My House is Some Old Sh*t

Just popping my head up from the pile to feed and water the blog.

We saw Patton Oswalt at the Pabst Theater this past Saturday. My shoulders have been generally scrunched up around my earlobes for the past few stressful months, so it was good to relax and laugh so hard my abs waved the little white flag. Folks, you don't need the Ab Circle Pro or any of that expensive ab-working shit that ends up under a pile of laundry in the back of your closet. You just need to get yourselves some tickets to see Patton Oswalt and then laugh 'til you puke.

While you're at it, rent his last film, Big Fan. Even if you're not a huge sports fan, you probably know someone who is ... it's not a ridiculous slapstick or mainstream comedy, and it's actually quite dark and frequently tragic. A Dramedy. A tragicomedy. Whatever you call it, you'll probably like it.

Other films recently seen and enjoyed: Moon, The Cove, Whip It, Collapse.

Moon made me want to be a better person, challenge myself more in my own storytelling (which currently consists of convincing myself that restaurant calories don't count) ... maybe take up astronomy in retirement.

The Cove ... ah, I'm still eviscerated from that one. There's a reason why this is one of the nominees for Best Documentary at the Oscars. It made me cry, it pissed me off, it made me want to do something.

Whip It. Have you seen this? I dug it! Girls rock, and so does the soundtrack.

Collapse made me want to buy some guns, build a bunker, and learn how to make my own soap (not necessarily in that order). If this guy's right, basically everything we worry about today will be something we'll miss worrying about in the not-too-distant future. If we're alive. (Yeah. It's a comedy. Not really.)

Life continues to be crazy-making, but busy is good. (God, I feel like I'm writing an overdue letter to a distant relative. Could I BE any more generic?) Well, okay, here's something: it seems my nephew has discovered his tootyacker, which is always a treasured milestone for any toddler's parents. The extent to which we may need to remodel our house before selling is also beginning to dawn on us ... especially since we just learned that our house was built in 1885. 1885. Yes. 125 years ago. That 1885. The "Layers-of-lead-paint-on-the-walls-under-the-horsehair -plaster-and-lath" 1885. The "Civil War has only been over for twenty years" 1885.

So, my house pre-dates Coca-Cola, Jack the Ripper, Mother's Day, electricity in most houses, mass-produced automobiles, the rabies vaccine, television, radios, movies, cameras, public telephones, portable typewriters, basketball, Hershey's Chocolate Bars, airplanes, the Statue of Liberty, the Eiffel Tower, Lincoln on the penny, and the states of Montana, North & South Dakota, Utah, Washington, Idaho, New Mexico, Arizona, Wyoming, Alaska, Hawaii, and Oklahoma. Oh, and racial segregation was the norm, and women didn't have the right to vote.

No wonder I always find strange little artifacts when I garden in the backyard. People have been laughing, crying, paying bills, dancing, sleeping, reading, eating, pooping, doing it, arguing, celebrating holidays, cleaning, discussing politics, and cooking in my house for 125 years.

Wild.