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Wednesday, October 01, 2003 ( 5:21 PM ) EK B - Acrowinners! We have acrowinners!!! Huzzzah! OK, let's not make you wait any longer. The letters were B O A U O C. The entries: *Boned on an ultralight over Canada *Bet: oboist and unitarian of consequence *Bunch of assholes undermining our constitution *Bruce's Oktoberfest: Ass up over cranium. *British Overseas Airways usually overcharges caucasians. *Bitchy old Aunt Ursula orgasms constantly *But otters aren't ugly old coots! *Breast oggling assholes usually offend catholics. *Bet often acquiesces under old couches *Beelzebub obsequiously asked, "Unitarian or Catholic?" *Because of ancient umbrages, Othello cracked. *Best of all, unpleasant odors cease! *Bent over and urinating on concrete. *Bank of America: Useless Officious Cocksuckers. *Bored of Anaheim, unspectacular Orange County. *Being omniscient and ugly, Olga cried. *Best of Australian unforgettable opals. Cheap. *Bet on album. Unbelievable on clarinet! *Behold, o annointed usurper, Ozymandias cried! *Being ornery, Amanda underlined Orville's Cliffnotes. *Bug out! Attack unit one! Charge! *Breasts on Amazons. Utters on cows. *Big orgasms allowed under our covers. *Box of almonds under old couch. And now, let's turn things over to the lovely Flipsycab for the judging. Heeeeeeeeere's Flipsy: Hello Acromaniacs and thank you for playing! These were some wonderfully hilarious and amazingly clever entries. As much as I think you're all weiners--I mean winners, I am required by law to choose but one actual winner. However, I decided to hand out gold, silver, and bronze prizes in the spirit of international competition. What that has to do with AcroChallenge, I'll never know. Anywho, here goes: The Bronze Medal, or Thrid Place, goes to Mike for his "Weirdest Places I've Had Sex" entry: Boned on an ultralight over Canada. Sounds like fun! The Silver Medal, or Second Place, goes to Lily G. for her "Best Imitation of Young Adult Literature" entry: Being ornery, Amanda underlined Orville's Cliffnotes. Oh, that wacky Amanda. Or ornery, rather. And finally (Olypmic Theme music plays). . . The Gold Medal, or First Place, goes to Venice for her "Hell's Admissions Department" entry: Beelzebub obsequiously asked, "Unitarian or Catholic?" This one cracked me up!! I wonder what happens if you say "Catholic." Honorable Mentions go to: Kellie for her "Simultaneously Hilarious and Depressing" entry: Being omniscient and ugly, Olga cried. Deepfat Friar for his "Boxlightener's Blog" entry: Bruce's Oktoberfest: Ass up over cranium. Stennie for her "Shakespearean Sonnet" entry: Bent over and urinating on concrete. Kevin for his "Yes, please!" entry: Big orgasms allowed under our covers. NOTE TO ALL PLAYERS: Thank you for your patience! Yay! Thank you Flipsy! And see us back next week, when YOU may be the judge! # Tuesday, September 30, 2003 ( 11:21 PM ) EK B - Hey, Stennie My friend Stennie: * Gave up a comfier life to get her degree at CalArts and try for a life in the film business * Shares her home with two kitties, Rimsey & Buster * Has made me laugh so hard I've had to ask her to stop being so funny, because of the physical pain of that much laughter * Is my webpage maven, with the patience of a saint * Partied the New Millennium in with me in Reeeeeeeeeeeeno! * Has encouraged me to see so many great movies, especially old ones * As a result, made me fall in love with James Cagney * Had a car once possessed by Satan - or was that Stan * Is my confidant in the extreme, and lets me vent, scream, tell it all, cry, and fire wicked emails whenever I need to * Encouraged me to participate in Blogathon 2003, and nursed me through till the bitter end * Once exclaimed, "Travis Comes Alive!" * Loves her Broadway musicals * Is the daughter of the one and only web-famous Richard Sackerson * Shares my brain * Wrote a blog about buying a lamp that was Pultizer Prize-worthy * Loves penguins * Bears a striking wiseacre resemblance to Bugs Bunny * Is the best buddy a girl could have * Was born September 30, 1968 Happy Birthday, Stennie! # ( 11:18 PM ) EK B - Acrowinners Delayed Due to a little mix-up, we won't have Acrowinners announced till tomorrow. Sorry for the inconvenience, but we promise nothing here at Betland. Anyway, I told you we were working on all the rides. I didn't say they were fool-proof. Right? Right?? To appease you, here's a brand-new photo of S. and his brand-new clarinet.  # Monday, September 29, 2003 ( 10:37 PM ) EK B - Lynched I did a lovely blog (I know it was lovely because I just went back and checked it, and it starts by mentioning National Masturbation Month) on May 2d about the director David Lynch. And how he keeps disappointing me. To quickly recap, I really like David Lynch. I like him a lot. And I don't know why, because every time I watch one of his movies I end up hating it. And I sit and hate it, actively, all the while liking David Lynch. It's an odd relationship we have, David and I. In this particular blog (though I ended up mentioning all the Lynch movies I'd seen), I was railing against "Mulholland Drive," the personality-swap-mind-fuck movie I'd just seen, not understood, and not cared about. Somewhere in the comments, I got a suggestion from Mike, Man of Mystery, Man of Movies. "Watch 'The Straight Story,' Bet," Mike said. And so tonight, I did. "The Straight Story" tells a very small story, and tells it very simply. Alvin Straight, who lives in Laurens, Iowa, hears his estranged brother Lyle has had a stroke. And travels to Mt Zion, Wisconsin to visit him and make amends. Alvin isn't well. His eyesight is failing and he has to walk with canes. Alvin doesn't have a drivers license either, because he isn't well enough to drive. So he heads out to Wisconsin on his lawnmower. And in his trip, we see everything that is good about America. And about humankind. God, it must have been hard to make this movie. Alvin has to leave his mower by the side of the road when it breaks down and he goes for help. Of course! We'll have his mower and belongings stolen when he gets back! Alvin meets a wayward teen and shares a meal with her. Yeah! We'll have her rob him blind while he's asleep! The mower breaks down again. OK! We'll have sleazy mechanics take Alvin for everything he's got! But guess what. None of that happens. In this movie people are nice to each other. People like each other. They wave and say hello and extend their hands, and homes and hearts to other people. There are no villians. Only friends. I think this movie touched me so deeply because it shows the America I wish existed. That I think we all wish existed, and somewhere deep in our hearts - at least about 90% of our hearts - does exist. The America we want to see, not the one the media seems all too happy to show us, the one where people will slit your throat for your tennis shoes. There was a small scene in this movie that brought tears. Alvin (played by Richard Farnsworth) is puttering along a long stretch of road and a series of bicycle racers pass by him. He's fascinated with the sight, the numbers, the speed, the colors - and he stops and leans on his John Deere to watch them go by. A few wave, some say "hi," and he lifts his hat. It's such a simple thing, and was so pretty and sweet. Alvin tells stories - sometimes snippets of stories - to people along the way, and they tell stories to him, and from this we learn about them all. And that's basically the movie. Sure, Alvin does reach the end of his journey, but we get no huge epiphany, no swelling of music, no false sentimentality. We just get a story brought to its end. "The Straight Story" is a true story. Alvin really did make this journey. And maybe that's why its simplicity and sweetness works. Anyway, if you haven't seen it, please please do. # ( 1:32 PM ) EK B - Acrochallenge! First of all, let's set the record straight: 1) Mr M does indeed have a fractured arm/upper arm/shoulder. 2) I did not do it. He did a full Dick Van Dyke over a railroad tie in the parking lot of Mt Lake. OK, that out of the way, it's time for another scintillating round of Acrochallenge. We have another first-time guest judge this week! Yes, it is she who makes me laugh with her blog, and with her comments to my blog, it is she who not only gave us all the term sabeltodo (know-it-all), but whose favorite Ben & Jerry flavor must be Phish Food, the one and only Flipsycab! As you all know, you get three entries to make the best acronym you can out of the below letters, randomly drawn tiles from the acrobasket. The winner gets the envy of acroers everywhere. The judging will end at 9pm est on Tuesday. And the letters are: B O A U O C I don't know...looks hard to me. Better start now! # Sunday, September 28, 2003 ( 10:36 PM ) EK B - Who'll Be Next? You read about my experiences with Sauerkraut Band last week. Last night Mr M ended up with a fractured arm. Come see us now! We may not last a month! # Saturday, September 27, 2003 ( 12:54 PM ) EK B - Flashback One Week This afternoon I'll be heading up to Mountain Lake to partake in the second Octoberfest of the season. I've no idea what will happen. I can tell you what happened on the first day of Octoberfest, though. That was one week ago today. The precursor to Mountain Lake was a performance by the Sauerkraut Band at the new offices of WVTF, the local public radio station. We were to play in their new studio and be on the air. Or so we thought. I did, anyway, and invited you all to come online and listen to us. I headed to Roanoke, with a stop in B'burg to pick up Mr M. About 30 minutes into my trip, I realized I'd left my pocketbook at home. I was zipping down the road with no drivers license, no credit cards, and no money to get me back home on. I was beginning to get a little foul. I pulled into Mr M's driveway and got a little fouler (long story). We got all our stuff together and piled into the betmobile and headed to Roanoke, with Mr M as my new designated driver for the day. We made it to Roanoke with no troubles, and went inside the new offices. As we started setting up in the studio, they started moving out all the chairs. Oooh. I was going to have to stand up the whole time! I'm not a good player standing up, but at least we hang on the back row, so I could lean against the wall. A crowd of open-house visitors and employees of the station gathered round, and we started to play. About 3/4 of the way through the first song, I started feeling sick. Now, I have to say something here, tell me I'm an idiot or don't, I am how I am. My first thought at that point was, "Oh, shit, I feel sick." My second was, "Oh, shit, I feel sick playing in front of all these people." It absolutely pains me to have to draw any attention to myself, and I felt that stepping outside was not only going to do that, but it'd be disrespectful to the band as well. By halfway through the second song there was no question, though. I could either draw attention to myself by leaving mid-performance, or by ralphing all over the station's new studio. I edged my way out of the back row, stepping over the trumpets, "Excuse me, pardon me, I'm so sorry, excuse me," and out the door through the crowd, "Excuse me, pardon me, I'm so sorry." I made it to the restroom, heaved mightily, and since I'd not eaten anything, nothing much really made a great appearance. I put some cold water on my face, grabbed a couple of paper towels, thought about things, and decided to go back into the studio and give it another whirl. Excuse me and I'm sorrying my way back through the crowd and the band, I retook my place. Bad idea. I was in a major sweat, and hot, though I could clearly feel the cold air conditioning blowing right on me. I half-played one song. The next song up was "The Clarinet Polka." I played that one, and by God, played it well. Then I totally lost it. Not five measures into the next song, I found myself I'm sorrying my way out of the band and through the crowd one more time. This time the heaving was a little more violent. There was a chair right outside the restrooms, and I sat down in it to try and get my bearings back. I must have had that dazed look on my face, because two very very nice women immediately came up to me and asked me what was wrong. One ran out to get me a cold Coke, and one sat with me, I think afraid I was going to fall over. Then a man who worked at the station came over and offered to get me something, and, well, basically, there were some really nice people manning that station Saturday. After a Coke, and a little back patting and wiping of my brow, I decided I had to try one more time to go back and finish the concert. And I did. There was only one song left, but I held on long enough to play it, feeling like a total fool by drawing the attention to myself, but wanting to complete something. Mr M took his place as designated driver and got us back to his house, where we rested and I got something on my stomach. (Which, btw, was probably what was wrong. I've been having some sinus drainage with the weather change, and all that drainage on an empty stomach was, I'd say, my undoing.) After a little rest, it was time for Mountain Lake. I was carrying my brand-new beer mug, but knowing there'd be no alcohol for me that night. I mean, I love to drink, but I'm no fool. We got there and went through the buffet line, and I tried to pick some things I thought were kind of "mild." The very lovely Kellie and her family were there, her hubby, and Ervin the Cute. It was a fairly small crowd, but a drunken and enthusiastic one. It's odd, because a drunken crowd can be fun and a drunken crowd can be a nightmare (especially when you're sober). This one was good. They were just enjoying themselves, and I've never seen a bunch of people more in love with the Chicken Dance. Even when we were playing polkas, they were all doing the Chicken Dance! The evening ended, and we started packing up things to go. I made a couple of trips out to the car with my armloads of stuff (my horn carry-bag, another bag, my mug, camera, chair cushion, and a rather cumbersome box), only to find that Mr M was elsewhere with the key. So I was walking back and forth and we finally met up and got everything tucked away and headed down the mountain. On the way home, Mr M offered to make me a hamburger, and I accepted. I asked him if he had that at home, and he said no. There was a moment of silence before I started cracking up, and he informed that yes, he did indeed plan to go into Kroger for hamburger in his lederhosen. As he was heading in, I begged him if I could take he picture perusing grocery store items in his lederhosen and he brusquely refused. For some reason I still can't fathom, while he was inside, I just started thinking about my camera, and looking around the car for it. It wasn't there. We got home and unloaded, and I went back out and checked everything I had. No camera. Now, you must understand. My little digital camera means a lot to me. Not only do I love it, not only did it have a bunch of pictures on it I really wanted, but I'm also convinced this camera was a gift from Santa. (It's a long story, but basically Santa, who plays with the Sauerkraut Band in the off-season, promised me last year he'd remember me well at Christmas and I completely unexpectedly received this camera. From parents who don't even know what a digital camera is, much less how to pick out a good one. Much less the fact I'd not mentioned to them or anyone else I even wanted one.) So I walked inside, yelled for Mr M to email the Sauerkrauts and see if anyone had by chance rescued my camera. And I sat down. And it all hit me, and I started to boo-hoo. Upon seeing the tears, Mr M walked over to me and proceeded to.....completely lambaste me and lay me out on the floor for crying over losing my camera. I didn't know it was lost, I had no business being attached to something that it would upset me that much, I was a baby, etc etc etc. He then went on to give me a lecture about how I "castatrophize" everything that happens to me (a very interesting lecture indeed, considering what was to come), and how I needed to basically get with the program, ie, be like him. All I could think was, here I spent my first SK Band day totally sober and alcohol-less, and I've puked up and lost something. Turns out Ed did rescue my camera from ending up in enemy hands, and I'm to get it back tonight. But you know what? I was upset my camera was gone. And I don't want to get with the program. # Friday, September 26, 2003 ( 5:43 PM ) EK B - The Week That Was And was it ever. Tuesday came as something of a blessing and a curse. I had to attend a meeting for TheCompanyIWorkFor. Sure, I had to get up at the crack of dawn to drive the 90 minutes to get there, and listen to approximately 3 1/2 hours of boring TheCompanyIWorkFor talk, and I was given a cold tasteless roast beef sandwich for my trouble. A sandwich which I immediately proceeded to lose from my body, because the emotional upheaval has also resulted in a gastronomical upheaval as well, and nothing's stayed with me for more than twenty minutes. However, I ended up getting the coveted 2 hour "rules and regs" credits for my Continuing Ed that morning. And I got to spend the whole day out of the office. And I also won a prize, albeit a cheap one, but at least it was very appropriate - a TheCompanyIWorkFor stress squeezie. I know in yesterday's blog I mentioned several plagues and pestilences I've had to endure this week. Little did you know that most of them happened in a single day. Wednesday was back to work for the first time this week. It wasn't too maddening busy-wise, and that was a good thing. Because I got a phone call at about 10:30. I should have known something was up, because San at the front desk said, "Elizabeth, it's for you." The only time she calls me Elizabeth is when a) I'm in trouble or b) it's something serious. So I picked up the phone and found the voice at the other end to be a lawyer. "OK, someone's being sued in an accident" was my immediate reaction. Boy, was I wrong. I was informed by the lawyer that they were calling me because an unpaid bill of mine had been turned over to their office for collection. Well, in my current emotional state, you can just imagine. My head went woozy and I almost dropped the phone. They asked me if I was a patient in the emergency room of St Luke's hospital on 12/22/02. When I told them I was indeed, they informed me that I had an outstanding bill from St Luke's for services not covered under my insurance (the never-pay policy). And since I was delinquent in this bill, it was now in - *ominous chord* - a lawyer's hands. I was flabbergasted, and on top of that, livid. I'd received not one single bill from St Luke's hospital. And in all honesty, in my health policy, surgery is a covered expense, and so many things are considered "surgery," I had happily assumed that intravenous fluids had been. Anyway, I was fumbling around, trying to tell Ms Lawyer that I had no idea I owed a hospital bill, because I certainly hadn't received one. "Well, you were sent one," Ms Lawyer replied. "It says right here, they mailed it to Number Number Number Street Name." The number and street name she read were not mine. In fact, they didn't even combine to make a valid address in this town. How was I to know they didn't have my correct address, I asked Ms Lawyer? I was basically unconscious when they took me to the hospital. Any information they got was from my family, who brought me in. If they didn't get any money from their mis-mailed bill, why the hell didn't they look up where I worked? It was on my form, I'm sure, it's one of the first questions a hospital asks! The more I explained this fact to Ms Lawyer, the less she wanted to hear it. All she wanted was to set up a schedule for making these payments. All I wanted was to discuss whether this little boo-boo on the hospital's part was going to soil my otherwise excellent credit report. Ms Lawyer didn't know. Ms Lawyer didn't care. Ms Lawyer wanted to schedule her some payments, and what I wanted was right out. I didn't want to schedule any payments. I wanted the whole thing the hell out of my life. So I picked up my treasured VISA, my paid-off VISA, the one I save for the most special purchases of my life. And I charged this fucking hospital bill on it. $894.79. Fuckity fuck. I hung up the phone and began to weep. Profusely. My life was getting to be just a little too much to handle of late. The girls in the office cut a wide swath around me, trying to be nice I'm sure, but a pat on the back and a "there there" would have certainly helped. Once all the tears were cried out I got on the phone to the hospital. "If I have to suffer through this, goddammit, someone else is going to too," I said, furiously punching phone buttons. I talked to one lady. I talked to two. I explained, I reasoned, I vented. I was actually told, "Well, when we send out a bill, we don't have time to follow up and see if you got it." I kept asking about the bill and my credit rating and got nowhere. It all ended with them promising to call me back Wednesday afternoon. They didn't. Nor Thursday. I've called twice today and still can't get anyone to talk to me. I'd take a trip up there to discuss it, but I'm afraid they'd bill me for another 900 bucks. Wednesday night I left for band practice. I made a brief stop by Mr M's afterwards and played a couple of duets, and started home. As I was backing out of my car I saw him running towards me, waving. "My God, he's come to his senses," I thought for a brief moment. Turns out he was coming out to tell me I had a headlight out. I didn't think a lot about it, since I was having my car serviced Thursday. Just one more expense to put on the pile. Round about N'town (tiny town about the half-way point on my trip), I was looking for a certain CD. Rather than drive and look and weave all over the road, I pulled into a parking lot and looked for my CD. Not finding it, I pulled back onto the road. And instantly passed a policeman parked in the next lot. He pulled out behind me and on came the lights. I knew I wasn't speeding, so I figured it was the headlight. And I was right. He asked to see my license, and I handed it over. And explained I'd just found out about the headlight and it was being fixed tomorrow, which I knew sounded like the lamest excuse in the world, but this time it happened to be true. After making me promise I was telling the truth about having it fixed, he let me go with no ticket. I thanked him kindly and crept back out onto the road. He followed me for about a block then turned to head off. And I breathed a sigh of relief. See, I had two empty airport-sized bottles of Goldschlager in the console between my seats. The week of living dangerously, to be sure. # Thursday, September 25, 2003 ( 4:55 PM ) EK B - The Line Forms Here So. I'm alive. And normal service is slowly resuming at Betland. The rides may be scarier and the calliope music creepier, but we'll get the ambiance OK in time. I'm not sure where to start, really. Since we closed our gates I could tell you about my run-in with the police, my run in with a lawyer, my run-in with a hospital, my soberly drunken first day of Sauerkraut Band season, or how I had my entire heart ripped to shreds for the second time this year. But I guess we could start at the top. I'm changing the name of my blog. I don't want podview anymore. Betland is my own little world, and that's what my blog's going to be. Hey, I figure if Jellybean can change her whole nickname and everyone's OK with it (and good for her, too!), I can change my blog name. Sunday I basically broke into a million pieces. It's one of those odd things. I knew the stomping, heel-booted foot of fate was above my head ready to strike, but it sure didn't make it any easier when he smashed me with full force. I can't go into details. I'm not allowed to. It must have been bad, though, because Sunday night I actually found myself calling in to tell the boss I wouldn't be at work on Monday. And so I took whatever drugs I had lying around I knew would make me sleep, and I slept. Monday was moping/crying/thinking day. I spent a lot of it throwing things away. I find throwing things away to be very therapeutic. I was quite arbitrary; I looked at it, and if it didn't immediately please me, into the bin. I got a lot thrown away like that, but still ended up with a pile of stuff on my sofa that I have no place to put. Maybe I'll just buy a nice presentation storage box and start stuffing. I went to the music store Monday to get a pitchpipe to try and tune my autoharp. I figured, hey, if it doesn't frustrate me to the point of suicide it might actually be a pretty good laugh. I encountered a rarity at the store - an honest person. When I explained to him what I was looking for and why, he assured me that the chromatic tuner I use for my horns would do the same trick without my purchasing something new. Nice man. In the evening I watched a movie. "Real Women Have Curves." I needed that movie. I'm generally not one for hoohah "women empowerment" movies, but this one was told with such a great story and characters it was irresistible. And there's a scene of women in their underwear in this movie that could be one of the great movie scenes I've ever witnessed. It will forever live in my mind. Oh. And laundry. Lots of laundry on Monday. Wash wash wash. And it was on to Tuesday, and yesterday, and today. And thinking. I've been doing a lot of thinking. About making major changes. About what it would be like to suddenly not have my best friend. About if I could live that way. About if I can live this way. About a lot of things. So, Betland is open, and the rides are starting to creak up to their running speeds again. But Bet herself may not be appearing around the park to shake hands and have her picture made. She's still a little reclusive. I've only collected about ¼ of my million pieces for reassembly. I'm still very sad. But I'm trying, guys. I've got some good stories to tell ahead. Bear with me. # |
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