The Goot Blog

"There are a lot of impossible, unspoken rules on Thanksgiving. We're supposed to be thankful and eat a lot and drink a lot and be nice to each other. Teenagers are supposed to stop being sullen. Matriarchs are supposed to make a perfect turkey and some man is supposed to know how to carve it."

---Joann Loulan, a family therapist

I have two kids. Both are away at college.
I have five television sets. (I like to think of them as a set of five televisions.) I have two DVR boxes, three DVD players, two VHS machines and four stereos.
I have nineteen remote controls, mostly in one drawer.
I have three computers, four printers and two non-working faxes.
I have three phone lines, three cell phones and two answering machines.
I have no messages.
I have forty-six cookbooks.
I have sixty-eight takeout menus from four restaurants.
I have one hundred and sixteen soy sauce packets.
I have three hundred and eighty-two dishes, bowls, cups, saucers, mugs and glasses.
I eat over the sink.
I have five sinks, two with a view.
I try to keep a positive view.
I have two refrigerators.
It’s very hard to count ice cubes.
I have thirty-nine pairs of golf, tennis, squash, running, walking, hiking, casual and formal shoes, ice skates and rollerblades.
I’m wearing slippers.
I have forty-one 37-cent stamps.
I have no 2-cent stamps.
I read three dailies, four weeklies, five monthlies and no annual reports.
I have five hundred and six CD, cassette, vinyl and eight-track recordings.
I listen to the same radio station all day.
I have twenty-six sets of linen for four regular, three foldout and two inflatable beds.
I don’t like having houseguests.
I have one hundred and eighty-four thousand frequent flier miles on six airlines, three of which no longer exist.
I have “101 Dalmatians” on tape.
I have fourteen digital clocks flashing relatively similar times.
I have twenty-two minutes to listen to the news.
I have nine armchairs from which I can be critical.
I have a laundry list of things that need cleaning.
I have lost more than one thousand golf balls.
I am missing thirty-seven umbrellas.
I have over four hundred yards of dental floss.
I have a lot of time on my hands.
I have two kids coming home for Thanksgiving.

---Rick Moranis, NY Times Op-Ed contributor

(and the only thing I miss is what's found in the last line)

.....that you can't teach an old dog new tricks?


Not so, my friends. Mike (now known as Miguel) is disproving that old adage as he takes the Spanish language by storm. (Note beer bottle close at hand.)




Of course, this may have something to do with why the blog postings have been sparse lately.

I have so much less stress, he said, now that I've given up on ambition.*

*compliments of Story People (November 20, 2006)

We saw, and subsequently purchased, this T-shirt. It captures for me the essence of Mexicans' approach to death... and life. My semi-crappy translation: We can't celebrate death without (embracing) the mystery of life.

Our Day of the Dead experience was in the state of Michoacan, south and west of San Miguel. On a bus tour with a group of mostly spoiled, rich, elderly Gringos. But that's another story. We stayed in the capital city of Morelia, an old (circa 1600), but wonderfully vibrant university town of 700,000. On our walking tour, we visited a nearby music conservatory. There, meandering through the baroque courtyards and gardens, students had created a tribute to the hundreds of young women who are annually murdered in Mexico. Almost all of these crimes are unsolved, and according to the accompanying posters, seldom pursued with any vigor by local authorities. It was great public art. Made me sad and angry, but deeply impressed with the students' compassion and energy. Here's to a new generation and maybe, just maybe, a better future.

What an amazing experience! Nothing like anything we've seen or done in the US. A weird and wonderful mixture of Pre-Columbian and Catholic ritual with an overlay of Halloween commercialism. In homes, public spaces and yes, cemeteries, families erect displays and altars to honor their dead loved ones, with flowers, candles, photos, statues, favorite foods, tequila... whatever it takes to make the departed spirit comfortable enough to return for a posthumous family reunion of sorts. Many families maintain an all-night vigil at the gravesite -- cooking, singing, drinking and sharing memories. Our photos don't do it justice. Imagine a gaveyard the size of two or three football fields at midnight illuminated by thousands of candles. Campfires burning everywhere. Hundreds of people. Families clustered around graves, laughing, strumming guitars. Children chasing one another. Tourists snapping photos. European film crews doing interviews. One guy, I swear, was throwing marijuana buds on an open fire, presumably to attract the spirit of parties past! And outside the gates? Policemen directing traffic. Tour buses jockeying for position. Taco, hot cider and flower vendors hawking their stuff. Semi-soused young guys peeing in the weeds. And throughout, little kids carrying crude Jack-o-lanterns, begging for pesos. It was a garish, touching, surreal mish-mosh of mourning and celebration. We hope many of you will come down next year and experience it for yourselves.

I came across this last night -- in Magic Marker on concrete block -- as I parted company with an evening's worth of Scotch and red wine.

"Hola, you beautiful fucking fools. What? I love you!

Insight? Foolishness? Where do these guys come from?

Giving advice is such an arrogant gesture, right? But you have to love this guy's whimsical and idiosyncratic list of life-enhancing stuff.

How to Live by Charles Harper Webb

"I don't know how to live."
–Sharon Olds

Eat lots of steak and salmon and Thai curry and mu shu
pork and fresh green beans and baked potatoes
and fresh strawberries with vanilla ice cream.
Kick-box three days a week. Stay strong and lean.
Go fly-fishing every chance you get, with friends

who'll teach you secrets of the stream. Play guitar
in a rock band. Read Dostoyevsky, Whitman, Kafka,
Shakespeare, Twain. Collect Uncle Scrooge comics.
See Peckinpah's Straw Dogs, and everything Monty Python made.
Love freely. Treat ex-partners as kindly

as you can. Wish them as well as you're able.
Snorkel with moray eels and yellow tangs. Watch
spinner dolphins earn their name as your panga slam-
bams over glittering seas. Try not to lie; it sours
the soul. But being a patsy sours it too. If you cause

a car wreck, and aren't hurt, but someone is, apologize
silently. Learn from your mistake. Walk gratefully
away. Let your insurance handle it. Never drive drunk.
Don't be a drunk, or any kind of "aholic." It's bad
English, and bad news. Don't berate yourself. If you lose

a game or prize you've earned, remember the winners
history forgets. Remember them if you do win. Enjoy
success. Have kids if you want and can afford them,
but don't make them your reason-to-be. Spare them that
misery. Take them to the beach. Mail order sea

monkeys once in your life. Give someone the full-on
ass-kicking he (or she) has earned. Keep a box turtle
in good heath for twenty years. If you get sick, don't thrive
on suffering. There's nothing noble about pain. Die
if you need to, the best way you can. (You define best.)

Go to church if it helps you. Grow tomatoes to put store-
bought in perspective. Listen to Elvis and Bach. Unless
you're tone deaf, own Perlman's "Meditation from Thais."
Don't look for hidden meanings in a cardinal's song.
Don't think TV characters talk to you; that's crazy.

Don't be too sane. Work hard. Loaf easily. Have good
friends, and be good to them. Be immoderate
in moderation. Spend little time anesthetized. Dive
the Great Barrier Reef. Don't touch the coral. Watch
for sea snakes. Smile for the camera. Don't say "Cheese."