavenly reward" "angels called him home" bullshit that's in the papers today. The funeral home added a couple things, but I'm pleased they submitted it to the papers nearly as I sent it to them.

I tried my No-legs jokes on Saturday night. I was afraid I was going to cry right in the middle, but I didn't, and I got an incredible laugh and a loving response from the audience. More on this when I report on my first three days as comic in residence. In any case, I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to tell the jokes again or how they'll end up when they're done. I'll keep trying.

Eulogy for Grandpa No-legs, January 3, 2008

I gave a eulogy for Grandpa No-legs at the Church of Saint Matthew in Forestville, Connecticut today. I am extremely grateful I had the good sense to write it all out before hand. At first I thought I would write down the salient points and remember all the other parts, but when I got up there and started crying out loud, I was relieved to be able to read it off the paper. Here's the text of what I wrote, which I may not have read word for word since my eyes blurred with tears and I had to free-style it a few times:

Shortly after my grandfather died, the family gathered in his room at the nursing home and my aunt Carol said to him, “Curt, you lived life on your own terms.” And I thought, “This is the most incredible understatement I’ve ever heard, indeed the most incredible understatement of all time!”

He was difficult to get along with, no doubt, and he was sometimes a real jerk. But when I was a little kid, I had no idea. He was just my Grandpa.

He was an exuberant grandparent. He took great delight in our events and performances, arriving with camera in hand, ready to capture every moment. At one of my first piano recitals, flash photography wasn’t permitted, so he took dark and grainy photos without the flash, then afterwards set me up at the piano to look like I was playing in the real recital. The only thing that gives the photo away is that you can see the chairs are empty and people are sort of just milling around with snacks and beverages in the background.

He’d entertain us for hours taking out his teeth and putting them back in. He lost his pinky finger in a printing accident, so he would put his pinky stump into his nose and pretend his finger was stuck there - this was high comedy for us kids. He would take off his prosthetic leg and let us draw all over it – with pencil of course, so it could be erased and we could start all over again. He taught us how to play checkers and would tell us how to make moves so we could beat him. He took us to every kid-friendly museum in the area, and then – joy of joys – out for pizza after. And in true grandparent spirit, he let us drink soda and eat sugary snacks before he sent us back home with our parents.

I regret that Maya and Jacob didn’t get an opportunity to know him as this Grandpa and only knew him as a sick and cranky old man.

I don’t believe in heaven or hell, but I know he did, and I'm going to think of him now in heaven, reunited with his parents and his brother – and also his teeth, pinky and legs - and I'm going to hope that he can feel how much we love him.

My uncle also gave a eulogy about Grandpa growing up in the Depression and how it turned him into the guy he was, how no matter what a pain he was, he was always there, etc. There was lots of crying.

People have been asking me if I'm still going to do my Grandpa No-legs jokes and I think I will. I'm going to try tonight. I'll let you know how it goes.

Grandpa No-legs: 1920-2008

After 88 years living life on his own terms, Grandpa died last night. He was predeceased by his parents and brother and is survived by his wife, a sister, a son and a daughter, four grandchildren, two and a half great-grandchildren and a score of nieces and nephews.

Grandpa, we hardly knew ye.

OMG - I'm totally famous!

The Boston Phoenix is doing this thing where they take clips from a show at the Comedy Studio and then make a little "Three Minutes at the Studio" movie for people to watch. I was there last Friday and I made the grade. Check me (and the other people on the video) out!

p.s. Yes, they call me Jen and spell my last name wrong, but they will learn in time.

The latest

Well, we had our house inspection on Friday, and it all went off without a hitch. There are a few plugs with reverse polarity and a couple other small issues that we'll deal with after we close. It's happening in earnest.

I had a total meltdown - like total - on Wednesday night. Instead of celebrating our love, I spent the night crying out loud. The stress of the house buying just blew up over a very stupid request from the bank granting our mortgage. I got a raise on April 1 and they wanted me to submit a written statement explaining why it happened gradually over two paychecks. It happened gradually because it was effective on April 1, but April 1 was in the middle of a pay period, so one paycheck was partially my old rate and partially my new rate. My telling them this was not enough. I had to write a statement about it.

I don't know why this made me insane, but it totally did. I was actually howling from it.

It was, I guess, the last straw. I have given those people just about everything they could possibly want from me short of a blood sample. They took copies of my tax returns, pay stubs, then even more pay stubs. I signed forms, then more forms, then even more forms. I wanted to shout at them, "This raise means I will have more money to pay you back. What's wrong with you people?" Instead, I shouted and cried out loud. Scott lost patience with me for a little while, which scared me because he generally has an unending well of patience, but in retrospect, I can see why. I was completely out of my goddamned mind.

The good news is that I'm back in my mind. The other good news is that I ran into an acquaintance who recently went through a very similar situation and told me that she lost her mind for a while too. This gave me great comfort.

Scott and I both took the whole day off on Friday for the inspection and I'm glad we did. We were both so exhausted from all the recent madness that we came home after the inspection and slept all afternoon.

I've also gotten a lot of bad news lately. It seems like people are dropping like flies. Generally speaking, I'm not surrounded by death or disease, but lately people are falling ill or dropping dead. It's been taking a toll on my outlook.

I don't know if I mentioned that the bastard plantar fasciitis is back, but it is. I stopped having pain of any kind, became too excited about it, went for a regular walk and was fine, and then went for a too-vigorous walk and was decidedly not fine. I saw the podiatrist and I'm sort of starting over, which is disheartening, but okay, I guess. This time I at least know what works and what doesn't. I should get over it much more quickly - and when I do, I'll be sure not to go for any vigorous walks and will opt instead for bike rides.

My massage therapist who I see for painful massages about the feet suggested that I consider having a regular full-body massage to help me cope with all the stress I'm under. At first I was kind of thinking that she was too smooth an operator and she was trying to capitalize on my stress (she is an extremely smooth operator), but then I realized it was a good idea. I called her today and she had an opening and now I'm a little bit slimy, but I feel much better.

I'm off to pick up a Mother's Day present for a lady who deserves more presents than I can give her. My mother has been dealing with about a thousand more stressful things that I have PLUS she's been hauling around No-legs, who, incidentally, is a bigger asshole than he's ever been. I wish there was some kind of putting-up-with-more-bullshit-than-anyone-else award because that lady would win it in spades. That he's still alive defies modern science; that my mother puts up with his bullshit proves she's got more compassion than just about anyone alive. She'd give the Dalai Llama a run for his money.

Anyway, that's about as meandering as an update could be. We've covered a number of topics and I think we're done.

'I'm sorry it's so hard for you right now'

That's what I kept saying to my Grandmother today. Over and over. I spent the afternoon with her. She's got the Alzheimer's.

She kept saying, "I'm so confused. I'm so confused!" She cried about being confused for a while and I turned my head so she didn't know I was crying too. She spent our entire time together trying to order her world.

"Did we just see Grandpa?"

Yes.

"Did I kiss him goodbye?"

Yes. And you held his hand and he told you he loves you and you told him you love him.

"Oh. Okay. I saw Grandpa yesterday."

No, you just saw him today.

"When is he coming home?"

He's coming home on Wednesday.

"Your parents are in Florida, right?"

Yes.

"Did they drive there?"

No, they flew.

"When are they coming home? Wednesday?"

Yes, Wednesday.

"Aren't they going to be tired from driving."

No, they're flying.

"Oh, that's right. When's Grandpa coming home?"

Wednesday.

"Where's my purse?"

You didn't bring it with you.

"Did I bring my purse?"

No, it's at home.

"Where's my coat?"

I hung up your coat on the coat rack.

"Did I hang my coat up?"

No, I hung it up for you.

"Where's my purse?"

It's at home. You don't have your purse today.

"I thought I had my purse here. How am I going to pay?"

I'm paying. You don't have to worry about it.

"Thanks for helping me, Jenny. I really appreciate it. I have to pay you back."

No you don't. Everything is fine. Don't worry about it.

"Don't go getting old, Jenny. It's hard to get old. You just keep forgetting."

I'll try to avoid it if I can.

"Do you have my purse?"

Your purse is at home.

"How did I get here?"

Tesia drove you.

"Where's my car?"

You haven't driven it in a few years and you gave it to Kaelyn.

"Oh, that's right. I miss Grandpa."

I know. It's hard.

"We've been married more than 60 years!"

Yes. That's a long time.

"I was born in 1926. It's two thousand and..."

Eight. It's 2008.

"Am I 62?"

No, you're 82.

"82?! Hm."

Yeah.

"Have I met your friend?"

Scott?

"Is that his name? Have I met him?"

Yes. Here's a picture of him.

"Oh, Scott! I've met Scott!"

Yes.

"I was born in 1926. It's two thousand and..."

Eight. It's 2008.

"Gosh, I guess I must be...82?"

Yup, you're 82.

"Does your sister know I'm with you? Does she know to pick me up here?"

Yes.

"How did I get here?"

Tesia dropped you off to visit Grandpa and I picked you up to take you to lunch.

"Oh, that's right. How am I getting home?"

Tesia knows you're here. Remember we just talked to her on the phone to be sure she knew?

"Did I kiss Grandpa goodbye?"

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Alzheimer's is a terrible disease.

Hot, steamy goodness

My mother drinks mint tea. I used to think it tasted like hot mouthwash. Suddenly, I'm hooked. What happened?

It's just so refreshing, and it makes my insides sort of tingly, kind of like Selsun Blue, but not on my head. Is that weird?

Tonight at the Stop & Shop (a.k.a. the blop), I bought two boxes of straight-ahead peppermint (one for work and one for home) and one box of green mint.

In more I'm-turning-into-my-mother news, I plucked a chin hair last month, and I'm developing these strange clear moles that all the ladies in Grandpa No-legs's family get right above their eyebrows.

I am not Athena. My father is not Zeus. I did not spring from his head. My mother was definitely involved.

Sometimes a crappy movie (yields something a bit more interesting)

Over the weekend, Scott and I watched a terrible film called, Sometimes a Great Notion. It stars Paul Newman and Henry Fonda, so you would think it would be at least halfway decent.

I'll tell you what the problem was: the characters were all actual assholes. The only people who weren't assholes were the enemies of our protagonists. I guess they were the antagonists then. Whatever. They were the people with the compassion and the troubles. I need to be able to identify with the people I'm watching for two hours or I can't really get into it.

When it was over, I immediately got on the IMDB to see what other people said about it. Turns out some other people like it.

Question mark?

Then, on Monday morning, when I was deriding it with Ann, one of my colleagues shouted over the cubicle, "That's a great movie!"

I replied, "You're joking, right?"

"Absolutely not," was the reply. "Paul Newman? Henry Fonda? It doesn't get much better than that!"

"Actually, a compelling character would make it a helluva lot better," I didn't say out loud.

Its being wholly terrible is sort of a shock because it's based on a book by Ken Kesey, he of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest fame. I really liked that book and assumed I liked Ken Kesey. I'll have to read this other book to find out for sure.

In any event, I was tooling around IMDB and clicked on the link for the fellow who played Paul Newman's brother, Richard Jaekel. I clicked because it turned out he was nominated for an Oscar for this role, which blew my mind because this movie was so suck. But it was so suck because of the story, but not because of the acting, so I'll admit that he did a great job. Fine. I concede.

Now this Richard Jaekel fella is somebody. He's made his living being the guy who's only on a TeeVee show for one or two episodes. Murder She Wrote? Check! Little House on the Prairie? Check! The Love Boat? Check! Baywatch? Check and check!

But there's a real jewel in his crown, I found, for in 1981 he was in a film called, Mr. No Legs or The Amazing Mr. No Legs in the UK.

Turns out that Mr. No Legs is a mob boss from the 1970s, and I'm forced to recommend that you read the IMDB comment from "Steven Nyland (Squonkamatic)", which you can find on this IMDB page. Alas, I cannot link directly to the comment. Please do a search for his name on the page and delight in his description of the film.

(Aside: Damien, please seriously read this. You may soil yourself from laughter.)

Jeremy suggested that AstroVideo will likely have this film in its archive. According to Jeremy, "If it's on VHS, AstroVideo has it."

We can only hope. I can hardly contain my excitement.