Balls and Walnuts
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Category Archives: Thirteen Candles
Thirteen things I miss from my youth
Shaina’s angsty Thirteen made me think about all the things that were great about being young. This is no easy feat, by the way. I could write several Thirteens on what sucked about youth (Shaina, it ends eventually. I guarantee it) but thirteen good things, that’s a different story.
Let’s see how far I get.
Thirteen jobs
I think Dean did this one a while ago. But that’s okay, my jobs are different than Dean’s.
Thirteen Pets, Part 1
When old friends call, they ask about the pets. All through med school and residency, my wife and I were notorious for our critters. Never anything too exotic, mind you — I never did get that spider monkey I wanted so much as a kid (blame Curious George) — but exotic enough that our friends never forget the menagerie.
One of the neat things about a Thirteen is that it lets you see your life through a variety of lenses. I’ve done Thirteens on food, sex, crushes, dreams, patients, you name it. I’m flabbergasted that I’ve never done one on pets. Really. ‘Cuz I’m all about animals.
Another Thirteen
I could have done Thirteen Fruit Desserts. Baked apple! Rhubarb crumble! Port-poached pears!
I could have done Thirteen Hospitals. My son and I were born in the same hospital — how exciting is that?
And I could have done Thirteen Coins. Thrill to the story of the controversial 1878 Trade Dollar — Liberty on a Commode!
I could have done any one of those Thirteens. But would it have been fun?
Naaaah. Instead, I chose . . .
Cosmo Thirteen: the Va-jay-jay Edition
There was a time when guys treated women with respect. We might sneak a peak at their bazongas, but we didn’t stare at ’em for more than a few minutes, and we would never call ’em hooters or milk wagons or love jugs. And we didn’t call women slags or skanks or sluts, and we didn’t refer to their Holy of Holies as a kebab or a quim or a bearded clam.
Or, God forbid, a va-jay-jay.
No, we called it by its proper name, pussy.
Pussy shows proper respect to a beautiful, wondrous organ. Think about it. A pussy is cute! furry! friendly! Men like to pet, stroke, and cuddle with pussies. (Many women do, too.) You wouldn’t hesitate to bring a pussy home to Mom.
I’m not sure what a va-jay-jay is, but I suspect it stays out too late clubbing, smokes and drinks to excess, has no interest whatsoever in short, bald hobbits, and probably associates with an overabundance of wa-wieners.
In this issue: Rihanna shows off her yellow Versace . . . women in danger . . . five things never to tell your guy . . . and guys masturbate (no, really?)
Thirteen toppings for pasta
I’m going to put in a plug for homemade pasta. Is it a pain in the ass? No. (Pain in the hand, actually, since you have to do a bit of kneading.) Does it require special equipment? No. (But you’d have to be a bit nuts to try to do this with a rolling pin!) Does it taste better than store-bought? YES! Better even than “fresh” store-bought.
If you’re stuck with store-bought pasta, my favorite brand is De Cecco.
And now, Thirteen toppings for pasta.
Thirteen Valentines to Audrey Hepburn
Only number three on American Film Institute’s top 25 actresses? How dare they!
1. My Fair Lady. See, this is what I love about homeschooling. My explanation of iambic pentameter led to “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain,” which led to a discussion of the myth of Pygmalion, George Bernard’s play based on Pygmalion, and finally, this video. Jake seemed to find it hilarious. And, truly, there is something very funny about an old-fashioned Hollywood musical. If you’re not used to seeing actors and actresses break out into song, the effect is electric. As in, What the hell . . . ?
2. Sabrina. Here’s Audrey singing “La Vie en Rose” to Humphrey Bogart. (Karen says she lip-synched the singing for My Fair Lady. I don’t know if this is really Audrey singing, or not.) One enduring testimony to Bogart’s greatness is the fact he looks so much older, so much more tired, so much more used than Audrey Hepburn here, and yet he still works as a romantic lead. That’s because Bogart is Bogart. People sometimes forget that about stars: they’ve become far more than their physical selves. Part of the star’s soul is up there on the screen for all to behold, for all to share.
It’s true of Bogart, and it’s true of Audrey Hepburn.
3. Funny Face. Fred Astaire, he’s another one. If you had never seen him dance, what would he be? Some goofy-looking guy, that’s what. None of Astaire’s dancing in this clip, but Audrey’s really singing here (“How Long Has This Been Going On.”)
4. Breakfast at Tiffany’s — the ending. I’ll ruin it for you. In what has to be one of cinema history’s crassest uses of symbolism, Holly Golightly sets her pussy free, then decides her pussy would be happier as a kept item.
And could George Peppard look any more GQ?
The Last Thirteen Books
In tonight’s debate, I heard Senator Obama say, “. . . the white thing to do.” Meant to say “right,” came out “white.” Okay, the R/W thing is a common enough lingual slip. But what about when Chuck Todd (on Countdown tonight) said “Hitlery” when he meant to say “Hillary”? Come on — you don’t just accidentally slip Ts into your words.
Weird.
For tonight: here’s a brief look at the last thirteen books I’ve read. (No romance here. What’s up with that?)