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There is supposed to be a picture of Tom Brady here, but I can't quite negotiate the laptop I am on here in my undisclosed location.



Sean McDonough on NESN used to say when he interviewed sports stars, "we're running out of superlatives." That's the challenge when it comes to describing Tommy Boy. Is there any mountain he isn't king of? I'm certainly in thrall.



I do think I could beat him in table hockey, though. I am awesome at that. If he's interested in a little match, it could be arranged, know what I'm saying? Giselle could come along too and hopefully the water would work and she could stay upstairs and flush all she wanted.



Notes from the game:



It was fun to see the official imitating Randy Moss's dance. It's too bad there can't be penalties on the refs. YOU'RE OUTTA HERE, BUDDY. THAT WAS THE WORST MOVE EVER SEEN.

I usually dislike Bryant Gumbel, but last night I kind of felt sorry for him. He gets the Most Times Using the Phrase "With That" In a Sports Broadcast prize for sure.


I don't see a lot of television, but is it pretty much all sex ads now? Viagra, Levitra, etc? I like the one where the guy is in the swimming pool with the woman.

OH BABY TAKE A LOOK AT THAT!! NO, NO, UNDERWATER!!!!



OH YES, DARLING, THAT'S VERY NICE. DO I STILL HAVE TO HANG HERE ON THE DIVING BOARD? IT'S BOTHERING MY SINUSES. THAT WASN'T YOUR PRESCRIPTION VIAL, WAS IT, ON THE EDGE OF THE POOL? OH SHIT!! OH HONEY!!!



They never show the guy with some babe he picked up at the muscle car rally.



The sex ads seem to be tempered with painkilling ads, which I guess makes sense.I HOPE YOU DON'T THINK THAT ALEVE CRAP IS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF THIS CHLORINE HEADACHE. GEESH, I'M GOING IN THE HOUSE TO WATCH LIFETIME.

Most football coaches look mentally disturbed, but some more than others. Bill Belichick looks moderately anxious at all times, but not desperate like Tom Coughlin or truly psychotic like Mike Shanahan. Can you imagine trying to tell Bill B a joke? See, Bill, the guy is from Nantucket, get it? They say Belichick is good friends with Jon Bon Jovi, which I can't picture. Hey Jon, want to watch the Saints/Bears 97 fourth quarter again? We can open a new bag of Cheet-O's if you want.

ONE LAST BLOOPER on this Sunday as I remember Father Groff long ago stepping down from the altar after Mass and announcing: "And now an act in preparation for profane language." Father Groff became my idol on that day. ON YOUR MARK, GET SET, GODDAMN, SONOFAB, MOFO, etc.

Gots to get gone, dear reader. I'm preparing my Year in Review, though I may have to wait until I get home.

I notice central Mass. is scheduled to get ten inches of snow tomorrow. Good grief.

A bientot
love,
becky

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I actually bought the pillows a few weeks ago but have not put them on the bed yet. This is me in my maid's uniform which I always wear when I'm cleaning house. Every day. Sometimes twice a day.


HAHAHAHA

BIG HUGE TUPPERWARE LAUGH!!! (That's the side-splitting kind you erupt into when someone asks if you want to have a Tupperware party)

The pillows were the opening salvo of my new favorite holiday tradition... BUYING TREATS FOR MYSELF!!!! It works like this:

1) When standing in line to pay for three gifts, you might as well grab something else nearby for yourself. It will give you a reason to live.

2) When faced with a cute scarf or trinket that you would like and no good reason why you should have it, search in the vicinity for something giftable. Buy both.

3) Remember--it's so easy to throw one more thing into the cart.

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Of course all the Girlfriends' Cyber Circuit books are worth reading. But some are REALLY EXCITING, dear reader, and this is one.

I'll offer both. Mmmm, a little butter too. Okay, here goes.

B: Hi, Eliza. What gave you the idea for the book?

E: Well, Becky, some years ago I visited an abandoned village on the south coast of England. It had been evacuated for D-Day landings practice and the villagers were told they could go home at the end of the war. In fact they never returned. You can walk round the semi-ruined cottages and see the children's work in the schoolhouse. It's a very poignant place and you can almost feel the ghosts of those who lived. It's also very beautiful. I came away longing to write about it. Then, years later, I read an article about black American GIs in England during WW2 and how they got along with English civilians (often very well). I had the two strands I needed for the novel.

B: That's good. What is your favorite junk food?

E: Chocolate. But it's not junk food really, Becky. It's extremely good for you--honest.

B: Oh, don't I know it. Try some of this cake. People seem endlessly fascinated by WWII. Do you have a theory about this? There's crumpets here too.

E: Why, thank you. I think that, unlike our muddled times and somewhat ambiguous conflicts, WW2 appears clear-cut. Hitler was evil and it was the right thing to fight him. Of course, if you look at it in detail there are gray areas. Like the way the Allies effectively gave Stalin free rein in eastern Europe at the end of the war. Or the heavy bombing of Germany. But for many people in Britain and the US taking part in WW2 was something that they could feel justifiably proud of. And that feeling has passed down the generations. In Britain it was a socially very cohesive time as well, with people really feeling bound together against a common enemy. And that war is still within living memory.

B: When you are writing, do you eat or drink? What or which? [dear reader, am I seeming obsessed with food? Like a simpleton?]

E: Erm, both. Unfortunately. I drink lots of instant coffee and occasionally go into the kitchen just to make sure everything's OK in the cookie tin.

B: [god, she is so nice] What is next for you? When can we read it?

E: RESTITUTION, my novel about falling in love at the wrong time and with the wrong person just as the Red Army moves into Germany in 1945, comes out in September 2007. [geez, I've done that wrong time/wrong person thing, but I don't think I'll bring that up]

B: What do you think is the biggest fashion mistake ever? [Hey. This question is not about food, okay? I'm not going to ask about the National Health program, for god's sake]

E: Bared midriffs on women who aren't slim. [she's right about that, dear reader.]

While Eliza and I chat (and I am so going to crack out something better than tea), you're free to zip over to her blog

A bientot

love,

becky

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Even Santa feels it sometimes, dear reader. GOOD GRIEF. HOW MANY MORE OF THESE STINKING IPODS DO I HAVE TO ASSEMBLE? In truth, one shudders at the prospect of Santa working with motherboards, doesn't one? Then again, he's got plenty of fresh air just out the door of his studio, the really pure air that you get at the North Pole. One breath of that and he'd sit back down and think things over. DO I REALLY WANT TO GO POSTAL? SLAUGHTER ALL THE REINDEER OUT THERE SINGING CAROLS? IF THEY'D ONLY SHUT UP FOR FIVE MINUTES.



And that, dear reader, is surely the crux. It's the pressure. Each day creeps closer to the Big One and I STILL HAVEN'T GOT A TREE OR A WREATH OR ONE SINGLE GIFT OR ANY REASON TO LIVE.

Women especially fall into this trap of course. The good ones, the good mommies, make cookies and send cards and do all the little things that make the holiday special. The bad ones make plans to meet friends in bars and screw the cookies. I will leave the reader to guess which group I am in.












The only way out of this pressurized dilemma is Making Lists and Managing Time. As a Virgo, I adore lists to start with. So soon I will be doing it. Just not today.

Today I am still buried with papers and when I take a break it is to read The Gravedigger's Daughter by Joyce Carol Oates, my idol. Her works grip me as no others. I think my eyes are wider when I'm reading. You just know that something really bad is going to happen to somebody and I know that sounds simplistic as all hell, but it's compelling to read.

Time to buy the Bailey's or at least Emmett's (who can afford Bailey's?).
Thanks to Norman Rockwell, Readers Digest and Edouard Manet.

A bientot and a big fa la.
love,
becky

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Picasso must have time-traveled ahead to my bathroom mirror and seen me there this morning. By tomorrow one of the eyes could be completely closed from too much reading. The bloops keep me alive.


"There were a number of shark sittings while we were there."
[ed. note: it's not easy for a shark to book a sitting. Artists get busy, they have other subjects, and they don't like working underwater in general, though some will who are desperate for fame.]

"Our Thanksgiving table had delicious dishes such as sweet potatoes and root beggars."

"It's tragic that [Terri Schiavo] died after a fourteen-year battle with a feeding tube."

"Norman Rockwell shows a young boy caught going through his parents' drawers."

"The government enacted a number of statues dealing with the controversy."

"It boils down to this. Our four fathers said we could carry guns."



On that note, dear reader, I return to my task.

Holiday Bitchiness coming soon!!!!

A bientot
love,
b

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That is the name of this painting by Mary Cassatt and it obviously means the opera box. What a gorgeous and unique view we get, not just of the opera house, but also of the two young women who might just be looking for someone in the audience and not on the stage. How I long to be with them. I do love romantic intrigue and could have joined the spyfest with pleasure.

Everyone today talks about thinking "out of the box," a phrase that has become totally trite.

That has almost replaced "in the zone," a term that started in sports but leached out into every other area of life. I am having trouble getting in the zone for the 150 papers I have to grade over the next few days. Here's what I'd rather be doing:


Dressed up in flounces and frills, enjoying a delightful cup of tea (again by Cassatt). It's not easy to eat or drink in white gloves, but I could do it. Or I could stay home and invite a girlfriend to join me (one more by Mary C).

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From recent argumentation essays on the death penalty:

"...the evil men who decided to take the lives of the innocent have been put to rest and can move on."

"If people keep comitting crimes on the streets, is it safe that they are wandering around neighborhoods where little children sleep at night after they have been let out of jail for murder?"

"This happened to a girl who was barley in high school."

[this one is describing the development of a pregnancy}
"At twelve weeks, the gentiles appear."
[ed. note: I never knew this. Apparently, if you put the cells from a 12-week fetus under the microscope you can actually see a whole bunch of little Presbyterians swimming around, some with pink and green whales on their trunks.]

Okay, so enough of that.

On Google, when you sign in, it says "Choose Your Identity." And you know, I wish I could. I'd pick Winona Ryder. She's so pretty and probably got a bad rap on that shoplifting thing. I wouldn't care. I'd be Winona.

Or I'd pick Molly Ringwald. She's grown up and lives in Paris I read and still carries that innocence, tempered of course with whatever life has thrown at her, most likely loss of fame. If she walked through Hannaford's, would anyone know her?

That's the True Fame Criterion: the Hannaford Walk.

I would not be Marie Osmond or anyone who has to dance or faint or pretend to faint. Well, that's not entirely true since I pretended to faint when I played the Mayor's Wife in Bye Bye Birdie many years ago. But I ain't bein' Marie, know what I'm sayin'?


This is me, dear reader.

My pace has been ten research papers per day and when I do take time out for a nuked-up something-or-other, my mental skills more closely resemble little Dahlia's:

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