Shiny Things – Page 10 – Diary of Ann Franks

PLANES, TRAINS AND WELSH HOOCHIES

Published on September 23, 2011October 2, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks4 Comments

We have arrived! Hello, Cardiff!

Most of the plane awakened around 5:30 AM in preparation for landing at 6:30. Sandy and I stumbled off and somehow made our way through customs without incident. We then found the Heathrow Express (not to be confused with the Hogwarts Express) and arrived at Paddington Station. There, we began our vacation officially with a delicious traditional pasty. (Beef, potato, onion and swede, a.k.a. turnip, in a yummy, flaky crust.)

Afterward, we wandered over to Plat 9 to board the Swansea train that would take us to Cardiff. At this point, I was operating on 3 hours sleep and Sandy had just a little more. We were foggy, disoriented, and worried about being where we are supposed to be. At the same time, we felt pretty pleased that no major catastrophes had occurred. We had our luggage, our limbs, and a pasty and chips under our belts. For our introduction to Paddington, click here:

Sandy and Ann at the station.

Here we are on the train. You know that statement about being so tired your eyes are crossing? That was really happening if I sat still for more than a minute. So we had to amuse ourselves with more photos.

We DID end up with the best cabby ever and arrived at our hotel to see a lovely room waiting for us. It looks like this. Ignore that it appears to be one large bed. It is, in fact, two beds we are rolling apart lest we kick each other to death as we run after trains in our sleep.

We went to a nice dinner this evening, but noticed something strange. There appeared to be a hooker convention in town. Young women teetering around in high heels on cobblestone streets, yanking at the hems of their “dresses” so as to keep their most private parts covered. Barely. The concierge informed us the young ladies are in fact “Freshers” beginning school at Cardiff University. Apparently the first few weeks are taken up with sowing a few wild oats. Rest assured we will deliver some of these fashion disasters to you tomorrow.

Now, we are going to bed. Say goodnight, Sandy.

Good night all!

THERE’S NO WALES WITHOUT A LITTLE PAIN

Published on September 23, 2011October 2, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks3 Comments

I am writing this at 3:00 AM. I’d like to say to those who told me international flights have more room – even in coach, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

As we rocket across the “pond” I am reminded of…camping. My ex husband, God rest his soul, loved camping. And I was young enough and dumb enough to go along. (He’s not dead, by the way, but I always wanted to kill him after our camping trips, and it’s 3:00 AM. And I’m loopy.)

Anyway, we’d go camping and I’d lie there trying to sleep, feelinG some stray rock lodged right under my shoulder-blade. I’d toss and turn, praying for dawn when we could get the “duck” out of there.

After what seemed like eons of torture, I would open my eyes and think, SURELY, SURELY, at least 4 hours have passed, but NO. I had slept twenty minutes. 20. Minutes. I’d say to myself, “Gee, only 7 more hours of this hell to go.” And “Maybe a divorce really isn’t that terrible a thing…”

That’s what this is like. My knees are smashed into the seat in front of me. I have slept twice, twisted sideways and contorted into a position I dare Cirque du Soleil to match, and awakened both times to neck pain.

I am pleased with the As Seen On TV travel pillow, though. Without it, I think I would be a very unhappy camper. (Hubby got one out of two right. Pajama Jeans-no. Crazy round donut of a travel pillow-yes.)

I know Wales is going to be a blast. I just hope I can keep my eyes open to enjoy it. Not sure what to do for next 3 hours of flight. I already had 2 glasses of wine and half a Valium. If I DO manage to sleep, I’d like to be able to wake up and be functional. Eventually.

Hopefully, all my tossing and turning hasn’t disturbed Sandy. She’s managed to create a nest in the corner against the window. She looks so peaceful.

I hate her. But I’ll get over it.

At least one of us will be sharp enough to negotiate our way to Paddington station. Sandy promises me a shop there with bacon and cheese pasties. I can overcome my jealousy of her sleep skills – and pretty much wipe away this whole 9 hour torture fest – if there’s bacon and cheese involved.

Not sure when I will be able to post this, as wi-fi availability is undetermined as of yet. I’m sure by the time you are reading this, I will be in a much happier place, both mentally and physically. But at this point, as I complete this post, I know you people are sleeping too, and I hate you all.

Love,
Ann

WALES WARNINGS

Published on September 21, 2011October 2, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks3 Comments

Exciting news! No, I’m not in Wales yet. I leave Thursday evening, so I am still in frantic prep mode, without any real justification for panic. As my traveling companion pointed out, we are going to a destination that DOES HAVE stores. If we forget something, we simply purchase it.

This is why traveling with Sandy is going to be such a pleasant experience. She can be so REASONABLE and patient. It’s almost like traveling with my hubby, except it’s not at all like that. For instance, when traveling with Sandy, if we get lost or even THINK we MIGHT be getting lost, we will slow down, or stop to regroup. We will do this while maintaining calm breathing and a dignified demeanor so as to not let everyone around us know we are on the verge of hysteria. In fact, the quieter and calmer we get, the more worried we are.

When traveling with hubby, if we think we are lost, our speed tends to increase, as does his tone of voice and the volume of the car stereo. It’s like a bad sound track to a nervous breakdown.

Side note while we’re on the hubby topic: Hubby actually suggested I purchase pajama jeans to wear on the plane. I looked at him in horror, as though he had suggested I wear blackface and a tutu while juggling kittens. Seriously? I wouldn’t wear such things INSIDE my home, much less risk being seen in them. In public. If I’m in a fiery plane crash and paramedics are deciding who to save, I don’t want them seeing PAJAMA JEANS and deciding, “We’re doing her a favor. Let her go.”

Anyway, I have buried the lead. Exciting news! (She repeats, aware that she is indeed losing her mind.) Chances are quite good that Sandy and I will be able to post videos to this blog during our travels. We are thinking of doing a Welch word of the day – perhaps with guest instructors. There is also a strong possibility of some ruins making an appearance, a castle or two and some lovely scenery. Oh, and Sandy is well-known amongst a select group for photographing her food while on vacation, so you’ll be seeing a variation on fish & chips, no doubt. And the Cheese Festival has serious potential for entertaining videos. After all, THERE’S CHEESE TOSSING!

So, as I prepare to go radio silent as I finalize my travel details, I leave you with some interesting tidbits I found while researching travel tips for Wales:

If I am requesting 2 of something, such as signaling for 2 pints, or 2 ciders, I need to use my thumb and index finger, rather than making the “V” with the index and middle finger, which is the equivalent of flipping someone off. Although I CAN do that (make the “V” sign – not flip someone off) if I make sure my palm is facing the bartender I am signaling.

I like this one best: “Avoid offering money unless the change is handed over on a small tray. Instead, when you pay, ask the server to ‘have one for yourself’ or ‘get a drink on me.’ They will add the price of a drink but may take the money instead of the drink. Do this with your first order and you will get noticed sooner next time you go to the bar. Further tipping is generally not needed, though it is well received if you make the offer of a drink on your last purchase of the evening.”

I can only assume most bartenders in Wales are pretty plastered by the end of the evening. Oops, not “plastered,” “pissed.”

Also, (and I had heard this before) tennis shoes (trainers) are not so popular. In fact, the website says you’ll often see “no trainers” listed in the dress code of clubs. Personally, I think they should exclude personal trainers as well. Those people who don’t let you have any fun, or eat or drink anything yummy.

Oh, and a friend recently in Wales advises to watch for cars when crossing the street. Apparently, we Americans look the wrong way and tend to get squished on occasion.

Alright. That’s it for me (I think) until we reach Cardiff. Pray to the gods of the navigationally challenged on my behalf, and send up prayers of support for Sandy, the person in charge of me for 9 whole days.

WALES AND WHINE

Published on September 7, 2011October 2, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks9 Comments

This is going to be a quick post because I am way too busy freaking out on multiple levels to spend a lot of time analyzing my thoughts. As far as I can tell, my current thoughts sound something like this, “Aaaauuurrghghhhghhhh!!”

Here’s why:

1. I have a great job that I love most of the time, but right now I need it to slow down so I can THINK, or take a few moments out of the day to make an appointment to have something done (like a doctor’s appointment, hair, pedi, etc.) before I leave town in 15 days. Leaving my desk for lunch would be awesome, and maybe managing to get away from the computer long enough to pee would be even better. (Sorry, Mom, I mean “Powder my nose.”) If new requests would just STOP coming in on an hourly basis, I might actually dance with relief.

Due to this overabundance of work, I am getting annoyed with the people who keep presenting me with more. Really really annoyed. So annoyed I’m thinking of printing this sign and hanging it at my desk, or using it as my screen saver:

I can hear the response now. “You don’t LOOK calm. And your left eyelid is twitching. Oh, and I need this tomorrow.”

2. I get to go on an amazing trip to Wales in 15 DAYS. That gives me two more weekends to gather what I need and get mentally prepared.

Ready for the part where I start hyperventilating? I’m freaking about credit cards and something about a chip & pin versus magnetic strips and the potential to get some sort of pre-loaded Master Card, and all this stuff that sounds really complicated to my brain, which automatically shuts itself down like a blown breaker every time financial transactions, exchange rates, or foreign currency in general are mentioned. I just want to be able to hand a card to someone and have them take my money. This apparently CAN happen, but I also have to notify everyone (the bank) that I am leaving town and will be using it somewhere else, etc.

I’m sure this will end up being no big deal at all, but for some reason it completely FREAKS ME OUT. What if I get there and my card doesn’t work? What if I can’t buy any cheese at the cheese festival? Should I just take cash? Euros? Shiny beads? Valium?

I got so crazy about it this weekend – with hubby flashing 3 different credit cards at me I never knew we had and telling me to go online and open electronic accounts blah blah blah…login blah blah blah… verify blah blah blah… that at some point I went in my closet and kicked a box.

Confession: I am not the most mature person on the planet. (This is where you politely plaster a surprised look on your face.)

Luckily for the rest of the planet, when frustrated beyond words I rarely strike out against anyone but myself. (At least physically.) In fact, I’m lucky I am not in a cast now, as I had no idea what was in the box I attacked. Chances are pretty good that it could have been a stash of books). I DID limp around for a few hours afterward with some tingling in my toes and a tendon that seemed to be a bit annoyed with me. I know all of this is completely over the top and I will have plenty of time to get everything done and it won’t be the end of the world if I don’t. It’s going to be an amazing adventure. If I don’t have a stroke before we even get to the airport.

Sandy, (beat the rush and start pitying her now for selecting me as her traveling companion) – when I get like this on the trip, we’ll need a cue so you can signal me that I’m losing it. Just say something like, “OMG! There’s cheese tossing!” and I promise to shut up and take a deep breath.

After I kick something. (With my adorable new boots I bought last weekend for the trip!!)

Plus, just in case, I am packing this. Use it at your discretion.

READ IT AND WEEP

Published on August 30, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks9 Comments

This #LetsBlogOff topic is really a toughy: What’s the best book you ever read?

I read every night, much to my husband’s frustration. If it’s a particularly good book, I can sit out on the patio all evening and not realize it’s past bedtime. Our main issue regarding my reading habit is that I rarely want to get rid of the books I’ve finished. I just don’t feel at home if I’m not surrounded by bookshelves overflowing with some of my favorite people and places. Some are classics, and some are what could only be referred to as scandalous trash. (Hey, you can’t have steak every meal. Sometimes you need a little junk food.) My sister-in-law refers to these as H.A.B. books. (Heaving alabaster breast books.)

But, what is my FAVORITE? It depends on my mood, the time of year, my level of sentimentality – which may or may not be tied to the amount of wine I have consumed that evening – and what is going on in my life at that particular moment.

Generally, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I pick up John Irving’s “A Prayer for Owen Meany.” Maybe it’s the annual reenactment of the nativity scene that makes it feel like a holiday book. And the descriptions! Irving can set a tone with one sentence that thaws my cold, wintry soul.

Each year my husband asks, “Are you reading that AGAIN?” Yes, I’m reading it again. How can I not? Listen to this: “I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice—not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother’s death, but because he is the reason I believe in God…”

Now, that’s a great beginning.

In the summer I pick up Pride and Prejudice. (I’m sure that has something to do with Darcy and that dip in the pond.) As the weather begins to turn cooler, it’s Jane Eyre. Right now, I am making the transition from The Help (which will effortlessly fall into the ranks of favorites) to South of Broad, which is making me weep each evening. Translation: REALLY good.

You know I love a book when I am sitting there spilling tears all over the pages and sniffling a lot. Again, my husband doesn’t completely get this. He also doesn’t get my irresistible urge to read aloud to him when I come across a particularly descriptive/moving/perfect paragraph.

Perhaps I don’t have a favorite book; I have a favorite FEELING about books. It’s when I realize the number of pages remaining is dwindling and I don’t want the book to end. I want to keep hanging out with my “friends.”

Reading is something I couldn’t live without. Like oxygen. Or pizza. So I will continue to stash books in closets and cabinets, keeping them out of sight of my husband and his strict “no paperback left behind” policy. If only he would concern himself less with my collection of books and more with his collection of socks without mates.

To read more Let’sBlogOff contributors, click HERE.

WALES WATCHING

Published on August 27, 2011October 2, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks7 Comments

It’s time to prepare myself. I am actually leaving the country. And amazingly, it’s not because of the impending elections of 2012 and my inability to comprehend how on earth ANY of those people can be for real. I believe our political system has been hijacked by a BRAVO TV series, and the whole thing is just an experiment to see what it takes for us all to pack up and move to Canada.

But I digress. The point is, I am flying to Wales in a month, where I will spend approximately 8 days touring every nook and cranny possible. Then, I fully intend to find Excalibur and become the ruler of Great Britain. Just so you know

I am only concerned about one thing, or maybe a million. It’s hard to tell. First of all, I am not a good traveler as far as planes go. I don’t fear them falling out of the sky or a crack ripping open and sucking me out into oblivion, or even an engine imploding and basically eating itself, resulting in a noise that makes all the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my stomach drop like a stone as I realize death is the only thing that can occur after a noise like that at 30,000 feet. (Okay, that actually happened to me once, but it turned out there was an alternative to death that involved an emergency landing in Memphis.)

No, none of that worries me at all. What does worry me is sitting for 9 hours in a plane, which probably means at some point I will have to use that tiny airplane bathroom (ick). Also, despite traveling with one of the most intelligent and entertaining people I know, I will either have to sleep or entertain myself for much of that 9 hours.

I don’t like sleeping on planes. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the fear of people watching me as my mouth droops open and I begin snoring like a feral hog. (Very unladylike.) Maybe it’s because I want to be awake if something terrible happens that requires my assistance and quick thinking. (Let’s face it, the only emergency I could really help with would be the mixing of a superior martini, or opening a bottle of wine without a corkscrew.)

I am very excited about actually BEING in Wales. I have never been out of the country before – other than a trip to Mexico, which doesn’t count. And I am really extra excited because there’s a small chance I may be able to understand one word out of every ten or so spoken. I have also been assured by my traveling companion that the Welsh are NICE. Really, really nice. Plus, the best thing EVER. There is a cheese festival occurring at Cardiff Castle on one of our first few days.

I get very excited about cheese. Unnaturally so.

I am NOT excited about shopping for the trip or packing, and I’m sure I’ll have some other travel concerns pop up over the next few weeks, but for now, I am going to go purchase some Breathe Right strips and practice sleeping attractively.

THERE’S NEVER ENOUGH KLEENEX WHEN YOU NEED IT: THE HELP

Published on August 20, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks2 Comments

Like apparently almost everyone else in the world I read The Help, and raced to see the movie last weekend. My friends, Max and Tony, had already been treated to a preview showing two weeks before the opening and were raving about it – actually to the point I was afraid my expectations were going to be too high.

They weren’t.

What can I say? I sat in the theater trying to make my three measly Kleenexes make it to the end of the film. Frankly, it’s more of a 4 or 5 hanky picture.

Afterward, we quoted lines to each other and recalled our favorite moments. (Okay, we basically reenacted the entire film.) Something about this story STRIKES HOME. We love it. We love the characters. We love the sets, the costumes, the accents, and the one liners. We love that it hurts our hearts as we watch the carelessness of people – (Hilly, especially.) We shake our heads in disgust. We cry. And cry some more because we cannot fully comprehend the mentality that existed at that point in history. (And horrifyingly, still does in some cases.)

Aside from the huge, huge, obvious issue of race are additional issues of equality (not only racial, but social), loyalty, decency and friendship (and its limits). Those issues define us as human beings, regardless of color.

Now, I have absolutely no way of knowing what it feels like to be discriminated against because of the color of my skin. I can’t come close to imagining that reality. The closest thing I can even personally draw from was an experience in middle school. I attended an elite, yet public school in Dallas. I was not of the same social class (spoiled brat) as the majority of students. I had not one friend. People made fun of me. I was mocked. I was kicked.

I don’t remember a lot of detail about that year, but one thing I do recall was a school dance. I told a classmate, Alice, that my mother and I would give her a ride to the dance. Alice was THE ONLY black child in the middle school. I knew her from sharing the same “excluded” lunch table together.

Alice was the daughter of a Park Cities maid who lived in a house behind the “main” house. Earlier that day someone commented, “You complain because you don’t fit in and yet you offer a ride to a maid’s daughter. This is not going to help your case.”

I don’t think I was particularly worried about making a political statement at the time, but shrugging, “Well, it can’t get any worse,” was not exactly a courageous stand.

I regret that.

I have no idea what happened to Alice after that evening. I suppose I should make up some sort of better ending, but that’s the truth. I know we didn’t hang out together or become best friends. Maybe we thought the two of us together made a bigger target, so chose to avoid that.

The finer points made by The Help can be applied to bullies and bigots alike – not to mention those who stand on the sidelines, unwilling to lose popularity points. We ask ourselves – who’s worse? The instigator, or the one who’s too weak-minded, or weak-willed to take a stand?

Anyone who has been made to feel unimportant, worthless, or unaccepted for ANY reason knows what it’s like to have a metaphorical door closed in your face. Lost. Alone. Forsaken. The Help will put all that in perspective for you.

So, why do we love it so? Weeping our eyes out and cringing at the heartless Hilly?

Maybe because we’ve all known a Hilly – or been one.

And we all love thinking things will change, and we can change them.

That’s what people call, “hope,” isn’t it?

IT’S ALL RELATIVE

Published on August 13, 2011August 13, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks6 Comments

Family Reunion Summary – Gulf Shores, AL and surrounding area: Arrived Saturday evening and was picked up at the airport by my husband. We stopped at what was referred to as a “liquor store,” but was in fact more of a dust store that happened to have some bottles of booze in it. We bought the few names we recognized and headed next door to what was termed a “grocery store,” but was really more of a “cluster *.” It looked like an episode of Hoarders had exploded. While it did have a better selection of wines than the liquor store, every time I touched a package of food (cereal, chips, crackers, lunch meat) I had an irresistible urge to 1 – check the expiration date to see if it read 1989, and 2 – take a shower. I did pick up a great pair of flip-flops for the beach while there. (“Great” being defined as “they sort of fit and would keep me from burning my feet on hot sand/pavement.”) They were the first reunion casualty after just one day. Not a great loss to fashion history, but sad nonetheless.

The weird thing about arriving at a vacation destination after dark was that aside from the resort itself, which looked like this…

…I had no idea what to expect view-wise until morning, when I saw this:

Very nice. Beachy. Chairs, umbrellas, the potential for vacation drinks… all good. Then I saw the painting in our room for the first time. As usual, Max had the perfect description: “It’s a monkey in Chinese drag!”

We found him to be a bit unnerving, though festive.

The advent and adoption of many of Hubby’s relatives to Facebook meant for the first time, there was a GROUP where we could all communicate and share photos.

This new development startled me a bit as I received a couple of friend requests from under 16-year-old “first cousins once removed.” I hesitantly accepted said requests, both honored and alarmed. My first thought was, “Well, I can’t work blue on FB anymore. Twitter is all that’s left.” However, I realized I don’t work blue on either. I just like to think I do. Apparently my inner voice and outer voice remain separate.

The usual family traditions remained, including the annual Guys Visit to Hooters. As each young man approaches 16, he is invited to join the Hooters patrol. This is apparently a great honor, as I suppose men don’t see as much cleavage in Alabama and Tennessee as one does in Dallas, where you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting some newly purchased “water floatation devices” on display at restaurants, basketball games, PTA meetings and church bazaars. My husband actually DECLINED the invitation saying it was a long way to drive (20 minutes) for not much reward. Yes, Hubby is a Hooters snob. I, for one, am certain this lovely young lady is saving her money for law school and reads to the blind on weekends.

So, aside from a couple of jellyfish incidents, and an attack of some sort of seaweed forest on the last couple of days at the beach, all went well. We even took another of our famous Gerber Family Reunion photos. These require more coordination and anguish by some than can possibly be justified. However, it does prove the sayings that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and birds of a feather DO flock together…

Cheers to another successful family reunion. Raise your “Wine Woozie” in celebration.

These are my kind of people.

FEEDING FRENZY

Published on July 29, 2011May 6, 2012 by Diary of Ann FranksLeave a comment

There is a plot afoot to starve me to death. I can tell because usually, we HAVE food in the house. Typically, the only issue is that I get a handful of chips or crackers or what-have-you and the rest gets sucked into the gaping maws of Hubby and his partner in crime – Austin – the minute I leave the house.

But this is different. Hubby has NOT gone to the store AT ALL. In at least a week. I’ve decided it must be some sort of last-ditch diet effort before we go to the beachy family reunion. The problem is, the lack of sustenance is making me a very dangerous human being. (Forget beachy, I’m leaning way more toward bitchy.)

Yesterday for breakfast, I had a trail mix bar that had been in the bottom of my purse for 2 months. For lunch, Hubby sent me to work with a Lean Cuisine. Chicken. It had the consistency of…let’s just say…NOT chicken. I popped a Valium and an anti-inflammatory just to get something on my stomach.

I SHOULD have had a good breakfast this morning. My co-workers and I take turns on Friday – as a little motivational treat. Usually, it’s some variety of breakfast tacos (from different origins). Thanks to the Jenny Craig Circle of Hell at home, I was a bit obsessed with the idea of food this morning. So what happens when I throw my stuff down at my desk and race over to where my co-worker has deposited his loot? I find the smallest damn breakfast tacos I have ever seen. One for each of us. One.

After inhaling the “teaser” tacos we pondered voting our inferior breakfast supplier out of our little club. Sure, it will be painful for him at first, but it may just save his life. You do NOT want to deal with four hungry (possibly hung over) women, one of whom is already undergoing a war of attrition on the home front.

So now, I am hunkered down at my desk with room temperature venison sausage and a handful of crackers that somehow escaped the cupboard embargo. Things are not looking hopeful for the afternoon.

We ARE, however, sporting a new motto in the marketing department:

Don’t mess with breakfast.

V IS FOR VICTORY. AND VALIUM.

Published on July 27, 2011July 27, 2011 by Diary of Ann Franks2 Comments

I have a pain in my neck. A big, giant pain. This is not a set up for a husband/children/job joke. It’s really just the fault of IDIOT drivers talking or texting on cell phones who insist on ramming me from behind while I innocently sit at stop lights minding my own business and NOT TEXTING. This has happened at least three times and caused some sort of arthritic/degenerative blah-blah to my neck that in layman’s terms means my neck is totally jacked up on occassion.

So, recently, after a serious error in judgment in which I decided to bungee jump…(Just kidding. I would PREFER that story to what I am about to confess.) After a serious error in judgment in which I… slept on a different pillow than I normally would, I have been in what can only be referred to as the kind of pain and discomfort one would feel being forced to witness Janet Reno’s OB/GYN exam.

And yes, the fact that I am capable of hurting myself while sleeping is probably not wholly unexpected by those who know me best. This even beats the Great Tendon Ripping Event of 1990 which occurred as I walked along and slightly rolled my foot off the edge of the sidewalk, resulting in the application of a cast for several weeks until I ripped it off with a screwdriver. (Side note: I think a different kind of screwdriver may have been responsible for my unsteadiness on the sidewalk to begin with.)

The point of all this rambling is that I am on some sort of cocktail of drugs (under a doctor’s supervision) that involves my carrying a bag around with pain-killer, Valium, steroids, anti-inflammatory, and some sort of nerve medication to prevent seizures. I’m not quite clear how that got in the mix, but I don’t like to pry.

The good news is, I am definitely feeling better and can actually move my neck (head?) without turning my whole body from the waist. The bad news is, my mother (who called from out-of-town yesterday) practically had apoplexy when I went into my medication recital and declared I was going to end up like Shelly Winters.

Shelley Winters?? Like from the Poseidon Adventure?? That’s the best she can do? That IS bad news. I told her I preferred my friend Max’s comparison to Judy Garland and asked that she please refer to me as such in future telecommunication.