The Elkhart County Fair in Goshen, Indiana … oh how I miss thee! This week is fair week, and yes, this is a fair you actually attend pretty much every day if you can. Elkhart County’s 4-H Fair is one of the top 100 fairs in the world. It actually has the most acreage, though it’s not all in use. And it was essentially in my backyard.
Elkhart County Fair … nothing like it anywhere.
My biggest regret about living in the South are the cockroaches. They call them Palmetto Bugs as if that title somehow makes them less offensive. These aren’t your Northern dainty little pests that can be crushed between your thumb and forefingers. These are massive, winged creatures that will flutter at your face the moment you step in their direction. They are enormous. They are disgusting. They are Southern. I hate them.
Gigantic nasty flying critters the size of a baby’s fist.
So imagine how it I felt when one fell on me in the shower.
Most horrifying experience EVER.
No really. Most horrifying experience EVER. Especially when you hear the thud on your body before you feel it.
Ever want to give a quick shout out to someone or something for making your day a little brighter? Thursday-Thank-Yous is your opportunity. Send them in and we will share them with the world.
Thursday-Thank-Yous
Thank you, Jelena Lustica, for being the best doubles partner a girl could have! Love and miss you! –Libby G.
Thank you Skymall magazine for keeping my husband busy during flights. — Jen T.
Dear Adrian Paul, Thank you for being the only one. — Mark G.
To the creator of Survival Spork: Thank you for your innovative idea and prepping tips! Cool site. –E.S.
Dear Brother Mark, Thank you for having mad ninja skills! — Savvy Sisters
Laughing is never a take-back. As we get older, sometimes it takes more to amuse us, but then when we least expect it, something special comes along that entertains us in a way where we have no words …
I meant to tell you about my experience with The Spoils of Babylon a few months ago, but with this week’s announcement, now is as good of a time as any because it’s official: Eric Jonrosh will be sharing his first best-selling novel The Spoils Before Dying a la a soapy second season on IFC. THIS. IS. HUGE.
The Spoils of Babylon
For those of you sad few who missed it, The Spoils of Babylon is probably one of the funniest, most genius collaborations of writing, acting, and directing in years. I love a good laugh just as much as the next guy. And a parody? Even more so. There’s a certain skill involved in creating a truly enjoyable parody and The Spoils of Babylon nailed it on the head. I was laughing so hard, I literally cried. My husband didn’t quite get it, though.
Was it because he didn’t grow up with the same serials in South Africa? Was it because his television prowess didn’t include soppy stories wrought with wholly unbelievable histories and overplayed acting? Was it because he was a dude? For whatever reason, yes, he laughed, but he was watching me rolling on the floor gasping for air way more than he was watching the affected theatrics being performed on screen.
I don’t know why The Spoils of Babylon struck such a chord. It was definitely unexpected. Perhaps it’s because I hadn’t seen anything so well executed, nor as brilliant, from its genre – ever. The ham served by Kristen Wiig and Tobey Maguire was perfection. The top notch supporting cast had Iceman, the Invisible Woman, that creepy kid from The Sixth Sense, and Nuke Laloosh … need I say more? How about Will Ferrell as the exaggerated lush that wrote and directed the entire miniseries that never aired? Mad respect for every actor involved in this production. Again, completely unexpected.
The visual effects were just as amazing as the acting chops on display. The writers’ (Matt Piedmont and Andrew Steele) and director’s (Matt Piedmont)attention to detail was incredible. From the cheesy models used to display exteriors, to the strings that were visibly towing an airplane or toy car, every single little thing that in hindsight made the miniseries of the 70’s and 80’s the beasts of melodrama that they were, were incorporated into this six episode show. Click here to see the trailer for The Spoils of Babylon.
With Reality TV consuming the airwaves like wildfire, a lack of smart well-written comedies and the era of the serial drama slowly coming to a close, The Spoils of Babylon is an inspired throwback to the stagy cliff-hanging days of yesteryear mixed with the campy quality of Batman and Dark Shadows. Those miniseries were sensational. They were overacted. They were poorly produced. BUT, they were beloved.
If The Spoils Before Dying is as much a mix of the Thornbirds meets Dallas meets Soap as its predecessor, I’m in, and you should be, too. And if you still haven’t seen The Spoils of Babylon – find it now and watch!
Thank you Matt Piedmont and Andrew Steele for sharing your genius.
Ever want to give a quick shout out to someone or something for making your day a little brighter? Thursday-Thank-Yous is your opportunity. Send them in and we will share them with the world.
Thursday-Thank-Yous
Dear Chelle,
Happy Birthday! And thank you for being the most amazing best friend anyone could ever ask for for the last um … many many years! –Libby G.
Thank you, @JamesRoday, for #mastiffmondays! They make me smile every time. –Libby G.
Dear Jessica,
Thank you for helping out my wife when she’s really needed it. Thank you for playing with and entertaining our son. And thank you for smoothing things over in the middle of a Target meltdown. –Jeremy P.
Thank you @AdamfGoldberg for one of the funniest half hours I’ve seen in a while. Your Goonies episode of The Goldbergs had me peeing just a little. Made my day! –Libby G.
I think this little whoopsie might be Brazil’s most painful Take-Back ever. Well, that and their waxes.
Germany for the win.
Ever want to give a quick shout out to someone or something for making your day a little brighter? Thursday-Thank-Yous is your opportunity. Send them in and we will share them with the world.
Thursday-Thank-Yous
We picked up the Uhaul this morning at 9:06am. Once home, Greg headed to work and I started unraveling, hauling, sweating as I began to move 100+ boxes and bins. Greg, working from the coffee shop, would check in occasionally. Allof a sudden, my two elderly neighbors stop by.
First, Harold, “I saw you all alone over there hauling things… can I help you?”
I kindly thanked him and said “I’m ok now but I’ll shout if I needed any help.”
I continued to pour sweat. I mean it’s the flipping Florida June heat. Thinking I should reconsider.. I kept on mustering up the the might to haul more boxes. Then… Barbara came over.
“Now, honey, I’m not trying to impede but could you use some help?” In her awesome New Jersey accent. “Harold and I would love to help you.”
Before I knew it, Barbara was wrapping my dishes with bubble wrap and Harold was hauling my dresser. These two wonderful people from New Jersey were the kindest! They must have helped me for at least 2 hours. The three of us made much progress and I’m forever grateful! Before leaving they shared stories of New Jersey back in the 50′s and their2 children. It was an awesome morning.
Thank you Harold and Barbara! Y’all are the best! -Christina S.
Ready to move.
Thank you Harold and Barbara!
With the hubbub surrounding the Germany/US soccer match last week, I’ve been reminded of what it is I appreciate most about the German people – they are a determined bunch that doesn’t give a fig about what people think.
I took German in high school for the following reasons:
Typically, I can spot a German from a mile away. Call it a sixth sense (or stereotyping or whatever). Germans wear whatever the hell they want. They do whatever the hell they want. And they say, pretty bluntly, whatever the hell they want. I admire that.
For instance, while I might struggle with wearing socks and sandals – Germans rock the look.
Rock on. (land-der-ideen.de)
Though I might second guess a haircut like this:
German heartthrob Bill Kaulitz. (coolmenshair.com)
A German wears it like a badge of honor.
They are bold.
Not my favorite Olympic look, but kudos for putting it out there. I mean, c’mon, our sweaters weren’t much better. (AP Photo/Petr David Josek)
They can drink.
Prost, meine freunde! (dmarge.com)
And they must have a sense of humor.
I’ve got nothing. Maybe peed my pants a little… (AP Photo/Markus Schreiber)
One of my favorite experiences with the German culture happened on a small lake beach in Italy. It was just full enough with locals that we could almost reach our neighbors. However, we had a little space where I was. I think it was just me and my friend, and maybe another couple copping a squat down the way. Three Germans walked up with their beach bags and backpacks. I knew they were German instantly. Though they may not have been donning their lederhosen and dirndls, they had the look. The look I’d come to denote as purely German that summer.
I’d been in Italy for a month by this point so I’d come across many Europeans of all shapes, sizes, styles, and ornamentation. I got pretty good at guessing from which country someone hailed. The clothes, bags, shoes, and strut were their dead giveaways.
They set up camp, threw off their clothes and headed to the water. They threw off all of their clothes. I knew it was Europe and I’m no prude, but the thing is – we weren’t on a nude beach. In fact, my friend said it was actually illegal to be nude where we were.
So we watched in awe as the Germans represented their people to a T. Bold non-conformists that wouldn’t give two cents for anyone’s thoughts. Their skinny pasty naked bodies splashed around in the lake for a bit, then they hopped back out and took a seat on the sand. That’s when each of them cracked open their edition of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.
It takes courage to get naked and read Harry Potter on an intimate beach with total strangers. So here is my attaboy to the folks who beat to their own drum with a special nod to a culture that bangs their drums all day.
What country would you give a shout out to for going against the grain?
Ever want to give a quick shout out to someone or something for making your day a little brighter? Thursday-Thank-Yous is your opportunity. Send them in and we will share them with the world.
Thursday-Thank-Yous
Dear Hasbro,
Thank you for making little 6 inch Star Wars figures with super cool appendages that keep my husband entertained for hours. - Steph C.
To Dame Angela Lansbury,
Thank you for being one of the most talented actresses on stage and screen! Thank you for still rocking it at 88 years of age AND thank you for having Adrian Paul on an episode of Murder She Wrote. That was just awesome. -Libby G
Thank you to The Wonder Years for creating a TV show that I could relate to as a teenager. It didn’t depict teens as totally brainless morons or marginalize their problems. - Marc C.
Thank you Psych for making me laugh with your endless pop culture references, only half of which I understood. -@evelynoelle29
Thanks to Stephen King for decades of twisted story telling. -@mj_chalmers
Thank you Ralph Macchio for never aging! -Ms. Politico
Thank you Billy Joel for the longest time, telling her about it, and not starting the fire. - Papa Monkey
I would like to thank Dish Network for being a TV provider that actually provides good customer service. – M.C.
Summer had ended and the new term was a few days away. I’d gotten in early from break, beating Clifford to the apartment by a day or so. This was nice. Rarely when you room with someone do you get the whole place to yourself. And I was moving in, which made it a perfect time to sit back and unpack by my lonesome.
It was Savannah, so our apartment was one of those old lead paint filled fiascoes. Walls were chipping. Wood was rotting. The foundation was crumbling, there were cockroaches everywhere (and not cockroaches by Northern standards – no, these were those gigantic fist sized little monsters that actually flutter at your face when you try to kill them). Regardless, it had what Southerners call “charm.” I mean it did have a large staircase, a small garden, and two fire places (one of them in my bedroom so I really couldn’t complain).
I had just gotten upstairs and found myself twirling in the living room, taking in the glorious new digs for my senior year, when I landed on the door to my room.
Twirling about, so happy in my new space
It was slightly ajar, so I could see the boxes and furniture that needed to be organized through the opening. That’s when I saw it. Something small, black and furry was on the floor.
It moved.
I don’t do small, black and furry and I really don’t do moving small, black and furry. I was on the couch and the phone in seconds. I called Clifford.
“Hello?”
I whispered (and no I don’t know why I whispered), “Clifford – it’s Libby. There’s something in my bedroom.”
“So? Why are you whispering?”
“So?! So what do I do? It’s moving …!” still whispering.
“Is it an animal?”
“Well I certainly don’t think it’s a book!”
“Get rid of it.”
“But I don’t even know what it is!”
“So find out, and get rid of it.”
Just then, an odd shaped appendage emerged from the creature’s body, hitting the floor with a thud, but pulling the animal across the room again. I could hear it scraping against the rotting wood. Thud … scrape … thud … scrape … I squealed.
Small black furry thing dragging itself by its crazy limb.
I could hear Clifford rolling his eyes on the other side of the phone as he said, “Why don’t you just call property management and see what they suggest. They’re supposed to have exterminators or whatever.”
How my future husband couldn’t see the utter peril I was facing was beyond me, but I did call the rental company at his request. They in turn called Animal Control, though it was going to be at least an hour or more before anyone would arrive.
I was still on the couch. I could see it dragging itself across my floor and I could hear the thud every time it made contact with the planks of wood. It wasn’t a rat, or a bat, or a raccoon, or a possum, or anything else I’d ever seen before. It was small, black, and furry.
Waiting for Animal Control was like watching Branaugh’s Hamlet – pure unadulterated torture that would go on forever. Clifford had offered up one other suggestion – call Paul.
Paul was likely Clifford’s version of a best friend in college. As Clifford liked to keep his guy friends and his girlfriend separated, I never got to spend a lot of time with them, but it appeared Paul’s and my moment had come.
He arrived shortly after I called and was about to be my hero. He came into the living room and I gave him the rundown of what was going on. I was still standing on the couch but I did have the fire poker in hand now. I was ready for war.
Paul peered through the open bedroom door and saw the fuzzy black mass lying in the middle of the floor. As he watched, trying to process exactly what the beast could be, it lunged forward. Lunged. Dragging its entire body with its weird looking limb. Lunging and dragging. Paul jumped and found himself standing on the loveseat next to the couch. Suddenly, I felt I wasn’t alone.
“What the hell is that thing?!”
“I have no clue. But it’s in my room and scaring the shit out of me.” I replied.
After about ten or fifteen minutes of trying to figure out what the silent, but assuredly deadly being was in my room, we decided that a plan was in order. Paul got off the couch and went to the kitchen to grab the broom. What he was going to do with the broom, I had no idea.
I still stood on the couch, watching in horror as Paul quietly tip-toed to the bedroom door. He began to push it open gradually with the broom. The black mass remained dormant as he did this. Then Paul continued to tip-toe into the room. One tiny inch at a time. The thing moved! Paul came running out, jumping back onto the loveseat.
The crazy thing is, the animal, if that’s what it was, made no sound. It didn’t growl, squeak, birp, chirp, howl, or anything. It was completely mute, which totally added to the creepiness factor.
Paul, the small furry black form, and I continued to do this little dance for another thirty minutes or so. I’d watch in horror as Paul inched his way into the room, only to have the mass move, sending Paul right back out again. Finally, Paul became the hero I thought he would be when he walked through the front door that day.
Doing our little dance …
He eventually made it into the room, with his broom, and poked the damn thing. At first it started thrashing around defensively, then it began trying to drag its body across the floor again. Eventually between the thrashing and the dragging, it somehow flipped over and I heard Paul yell, “Oh my god! Holy shit!”
“What?!!! WHAT!!!!?”
“It’s a bird!”
I realized I’d been holding my breath the entire time. I let out the largest sigh of relief I think I’d ever had. Then of course, still standing on that couch, I went from relieved to hysterical in three seconds flat. “That’s disgusting! Get it out!!! Oh my god!!! GET IT OUT!” I screamed as I jumped up and down on the couch flailing the poker in the air.
Paul obliged as quickly as he could. It appeared that the bird had found its way into my room through the fireplace, crushing its wing in the process – hence the odd looking appendage used to drag itself across the floor.
I don’t like birds. Never have. I’d seen enough three-eyed tumor-ridden pigeons on River Street to know how repulsive the fowl species is. But as traumatic an experience as having a half-dead bird violating my personal space was, I had had a tried and true damsel in distress experience that day and lived to tell the tale. Oh, and yeah, somebody even rescued me.
Super Paul saving the day. Me having that stereotypical distressing damsel moment.
Sharing that horrifyingly awkward incident with Paul, has become quite a fond little memory. Clifford and I still laugh about it till this day. As different as you may seem, there’s something to be said about trudging through the trenches with someone and coming out ok. You see them in a different way and appreciate their person even more. Though he’d always been my favorite friend of Cliff’s, I never really showed it much, and we never really knew each other well. However, I gained mad respect for that man that day and was glad to know Clifford had a pretty great guy in his corner. One of the best kinds of no-take-backs to have, really.
