No one epitomized stylish more than Fred Astaire. If you say that word, I think of him. And don’t give me the “Ginger Rogers did it backwards and in heels” line. Fred and Hermes Pan made up the routines. Ginger only learned them:
Sandra Lee at Always Well Within http://alwayswellwithin.com/
was kind enough to give me a Stylish Blogger Award. (Thanks, Sandra!) It’s nice to be told in this way that my writing pleased a reader of such discerning taste. Sandra’s site remains a cornucopia of ideological beneficence.
The award’s a positive re-frame of the old chain letter concept. The rules of the game stipulate that in order to accept you should write seven things about yourself people wouldn’t have easily known, and pass along the award to other deserving bloggers, linking to them in a post and letting them know you have. No problem! I advise you to take three deep breaths as I reveal:
Seven Secrets of Invisible Mikey (offstage wolf howl / eerie wind background fx)
1.) I have had a completely irrational preference for even numbers for as long as I can remember. The superstition extends so deeply that I never invent passwords with odd numbers, and I won’t turn off the TV unless I’m on an even-numbered channel. My current address is an odd number, however, the first one I’ve ever lived at. I rationalized that it was all right because my zip code is an even number, so my full address ends up “even”. I have no freaking idea where this came from. It might be my own sort of OCD.
2.) Most people have a “type”, the kind of person they are attracted to romantically. The women I’ve fallen in love with turned out to all have three specific qualities in common. They were smart, funny, and had “good voices”. By good voices I mean a resonant timbre. It doesn’t matter between soprano, alto or lower, but it must be a full, round, musical-sounding sort of speaking voice. If you have one or two of these qualities, we can be friends, but I’ll never go further. Bodies never mattered unless they were decidedly unhealthy (smokers, poor hygiene, extremely obese or anorexic thin etc.) Tall, short, hair color, age differences, rich or poor never mattered. I don’t even care if you have all your body parts, or a nosy family in tow. If you have the IQ, the humor chops and a voice with “it”, I’m yours. I’m not leaving my wife, though. She’s got the best of all three!
3.) Kids like me. This is a bit absurd, since I’ve never raised a child myself. I suppose it’s because I engage with them joyfully. Or maybe it’s because I shave my head, and they like anything that looks like babies.
4.) I employ the self-delusion that I can make time stand still. That’s how I choose when to push the button whether taking x-rays or photographs. *click*
5.) If I could either write “the Great American Screenplay” or have a happy marriage, but not both – I would pick marriage. Despite that, I really do want to write that screenplay.
6.) My favorite dessert is rhubarb pie. Rhubarb is a crummy-looking floppy, stinky green weed that grew beside driveways in the region where I was born. The stems make AMAZING tart pie filling.
7.) I do not believe that people can really come to know each other, except face-to-face. No matter how many letters, texts or tweets have been exchanged, there’s a super-secret impenetrable level of realness that can only be experienced in physical proximity. It wafts between people like an unspoken “ahhh”, without a word, without a look. It’s a current passing over the invisible wire connecting you with the other person, and it gets stronger when you are near each other. Perhaps it’s recognition that you and the other luminous egg “over there” were once not separate beings. Either that or it’s pheromones. Anyway, you can’t attach it to an email. I deeply value our textual intimacy here, though, even if it isn’t the whole truth. Oops, you knew that one about me. OK…
8.) I have nicely-formed feet (even toes, no bunions etc.) Having been in some locker rooms over the years, I have learned this is rare in men. I stepped off a curb wrong once and broke one of them in two places, but you can’t tell which without an x-ray.
Tiny Cat Pants http://tinycatpants.wordpress.com/
This woman writes as “Aunt B” at this site. It works the same way that Mikey’s a different guy if you come to the Urgent Care with a broken ankle. She writes under her given name elsewhere. At this sandbox, she’s a beacon of undimmed feistiness. It’s like reading the version of opinions about local and global issues you have in your own head, before you censor them because you are speaking in front of the boss (or the FCC) and don’t want to be fined or lose your job. Betsy lives in Whites Creek, Tennesee, but the way she writes it’s Anytown, USA. Though her articles are often about the foibles of specific local characters, they all live in your neighborhood too.
I have great respect for all the collaborators at You, only AWESOMER! http://youonlyawesomer.com/
It takes a lot of style to be able to simultaneously adopt and satirize the language of popular self-help therapies. I like the fact that they are able to tweak the over-simplification of complex concepts that sometimes accompanies books like The Secret, while still maintaining appropriate enthusiasm and cheerfulness. The illustrations are good, too. The crew includes Rebecca Cardwell, Don Mills, Clifton Tanager and others who must have loved the early years of MAD Magazine as much as I did.
God knows Lily Hamrick (BlogLily) http://bloglily.com/ doesn’t need this prize. Besides being a mum of three, a clever blogger and a lawyer, her first novel The Secret War was a finalist for literary prizes – the kind that come with CASH MONEY. For most, these accomplishments would suffice to impress. Not me. I hobnob with time-travelers and cosmic royalty. Lily got me as a fan because she also makes BAD ART, and photographs it for her posts.
Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess http://thebloggess.com/
doesn’t need the award either, but she’s getting it (so there) not only for consistently great comic writing in a variety of styles, but also for convincing the Wil Wheaton to send her a picture of him collating paper. She then created a page where you can re-direct bad PR pitches featuring celebrities placed next to products nobody cares about (including the celebrities).
Whew! I’m worn out from making all these Gift Baskets. Mary flew back to El-Lay for the 100th birthday of the “older lady” featured in my ancient post about the circular conversation style favored by seniors in mental decline:
The other lady from that post had her energy uploaded to the sky grid some time ago, and this one has been asking if I’ve gotten a job yet for a year, but she is still with it enough to want a birthday party. Her caregivers have made her a pink tiara. I’m left here to toast you all with green beer by myself (BAWWwww).
Happy Day of St. Padraigh to yas!