Tales From St. Joe, Part I

Jessica and I flew back today from Kansas City, tired and full of meat. We ate a lot of meat on the trip. We had barbecue twice, burgers, chicken parmesan, breakfast sausages, and salads with meat on them. Even the beer has meat in it in Missouri. At least, I think it does. The barbecue was so good that even though I probably shouldn’t eat any more meat for the next month, I kind of want some right now. Like maybe some pulled pork and some ribs with some garlic bread on the side. And a few slices of the sausage from Jessica’s plate, because she always shares with me. She’s just so nice to me all the time.

There are so many delightful stories from the wedding that I thought I’d split them up into little “vignettes” instead of writing up one long, cumbersome, unwieldy, incommodious blog post. You know, out of respect for you, the reader, knowing full well you likely have the attention span that I have when “surfing the ‘net.” Which is to say, a short one. My e-attention span is so short that every time Drew asks me if I watched the video he posted on his blog, I redden in the face and admit that no, it appeared to be over 90 seconds long, and who has that kind of time?

I also took a lot of photos on the trip. I was snapping them left and right, up and down, for a lot of the trip. Sometimes – like a lot of folks who take photos – I tend to cross that line between enjoying what I’m doing and simply documenting it with photos. But once we got to the reception, I “shut it down” camera-style and didn’t take another shot the whole time. I took so many photos that one of Sam’s groomsmen Vicente, who looks EXACTLY LIKE GREG (more on that later) asked me during dinner just how many photos I’d logged. I told him, “as we say in California, hella photos.”

I thought I’d begin with Tom Walker, Jessica’s youngest brother, a man of kindly smiles and 3:00 am trips to Denny’s. He’s in my phone as “Tommy Walker Red.”

Here he is:

If I didn't know Tom and I saw this photo I might be a little bit creeped out.

A Missoura Kinda Weekend

Jessica has two brothers. One of them is named Sam. He lives in Texas but he used to live in Missouri, where he went to school on a baseball scholarship. He’s a pretty great guy. On Saturday, he’s getting married to a pretty great gal named Emily. Here they are, looking smashingly good in an engagement photo:

Aren’t they awesome?

Yes, they are. And now they will cement their awesomeness by tying the knot.

I’ll be in St. Joseph, Missouri, until Monday, and I may post once or twice through the magic of “post scheduling.” Then again, I may not. The mysteries of life!

But I’ll be sure to have lots of weddingery to report on when I come back, especially as Jessica and I have decided to steal our favorite aspects of all the weddings we’re going to between now and our own. Which is something like 4 or 5 of them.

Ciao,

Bret

The Fine Art Of Shutting It Down

Of all the legacies Steve Walker will one day leave here on Earth – which include his three fantastic children, The Walker name and history, his vast mental catalogue of stories, and his love of the Holy Trinity of Baseball, Film, and Television – perhaps none will leave a greater impact that his strict adherence to Shutting It Down.

When Jessica and I were in the early stages of wooing one another with a variety of jokes and winks, Jessica casually mentioned that her father liked to Shut It Down. Drew, who we were hanging out with, asked: “How often does your dad shut it down?”

“Every night,” Jessica replied.

“Every night?” Drew asked.

“Every night,” Jessica confirmed.

Steve Walker, shown here contemplating when might be the best time to Shut It Down, is responsible for teaching an entire generation how to chill out and relax.

Shutting It Down essentially entails a systematic dial-down of all emotional and physical dials, and it can mean a different set of actions depending on the person. The sweat pants (or pajamas) may go on. The TV might be turned on. The chair may get reclined. Beverages might be set to “open” mode. Phones may be switched to “vibrate.” And when you shut it down, you’re not simply going to turn it back on again.

In fact, not long ago, Jessica DID have to turn it back again, for some reason that I cannot rightly recall – and it was a pretty big deal. Monumental, even. She had to change back into her jeans, fix her hair, put her shoes back on, and get ready to face the world after she’d already Shut It Down. It’s a wonder she survived, and it’s not something I ever recommend attempting. I think we wound up in the emergency room.*

*Not really, but we probably should have, for all the psychological damage it inflicted.

As you can see, the proud tradition of Shutting It Down has become a fixture in our little two-person family. Jessica, who has begun her emotionally fulfilling but physically draining career as a teacher this year, has fully adopted the ritual and now shuts it down 5 or 6 days out of 7. She relies on it for emotional calm, and looks forward to it. She’ll often come home from a long day of teaching and evening classes, drop her bag down, and declare:

“OK – that’s it. I’m shutting it down.”

I have now begun to do it as well. There’s something really comforting about the finality of it, about embracing the fact that you are Done For The Day, putting on the comfy clothes, and essentially checking out until the next morning. It’s a small reward to yourself for a day well spent, the psychological treat of shifting into low gear as you coast down the gentle grade of the evening’s downhill slope.*

*Was that too clunky? It’s almost right. I’ll work on that one a little and get back to you

When Steve is a grandpa to our kids, he and Terri – and my parents – will have a lot to teach them and share with them. They can secretly let them have cookies when Jessica and I say no, and tell them tales of a simpler time when MP3 were called ‘records’ and Blu-Rays were called ‘going to the movies.’ Among many other things, my dad can teach them how to make Donald Duck noises and how to identify plants and trees; my mom can teach them animal sounds in French and how to paint; Terri can teach them how to make giant chocolate cakes and about nature through gardening; Steve will tell them fantastic stories, and (as Jessica tells me) put them on his lap and pretend they’re riding a horse.

And, I hope, he’ll help us instill in our children the value of shutting it down. Because that’s as much a family heirloom as any jewelry or quilt.

In Fond Remembrance Of Two Cats Named Bog & Fen

Ernest Hemingway said this about cats: “A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.”

Louis Camuti, the first vet in the US to devote his entire practice to treating cats, said this: “There is something about the presence of a cat…that seems to take the bite out of being alone.”

Fen, Bog, & me, many years ago

Martine, a very dear friend of my mom’s, believes that a home without a cat is not a home. I know a lot of people who’ll agree with her, including my sister Katy, who is one cat away from being a certifiable Crazy Cat Lady.* I made the fairly recent and somewhat depressing discovery that I am a little allergic to cats, though I’m hopeful that one day I can have a cat who spends a lot of time outdoors. But for the time being, I’m catless, and probably poorer of soul because of it.

*To be fair, if she ever does cross the line, she will be an excellent Crazy Cat Lady. Exemplary, even.

I’m Really Glo-ssary To Do This To You

Here at All Things ‘Zilla Headquarters (henceforth known as ATZ HQ), a certain vocabulary has developed that I felt we should keep track of. I therefore present to you the Glossary, a work-in-progress page devoted to cataloging the various expressions and words that populate this corner of the Internets.

You can get there by:

- Clicking this link.

- Clicking the “Glossary” tab at the top of the page.

- Clicking your heels together two feet off the ground. This is very hard to do.

- Wishing it so.

Jessica: Because She’s Hella Funny

I’m from the Bay Area, so I say “hella.” It’s a reality of my life. I’ll admit I don’t say it much anymore, but I used to. A term that originated in Northern California, I used it regularly until I moved to Southern California in 1999 to begin my college career at Pomona. It gradually slipped out of my vocabulary, and then at a certain point I decided to reclaim it, and made a concerted effort to reintegrate it back into my parlance as a symbol of my heritage. Now I drop it into my speech from time to time, mostly as a marker of my heritage. I also use the term “bootsy” on occasion, for the same purpose.

Anyway – I was driving over to dinner at our pals’ Holly and Joel’s place, and Jessica was commenting on how regularly I was posting on this blog.

“You’re posting almost every day!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah,” I said, “but it sure is hard. I don’t know how bloggers do it.”

“You’re like… the postmaster general,” she said. There was a brief silence as the hilarity of what she said sank in. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed, and started clapping her hands together. “That was goooood.”

As a punster, I had to admit it.

“Good one baby,” I said.

She crossed her arms and smiled cockily.

It was a good one.

She's trying to be serious but she's too funny for that.

Anonymous Wedding Stories, Vol. I

I keep trying to start “features” on this blog, like Bridezilla Watch and Awesome Friend Watch and such, that I vainfully hope will become regular or at least semi-regular. I feel like people who read blogs enjoy features. I read blogs and I love recurringly similar posts on a certain theme, which I suppose is why I feel the need to keep creating them.

So only time will tell if Volume I of this particular category will be the only entry, or if this will become the first of many, but at least I can never be accused of having too few features. And now with no more uses of the word “feature” I will launch right into it.

via www.meslines.com/keno

A friend was recently telling me about her wedding, many years ago, which took Place in Reno. They drove out from the Bay Area, had a very small ceremony, and were happily wed in Vegas Junior.

Following the wedding, she and her newly behusbanded were strolling through a casino. They didn’t have much money, which meant that for one, they weren’t going to have a honeymoon, and second, they weren’t going to gamble.

As they walked the casino floor her husband noticed an unplayed Keno card on the ground, turned to his wife, and suggested they play it.

“I mocked him,” she remembers, “and I told him it was ridiculous to play a card he’d found on the ground.”

That didn’t stop him, though. He played it.

“I’m glad he did. We won $1,500,” she says. “We immediately bought tickets to Mexico and had ourselves a honeymoon after all.”

I tend to not believe in fate, and little tales like these are part of why I don’t – fate makes this story banal, because it suggests that it was meant to happen, designed by a higher power or by the invisible hand of destiny. But what’s the fun in that?

Luck & happenstance make it just a little bit special. And I hope Jessica and I run into a little luck on our adventure. Heck – we already have.

Steve & Terri’s Wedding, San Francisco 1979

A few weeks ago I published my mom’s delightful recounting of her and my dad’s wedding, and I enjoyed it so much I wanted to post Jessica’s parents’ wedding story as well. Steve and Terri came down for dinner the other day – we went to Cha Am for Thai food and followed that up with Straus vanilla ice cream with an Andronico’s adult brownie – and the plan was to have them tell us the story of their wedding as we recorded it, and I would transcribe later. As fate would have it, there were no batteries in the camera – so instead, Terri wrote this, and I scanned some of my favorite photos from their wedding album.

NB – I am the one “narrating” the photo captions. ie, it’s my “voice.” Try not to get confused.

The happy couple, gazing off into their future

I’m Plattered You Would Say That

We’ve talked about gift registries, but not all that much – it’s something we’re going to need to have some good discussions about to make sure we’re on the same page and want the same things, not just on a “stuff” basis but also just in general, the type of registry we want. It’s a weird and semi-awkward thing, picking the presents you want – it sort of feels icky sometimes. Like a lot of the wedding planning process, in fact. Fun, too, but icky.

“Baby,” Jessica said to me the other night, “I’ve been thinking about some of the things we should register for. I think we should register for some nice platters.”
“Platters?” I said.
“Yeah, like nice platters.”
“Why…” I said, “you’re mad as a platter.”
She ignored me. “You know how much we love serving food to people. Also, I think we should get a cake stand!”

Cake plates: Beautiful, charming... necessary?

I was worried she was getting into $100-melon-baller territory, which is of course the benchmark for silly and frivolous registry items. “I don’t know,” I said, “that’s pretty much a single-use item.”
“But baby,” she countered, “it makes cakes look SO GOOD! It’s better than like a panini press or a George Foreman grill.”
“Actually, both of those things have more uses than a cake plate,” I said, “or even a platter. And just yesterday you were saying how great Foreman grills are!”
“Aw, come on!”
“What’s the platter, baby?” I asked. She winced. “You’re mad as a platter,” I continued, as I wasn’t sure she’d heard me the first time. Turns out she had. I kept going. “You look so platterdemalion.* Um… platter up!”

*Jessica and I both recently read Cloud Atlas, just a really truly awesome book that we both loved, and our favorite vocabulary word from it was tatterdemalion. It means “ragged in appearance,” and it can also be used as a noun to describe a ragged person. Try using it in a conversation – you’ll totally make friends that way.

Later, she asked me what I wanted. I’ll admit I had some trouble thinking of things, but I said, “a nice set of dishes and flatware for sure. Maybe some nice sheets. Um… a nice blender?”
She shook her head no. “But a blender has more uses than a cake stand!” I protested.
“Look, there are a lot of things I don’t want on our registry.”
“Yeah, I hope those things account for like 99.9999999% of all things on Planet Earth.”
Some silence ensued.
“You’re mad as a platter,” I said.

Later, I went upstairs.
“For example, we don’t need a deep fryer,” she yelled from downstairs.
“An example of what?” I asked.
“Just an example.”
“Oh.”

Still later we were looking through Macy’s online catalog of dishware. At one point we had a choice between clicking on Modern and Classic. “Which one should we look at?” Jessica asked me.
“Modern!” I suggested excitedly.
She looked crestfallen. “I like classic,” she said sadly.

Later on I exclaimed, “Oh my God. $108 for  MEDIUM MIXING BOWL???”

---

*Note/disclaimer/PS: we are not intending, in any way, to make fun of anyone’s registry choices. People can and should register for whatever the heck they want. If a couple wants to register for 16 sterling silver garden gnomes, they should totally do it. Got it? Good.

Wait… This Blog ISN’T A List Of Metaphors For “Crammed?”

I’ve created a lot of blogs. Most of them have failed for various reasons. One was a random Tumblr blog called Born Out Of Weblog, which besides having a hilariously punny title, didn’t have much going for it other than sharing funny pictures with my friend Drew and hoping that he would “reblog” them. Sometimes he would. Other times he wouldn’t. It was all very exciting.

Another was a recipe sharing site called Recipe Go ‘Round that used Blogger, which for a while was pretty active but is now dead, although I still refer to it occasionally to find recipes posted by me or my friends. I enlisted friends of mine who are into cooking to post recipes, and we had a pretty good run for a while there. A Beatles-style falling-out ensued, lawsuits were filed, and the whole thing got really, really ugly.

There have been others, too, that I won’t get into in detail. One was a blog for my music. One involved awkward freeze-frames of Joe Buck, America’s Worst Sportscaster®. Another was essays about South Park, which I never shared it with anyone and only had three entries.

Anyway, All Things ‘Zilla uses WordPress, which has been my favorite blogging platform – in no small part because of the built-in stat-tracking feature. With other blogs I’ve had to install an external client like Google Analytics, which works fine, but doesn’t have the ease of WordPress’ built-in tracking.

OK, so it sounds like I’m advertising* for WordPress. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. It’s all part of the mystery.

*[That reminds me of a joke I just made up. I make up jokes, btw. Drew and I, along with our friend Kale, have a massive gmail thread going with a staggering amount of puns that we are collecting. Sometimes it takes a really long time to load. We may start a blog of these puns.

Anyway, the joke is: what former MLB pitcher now does terse advertising for companies?

Curt Shilling.]

This is all a roundabout way of introducing a list I’ve been collecting from the WordPress stats page, of search terms used that eventually land people on the blog. Some of them make perfect sense, like “all things zilla.” Some of them make less sense but I can still see it, like “grandmotherzilla.” And then some are total noodle-scratchers, like “metaphor for crammed” and “ΨΩΜΙ” and “lee min ho picture rare.” My personal favorite is probably “bridezilla aaaaaaaaaaaaaa.”

I love the Internet. I really do. Here are some favorites:

metaphor for crammed
jazz post stamps
flower boy
bridezilla aaaaaaaaaaaaaa
clubbing baby seals
grandmotherzilla
momzilla
groomzilla
jessica simpson
“banana bread” wedding
original pop tarts
clothes-optional
jennifer orbom
pants off
two men raising a little girl
19070s wedding cakes
ΨΩΜΙ
potato salad that keeps for a wedding
things to stamp on
fire hamburger
lee min ho picture rare
where to find things from the 1970s
cool puppies
little boy and girl going to party