My grandmother was a member of the DAR, my mother was in the League of Women Voters and the NAACP. And even today, one of my nearest and dearest looks to be a future president of the Hollistan Garden Club, while another, for her sins, is on the board of a historic trust. I am not a joiner.
I do, however, belong to a very exclusive Club. Housed in a townhouse on the East Side of Manhattan, my Club has a library of rare books, members of rare distinction (Sir Edmund Hillary) and a stuffed grizzly bear rampant on the second floor landing. Though a pale imitation of the Royal Geographic Club (I've never been), the Explorers Club is the closest thing to a stuffy British scene I know of on this side of the pond.
I suppose I joined out of vanity—because it was there, and I could. I had to be nominated by two members and write reams of self-justifications and attach lists of publications etc. I rationalized that I would find stories and meet people at the club and be able to go on fabulous expeditions.
Thing is, I never go to my Club. In the ten years since I joined, I have been to two annual dinners and one reception—all in that first halcyon year. None of the lectures, slide shows, convivial evenings or banquets for which I continually receive invitations can impel me to slog through the underbrush of Central Park to the East Side.
And every December, when it's time to re-up, I have to realize this. Especially now that my expense account no longer covers the $400 annual membership fee nor the additional fees charged for each and every event. I have rationalized that I get a great deal to rent the venue for a party in case, say, my daughter gets married. But my daughter is getting married and she has not selected that venue. Or maybe, I tell myself, I will turn into an old fart who likes to walk to the Club every day and pretend to have business there so as to snooze in front of the fireplace with a newspaper spread over my face. I find I'm not quite ready to be a buffer yet.
But the Club was so hard to get into!
And so I sit, the envelope in front of me, trying to decide: Do I pay up for another year of nonattendance or not?
Why I can't stop: Exploration of the Far Side
11.30.2005
11.27.2005
11.25.2005
11.23.2005
11.22.2005
11.18.2005
11.17.2005
11.15.2005
housecheck
Closing up a summer residence is a process. It involves sweeping, moving outdoor furniture indoors, mothballs, cleaning refrigerators, packing things away in plastic bags, finding a spot for the lawnmower, dealing with bicycles and other sporting equipment, secreting keys so that plumbers can drain water and trying to figure out what to do with five bottles of ketchup.
Today I will do these things at my house and check to make sure that they have been done at the competition, The House of Hat.
Why I can't stop: Having a summer place is such a burden.
Today I will do these things at my house and check to make sure that they have been done at the competition, The House of Hat.
Why I can't stop: Having a summer place is such a burden.
11.14.2005
11.12.2005
drydocked
The boats are out of the water, I'm about out of vitamins and coffee. Time to put the hardboilers in the truck and get on the ferry.
Why I can't stop: Do I bring chairs for Thanksgiving dinner?
11.11.2005
integrated addictions
Morning coffee is really boring.
So is beer.
And conversation.
Almost two weeks worth of newspapers are stacked up.
Why I can't stop: Life is pale
So is beer.
And conversation.
Almost two weeks worth of newspapers are stacked up.
Why I can't stop: Life is pale
11.10.2005
the mens
So one of my friends was very annoyed with my post yesterday. She said men were like preschoolers with hard-ons—now there's an image to conjure with. Another friend was complaining that men don't want to talk about things. And yet another was bemoaning the fact that they all dump you and run off with the babysitter.
I think the mens are pretty much at their wit's end. The womens keep wanting them to be what they're not (ie faithful, employed, helpful around the house, touchy-feely). And consider this: two-thirds of divorces are initiated by the womens.
Why I can't stop: We had the sex-specific traits backwards all those years
I think the mens are pretty much at their wit's end. The womens keep wanting them to be what they're not (ie faithful, employed, helpful around the house, touchy-feely). And consider this: two-thirds of divorces are initiated by the womens.
Why I can't stop: We had the sex-specific traits backwards all those years
11.09.2005
devolution
"So what do you think," I asked He-Whom-I-Consult-About-All-Things (for he is wiser by far than I, also taller, stronger, better at crossword puzzles and with a much bigger penis). "Is the world really going totally to shit or are we just getting older and noticing it more?"
"This is a particularly bad cycle," said He-W-I-C-A-A-T.
Why I can't stop: I was right.
"This is a particularly bad cycle," said He-W-I-C-A-A-T.
Why I can't stop: I was right.
11.08.2005
one week in
After a week as a nonsmoker, I'm here to tell you I have time on my hands. More time to fidget, more time to fuss, more time to snack—just plain more time. I can't concentrate very well, but that will pass. Meanwhile I'll just be the ADD version of myself. Start something, forget what I'm doing, start something else, lose track of that, go off on a tangent, recollect the first thing.
Why I can't stop: I can't remember.
Why I can't stop: I can't remember.
11.07.2005
nice town department
GREENSBURG, Pa. (AP) - A Westmoreland County jury on Friday ordered a woman to pay $46,200 to her ex-boyfriend for gluing his genitals to his abdomen. Jurors found in favor of Kenneth Slaby of Pittsburgh in his civil case against Gail O'Toole of Murrysville after three days of testimony and ordered the payment for pain, suffering and emotional distress.
Slaby's lawsuit said the two broke up in 1999 after dating for 10 months, and he began dating someone else. After he broke up with his other girlfriend, Slaby said, O'Toole invited him over to her home on May 7, 2000, where he fell asleep. He said he woke up to find that O'Toole had used Super Glue to stick his genitals to his abdomen, glued his buttocks together and spelled out a profanity on his back in nail polish.
Slaby said O'Toole told him that her actions were payback for their breakup, and he had to walk a mile to a gas station to call for help.
Why I can't stop: The perils of taking a lover in Pittsburgh
Slaby's lawsuit said the two broke up in 1999 after dating for 10 months, and he began dating someone else. After he broke up with his other girlfriend, Slaby said, O'Toole invited him over to her home on May 7, 2000, where he fell asleep. He said he woke up to find that O'Toole had used Super Glue to stick his genitals to his abdomen, glued his buttocks together and spelled out a profanity on his back in nail polish.
Slaby said O'Toole told him that her actions were payback for their breakup, and he had to walk a mile to a gas station to call for help.
Why I can't stop: The perils of taking a lover in Pittsburgh
11.06.2005
11.05.2005
hermitage
Day 5: It's OK in isolation, 15 miles off the coast, seeing few humans.
Why I can't stop: How when I return to the wide world?
11.04.2005
odd assortment
"So who else is coming to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Um, let me see." Calculations on the fingers. Figures not a forte. "I'm getting eighteen—unless my friends from France come, in which case it's twenty-two."
Every year I say I'm going to have a smaller affair, one for which I don't have to borrow chairs from all the neighbors and one for which I will have enough silverware
OK, let's break it down a little further, assuming 18, for the moment.
Age range: 1 to 65
Teenagers: 1
Children: 4
Men: 5
Women: 8
Sets of twins: 1
Naturalized Americans: 2
Unmarried: 7
Blond: 7
People of color: 0 (unless you count Chinese or Latino)
Couples: 3
Nondrinkers of legal age: 4
Smokers: 3
Why I can't stop: I will have to keep counting
"Um, let me see." Calculations on the fingers. Figures not a forte. "I'm getting eighteen—unless my friends from France come, in which case it's twenty-two."
Every year I say I'm going to have a smaller affair, one for which I don't have to borrow chairs from all the neighbors and one for which I will have enough silverware
OK, let's break it down a little further, assuming 18, for the moment.
Age range: 1 to 65
Teenagers: 1
Children: 4
Men: 5
Women: 8
Sets of twins: 1
Naturalized Americans: 2
Unmarried: 7
Blond: 7
People of color: 0 (unless you count Chinese or Latino)
Couples: 3
Nondrinkers of legal age: 4
Smokers: 3
Why I can't stop: I will have to keep counting
11.03.2005
11.02.2005
11.01.2005
night of the dead
It was midnight on Halloween, known by the Wiccans as Samhain, or New Year's Eve. I killed them by fire, I killed them by earth, I killed them by water.
Or, in normaltalk, I tried to burn up the rest of my cigarettes but even with a bunch of wooden matches stuffed in they wouldn't burn (what IS that chemical?). So then I stomped on them. And then I was afraid they might still be burning so I poured water on them. Then I threw them in the trash. The ocean might have been more romantic for me ("and then I cast them into the waves, as a stone weighing down my life"), but probably not for the ocean itself, which has enough trash floating around in it already.
It hasn't been too tough to quit since, because I've been asleep. Happy Day of the Dead.
Why I can't stop: I will always be a smoker.
Or, in normaltalk, I tried to burn up the rest of my cigarettes but even with a bunch of wooden matches stuffed in they wouldn't burn (what IS that chemical?). So then I stomped on them. And then I was afraid they might still be burning so I poured water on them. Then I threw them in the trash. The ocean might have been more romantic for me ("and then I cast them into the waves, as a stone weighing down my life"), but probably not for the ocean itself, which has enough trash floating around in it already.
It hasn't been too tough to quit since, because I've been asleep. Happy Day of the Dead.
Why I can't stop: I will always be a smoker.
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