Facing Reality

And so it's time to put down the bonbons and the wineglass, the crosswords and anacrostics and the mindless irresponsibility. It's time to pick up the mantle of honest work, of hope for the future, of--
WHAT THE HECK DO WE WANT TO DO THAT FOR?

Well, I don't know exactly, but September is just around the corner and you can't lie around in that spandex thing forever. I mean, well. ..

YEAH? WHAT? WHAT DO I KNOW? WHAT DO YOU KNOW?

Now don't get upset. You've had a fantastic summer.

WHO SAID I'M UPSET?

You went to Arkansas, remember?



YEAH, YEAH. I REMEMBER. THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO.

Then you went to London. Wasn't that great?

OH, DEFINITELY.

Then you also went to New York, Pennsylvania, Cambridge, the Berkshires, Old Saybrook, Newport, Chicago and Champaign. Right?



WHAT IS YOUR POINT?


The point is you have to start back to work this week. You have to get with it. Get the oil changed. Have a purpose. When was your last haircut?

MY HAIR LOOKS GOOD LONG.

Your hair looks terrible. Come on now. Don't be that way.

I STILL HAVE THIS WEEKEND, THOUGH, DON'T I?

Well, yes, but
-

GOOD. GET LOST.
a bientot, dear reader. I'm hanging on to the last fingernail.

love,
becky
thanks to naute.com

Sleep well, America.

This was a screen from CNN last week which showed the number of flights in the air during an equipment malfunction in Georgia. Hundreds of delays were taking place, which didn't surprise me a bit. Every time I travel, I mean EVERY TIME, I sit on the tarmac in some kind of delay. I am one of the great tarmac sitters. Now I know why--can you see all of those little silver planes? Good grief. It looks like an infestation of insects. How can they all be up there at the same time?

Best not to think about it.

Another anxiety-producing topic is the stock market.

This is Ben Bernanke, the much-maligned Fed chairman who keeps having one bad idea after another, according to the pundits. Well, we'll bail out the banks. No, no, we wouldn't do that. Okay well, we'll bail out some of them but not all of them. No, no, no, no, we wouldn't do that. On the other hand, maybe we will.

He used to be a professor at Princeton and no doubt got lots of respect.

He looks almost goofy here, doesn't he? Professors do goofy extremely well. The subtext is that they are living the life of the mind and don't think about those outer things like haircuts and clothes. Ben looks way better than most academics, who can't button their shirts right.

Ben could always button his shirt, even back in the day. He looks a bit radical here, but you have to remember, everybody looked like that then. I wonder if that's a polyester shirt.

He is a South Carolina boy, also a Harvard boy and an MIT boy. Godawful smart, though everyone is second guessing him now. Imagine back then if you would have walked up to this kid and said the day is coming, Ben, when you will guide the economic policy of the United States. I picture him saying, yeah so?

He replaced Alan Greenspan

shown here at Applebee's placing his bar order.

Best not to think about any of this. Best to enjoy the last weekend of the summer as best we can. I am going on one more jaunt, dear reader, and plan to do a geographical review of all my travels next time. A bientot

love,

becky

Newport

What a gorgeous day at The Breakers, former summer cottage (HAH!) of the Vanderbilts, darling, on Bellevue Avenue in Newport. We were standing right here near these clipped hedges [I prefer my topiary in the shape of barnyard fowl, though, thank you] as a young European gentleman said well, it's nothing like you'd see in France or Europe.

WELL, LAH DEE FREAKIN' DAH.

Now that I've had my one trip to England, I do grudgingly admit the truth of the fellow's statement. The Europeans do grand very well.

Still, Newport is charming and lovely and I wanted to smack that guy in the face (not the guy shown). I especially like the black wrought iron fences that enclose many of the mansions, keeping out the peasants. I wonder who could afford to live in one of them now. Probably no one aside from Warren Buffett

or someone like that. And why would he want to?

Excuse me, Mr. Buffett, the fax machine isn't working again. Something about the telephone lines being eroded or corroded. And the shower is a bit wonky today. We'll get someone right on it, though. Why don't you sit outside and look at the ocean? (Mr. Buffett shown here just prior to his Low-Impact Fully Dressed Aerobics class.

Newport is part Gilded Age grandiosity and part feisty old fishing port. I kept looking for Hammersmith Farm, where JFK and Jackie were married on my birthday. Would that entitle me to a free tour? Here is an old photo.

It's not on Bellevue Avenue and I can't help wondering if Jackie felt a bit, well, declasse as she was growing up. Wonder if she would have started the pillbox hat craze if she'd been from BA.

This is called the Forty-Four Steps and they descend from the famous Cliff Walk, which winds along the rocky coast, halfway up to the "cottages." Supposedly, the old-time servants used to come down here and cause a bit of a ruckus, singing old Irish ditties that reminded them of home. How they could have reveled here is a bit problematic since the cement landing is so small. One person could have done a fabulous break dancing routine, though, and certainly trysts could have occurred and you'd have plenty of warning if someone was about to intrude (44 of them).

Side view of some historic building which I forgot to write down.

View outside of Hendrika's Cafe, which I did write down.

My companion trying to steal silverware at Hendrika's.

And me, doing what I do best.

Only a week left of The Dream, dear reader.

Sob.

A bientot

love,

becky

non-Michael Phelps Olympics

Okay, I haven't exactly watched the event. So anything that has filtered down to me must be truly making news. Here is the USA women's gymnastics team from 1956.



They at least look like they are in high school, don't they? I can picture each one of them in bobby sox and a poodle skirt, taking driver's ed and worrying about the prom. Those brassieres were of the Double Pointy Rocket Ship variety and maybe Playtex Living. I am sure that coach wore sensible shoes at all times.

Here is the 2008 China women's gymnastics team.




If you're going to send them a congratulatory gift, you might want to consider a Little Kitty item or even a Barbie to give them something to aspire to, like breasts. Here is the American team they beat:


Our girls are tiny, but all look like regular users of eye makeup. I can picture them all with butterly tattoos peeking out of their low-riders.



This is Olga Kaniskana of Russia who won gold in the Women's 20km Walk. This is about 12.5 miles and she did it in one hour and 26 minutes. By my calculations, 12.5 miles is about 50 times around the track. That would take me, oh, about ten hours. Can that be right? I'll check today during my outing. I'm quite friendly with the groundskeeper and maybe he will time me if he doesn't have to eat lunch or do any work.

I don't even like to think about this. This is how you have to reach difficult items at Hannaford's sometimes. Would you call this getting a leg up?

I have had a wonderful summer, dear reader. I visited four states and plan on another one (Rhode Island) this Friday. I have actually completed one syllabus.

More later.

love,

becky

GCC Star: Ellen Meister

Here's a book that looks very absorbing, my one requirement in reading these days. It's written by Ellen Meister, featured author on the GCC tour. It is called The Smart One and is just out from HarperCollins. Here's a heads up:

Beverly Bloomrosen has always been the smart one, the middle sister sandwiched between Clare, the beautiful and popular older one, and Joey, the rebellious rock-star younger one. But she’s hit a bit of a slump lately. Now 35, she’s embarking on a new career as an elementary school teacher and not exactly living up to her family’s expectations (“Maybe she can work her way up and eventually teach high school. That wouldn’t be so bad,” her mother helpfully comments). Bev has moved back into her parents' home on Long Island while waiting to see if a job opportunity in Las Vegas materializes, seeing it as her chance to start afresh…but before she knows it, life back at home starts to get very interesting.

Kenny Waxman, Bev’s childhood neighbor—and the boy who almost became her high school boyfriend until she found him in bed with Joey—returns. Now a successful comedy writer in Los Angeles, he can still make her heart pound…and the attraction is still mutual.Things take a turn for the sinister when a pregnant woman’s body is found in an industrial drum buried in the Waxmans’ backyard. As Bev and her sisters begin to unravel some mysteries of the past, some secrets of the present are revealed: Bev learns that the perfect Clare may not be as perfect as her glamorous, well-coiffed suburban life may suggest, while rebellious Joey is still attempting to exorcise some of the demons that have haunted her for years. In the end, the curse of being the smart one may just turn out to be a blessing.


About the author: Ellen Meister grew up in the heartland of suburban Long Island. She spent her early career in advertising and marketing, and later worked as editor for a literary magazine and published numerous short stories. Her first novel was Secret Confessions of the Applewood PTA (Morrow/Avon, 2006). Meister lives in New York with her husband and three children. To find out more, visit her website at http://www.ellenmeister.com/.
Jane Green called the novel, "Wonderfully funny, irreverent and entirely unexpected. " Booklist dubbed it "the perfect beach read," and Library Journal described it as, "Character-driven ... fast-paced and features great dialog."
To buy THE SMART ONE, visit your local bookstore or click below:
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
BooksAMillion.com
Borders.com
BookSense
Powells.com
Target

love,b

Crack Kills

I am also told that this is referred to as "coin slot." But don't go by me as I am out of it and don't know anything. This was snapped in Urbana, Illinois and where, may I ask, have all the beer joints gone? Everything is Starbucks now.



This is deeply troubling to me as it is the track at my local high school. I come here every day like a sap, hoping it will be open. Here's my question, dear reader: how am I a trespasser?

I am a resident, a taxpayer, and a patron, emphasis on the second of these. Only a month ago I wrote a huge check for the privilege of being all three. Young people of course hop the fence. I cannot. Oh, I probably could, but I don't feel like injuring myself, calling the police, and/or ruining my clothes. And why should I have to?

I have only begun to tap my annoyance. I won't say anger because it's not worth getting truly pissed off over (off over?). Anger is usually a big waste of everybody's time anyway.

Anyone buying this?
Two more weeks of The Dream.
A bientot
love,
becky

More Stuff

At the University of Illinois, the hottest chicks have always lived on the third floor of LAR. Also the ones who pull the most all-nighters and set off the most firecrackers in the stairwell.

Not that we would know.

We're respectable now. It's hard to believe.

You gotta figure there'd be a Lincoln Hall at such a place as U of I and there is. It's inspiring. The taxpayers are shelling out for that light behind Abe 24/7, by the way. Not that I'm one to make trouble.....

We are experts in electronics. This woman can turn on her own DVD player at home in under half an hour.

University officials continue to try and pass this off as what they call the Assembly Hall.

HAH! That's a good one.

You can easily see what it is. Two of our group are bravely set to enter it and speak to a few of the Martians about a possible Dairy Queen visit.

My hosts back in Chicago, John and Judy



Their lives are dedicated to work. They spend most of their time slaving on home-owning projects.

Judy mostly does needlepoint.

I had no choice but to befriend some locals at the Broken Oar, a motorcycle bar in a nearby town. My friends thought I would fit in and I did. The guy on the right, Neil somebody, called me Professor Bitch. I told him I'd get him back. He doesn't know it, but I put timed-release Viagra in his pork chop sandwich. It should be working just about now.

A precious summer day, dear reader. Let's enjoy it to the max.

A bientot. love,

becky

Illini Forever

Just back from a great weekend in Champaign, Illlinois, where I met up with these friends. Our academic achievements at the U of I have unfortunately been lost. They are buried in the Lincoln Avenue Residence side lawn, where we threw water balloons and incense and lowered the occasional friend out on sheets. Hey. We passed, okay? We played a lot of bridge.

Next to me is Judy, who does the world's best George Washington imitation and can now kick our respective asses in any athletic competition. Pass the chips. Next to her is Candy, a calm and serene individual who still attracts the guys and did so at the Champaign Rap Festival or whatever it was we walked through on Saturday night. In the yellow is Carol, who used to have a Christ-like body and still does.

Obligatory pose in front of the Alma Mater. Thanks to the very nice girl who took this without telling us how odd (or old) we were.

Obligatory pose in front of quad with Foellinger Auditorium in background. It has appeared in at least one movie (Good Will Hunting?), where it purported to be Harvard. Alumni everywhere gasped in the middle of movie theatres when they saw it.

WHAT? THAT'S THE AUDITORIUM AT ILLINOIS! DON'T TRY AND PULL SOME MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE THING ON ME! I KNOW WHAT I SAW!

Obligatory pose in old classroom in Lincoln Hall where we lament not paying more attention. I of course feel particularly guilty now, given my present occupation.

WHY DID WE DO IT?

Obligatory pose in front of old dormitory where anecdotes about frat guys and puking are traded with enthusiasm.

Obligatory Climb-Up-On-Alma-Mater-Statue-And-Risk-Hip-Replacement shot. Notice who had the nerve to do it.

YABBA DABBA DOO! What a great weekend I had. Next time more pix of post-reunion fun in Chicago where Becky gets called Professor Bitch and finds the Special Room.

A bientot

love,

becky

Floating My Boat

That phrase is always used, whatever floats your boat. Well, these three recent evenings helped to float mine. Call me a gamut-runner.

First I saw Iolanthe, a Gilbert and Sullivan offering at the

College Light Opera in Falmouth, MA. I must be honest. It was not very good. The actors just kind of stood around in straight lines and though I know the lyrics are difficult to deliver, these were not as audible as one might like. [I couldn't hear it]. In their defense, G&S is a true challenge. Last year I saw Patience and LMAO, so that's why I gave this one a try. The kids were cute, though, and there were some amusing moments [damns with faint praise].

Next up was a rental.



The Dewey Cox Story with John C. Reilly. It is plain out hilarious, although it probably shows my juvenile taste more than anything else. Keep in mind I love Will Ferrell and not everyone does. There's a scene in the beginning of this movie where Dewey gets his start at a black night club, where the owner tells him, "my customers come here to dance erotically" and boy, do they. Five stars and a big LMAO.

I like following this with Waiting for Godot, which I saw in the Unicorn Theatre at the Berkshire Theatre Festival last weekend.




Keeping in mind that it's a stupid and pointless play, it was brilliantly done. I only use those words because if you start reading about it, there is such a defiance on the part of critics and dramaturges and the playwright not to read too much into it. My question may be the same as yours, dear reader. ARE YOU SERIOUS? Okay then, it's even more pointless than I thought. But trust me, you could feel the heavy-ocity all around. IS THAT GUY SUPPOSED TO BE GOD?
NO. SHUT UP.

Through the miracle of blogger technology, I am at this moment in Champaign, Illinois, reuniting with some old friends. BUT I'M WATCHING YOU AND I CAN SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING. Happy to see Bret Favre in NYC. There are plenty of shrinks there for him.
A bientot
love,
becky p.s. Will Ferrell is not in the Dewey Cox Story. I just used him as a touchstone. As it were.

GCC Hot Pick: Jackie Kessler

In HELL’S BELLES and THE ROAD TO HELL, Jackie Kessler brought readers into an unforgettable Underworld populated by alluring demons and sexy devils. Now Daunuan, the most irresistible incubus of all, is facing one Hell of a challenge...
So whose soul do you have to damn to get a promotion around here?
Daunuan was never the ambitious type. There's so much to love about his job just the way it is—mind-blowing sexual prowess, the power to seduce any human, excellent dental plan. But now Pan, the King of Lust, has offered to make Daun his right-hand incubus—a position other demons would give their left horn for. All he has to do is entice a soul destined for heaven into a damnable act of lust. Should take, oh, seven minutes, tops.
Then he meets his target, Virginia Reed. She’s cute. Funny. Smart. Unfathomably resistant to his charms. He can’t understand it. But Daun has centuries of seduction to his credit. He’s the best there is. Sooner or later he’ll transform this polar icecap of a female into a pool of molten desire, and every instinct tells him she’ll be worth the effort.
Meanwhile, he has to deal with a plague of rogue demons Hell-bent on taking him down, sent by an unknown enemy with a serious grudge. And one other problem: the dawning realization that he’s falling in love—that unholiest of four-letter words—with the woman he’s about to doom for all eternity...

Praise for HOTTER THAN HELL:
"Jackie Kessler is firmly on my list of favorite authors. Hotter Than Hell is edgy and filled with hot temptation--in the form of an incubus so sexy, daring, and delicious that you'll be offering him your own soul. Fast paced and clever, Kessler's writing shines." — Cheyenne McCray, New York Times bestselling author of Shadow Magic
"Kessler has outdone herself by giving readers a glorious book three of her deliciously sinful series, Hell on Earth. Daunuan's sexy supernatural antics make sparks fly, and if you're not careful you'll singe your fingers as the pages speed by. It's packed with quirky characters, a spicy, fast-paced plot and witty dialogue. Be prepared for a demonic treat that's hotter than hell."— Romantic Times, 4.5 stars (top pick for August 2008)
"Sexy and bold" —Publishers Weekly"Hotter Than Hell blew me away....Jackie Kessler writes the kind of stories that grab you by the throat and don't let you go until the last page is read." — ABOUT JACKIE KESSLER
Jackie Kessler is the author of the Hell on Earth series, published by Kensington/Zebra Books. She has two spin-off Hell stories as well: one, “When Hell Comes Calling,” will appear in the LILITH UNBOUND anthology (Popcorn Press, 2008) edited by bestselling author Elaine Cunningham. The other story is an erotic novella, “Hell Is Where the Heart Is,” to appear in the upcoming RED HOT VALENTINE’S DAY anthology (Avon Red, January 2009). Jackie is also the co-author of BLACK & WHITE, a dystopian superhero novel about two superpowered women—once best friends, now on opposite sides of the law—who must join forces to fight the Big Bad Evil (bwahahahahaha). BLACK & WHITE will be published by Bantam Spectra in July 2009.

For more about Jackie, please visit her website: http://www.jackiekessler.com/

Buy the Book
For autographed—and personalized—copies, buy at Flights of Fantasy
• Amazon (US)

Lexus Road Rage

If you own a Lexus, you probably already know this, and you're probably already putting up with the excessive honking and bird-flipping that occurs whenever you pull out even a tiny bit further than the next car, or do something just the teensiest bit questionable. Yeah, yeah, I know. Define questionable.

I tried to explain to my girlfriend that the reason for this is simple. People hate Lexus owners. I admit it does seem a bit mean-spirited.

YOU'RE RICH AND I HATE YOU!

GET OFF THE ROAD AND DIE!!

IF I SEE YOU DO THAT AGAIN, I'LL KILL YOU!

These are some of the warm and fuzzy messages that people mouth and gesture to us when we drive along in my friend's car. I'm sure the same thing is true for the Mercedes and Hummer.

To me it's weird.

When a bad thing happens to us in the grocery, like a dumbass cutting in line or writing a check or any other thing that inconveniences and annoys the living shit out of us, we get irritated, sure. But we don't spin around in full Chuck Norris/Bruce Lee revenge mode:

EVERYBODY DOWN!! HEAR ME?

I SAID EVERYBODY DOWN! SOMEBODY'S GOING TO PAY FOR THIS CANTALOUPE WITH THEIR LIFE!

In the grocery, we're calmer. Something happens when we get behind the wheel. Are there any studies on male/female ratios on this? I've got to think the menfolk are doing it a bit more, some even that I know and love. Ahem.

Of course we ate at Betsy's Diner. The sign says "Eat Heavy" and they make you. We never argue.

Great Bargains at Christmas Tree Shoppe!

Don't think I didn't labor over the captions for this one, dear reader. And oh, I passed many a one by......

Here is the back door of oolala, one of our all-time fave shops in Falmouth, where they have the most fab--that's FAB--clip earrings. I always walk out with at least one pair.

I promised a Dairy Queen shot, but the man who took this was a bit brusque. I won't say unfriendly, but I didn't feel I could suggest another camera angle that would include the sign. Too timid for my own good, as always. Plus if he saw our Lexus, I was afraid of what he might do. Dairy Queen Rage is not something I want to deal with.

Anyway, it was a great vacation and here we are. Honda Accord, Volvo, and Lexus. At least I don't get yelled at.

Be Here Now.

love,

becky

The Artful Dodger?

I come home from vacation and see this?

What the heck? I guess I was peripherally aware that Manny was being Very Manny lately, but letting him go? I dunno about this. I don't know much about Jason Bay, but I'm sure opposing pitchers would rather face him than Manny. Didn't we send Nomar to the Dodgers? And Derek Lowe? They must have a little Boston enclave in the Dodger clubhouse. Pahk ya cah, baby.

I have watched the Red Sox management turn fans against lots of players. They did it to Pedro Martinez. Years ago they did it to Roger Clemens, who turned out to have other challenges anyway.

And now they've done it to Manny.

I'm sure it's tough to deal with his shenanigans in the clubhouse, but isn't it their job to make it work? If I get a tough kid in class, an arrogant kid with attitude, I have to deal with it. I can't just kick the kid out because I don't like him.

So enough of that. Vacay was great. Weight gain? 3.5 pds. I'm looking at a desolate week ahead of atonement dieting.

More details later, dear reader, but suffice it to say we watched 13 episodes of Mad Men and are totally in love with and smitten by the lead guy, the Mr. Draper character, an advertising creative director.

Here he is with his beautiful but remote wife. He honors and treasures her because she is such a good mommy to his children, but he can't seem to maintain, um, desire for her. Instead, he pursues a passionate relationship with another woman, a client. It's a great show and a yummy plot line.

Starting my revisions this week with a fresh head.

A bientot

love,

becky