becky haycox

Month: November 2007

  • fin

    Thanks for reading! In case you’ve scheduled your bed at Betty Ford, anticipating withdrawals from these Daily Mutterings, don’t worry. I’ve got a super secret special holiday surprise for you. No peeking — you’ll see it tomorrow.

    Recent things in my life I did not pick apart for content for NaBloPoMo:

    • These strange ass and leg aches that feel very much like the growing pains of my childhood. I anticipate that, by the start of 2008, I shall at last be the glorious 6′ height that God intends (and is finally getting around to bestowing upon me)
    • My interactions with members of the male species. If you provide a Becky doll, I’ll show you where it was touched. Blush!
    • My impending trip to the east coast, that will include my sister’s Almond Bars, which I plan to marry, they are that good; a Boston rock show; introducing myself to my baby great niece; some Brooklyn pizza; meeting up with a high school friend I have not seen since the wee 1980s (dayum); and Tamar! Tamar! Tamar!
    • Churning out a giant graphic design project
    • The near disaster of dropping a knife on my foot. That could have been a two-day post!

    And that, my friends, is that. I loves you alls.

    nablopomo 07 day 30!

  • i write the songs that make the audience of one sing

    Neil Diamond just went public with the fact that he wrote “Sweet Caroline” for Caroline Kennedy. He came out with it at her 50th birthday party. I hope she was pleased about this. So, let me get this straight: Judy Blue Eyes is about Judy Collins; Carrie Anne is about Marianne Faithfull; You’re So Vain is about either Warren Beatty or Mick Jagger (right? Carly?)

    Add me to the list of muses that have brought forth songs from the brains of musical men — three of them! Sadly, none of these songs were hit singles, nor does anyone really care that they were written about me.

    It’s a double edged blade, being the source of sweet, lyrical inspiration. I’m burdened forever with identifying with these songs, and am paranoid that, while these tunes cast me in a somewhat flattering light, there might be scores more that are distinctly in that “what a bitch” category.

    Of course, what this all really indicates is that I am a serial-dater of musicians, or “groupie,” if you will. Sigh.

    I have to shyly draw a veil over the details about the men or the songs. Instead, I will spontaneously write a tune about me! Feel free to grab an ocarina, a couple spoons, or that conga that’s gathering dust in the corner of your cubicle. I have included suggested dance moves, as well. Play along, now!

    Hey Hambox! Hey Hambox!
    From the banks of the Charles River
    Came a baby that set the world aquiver
    It’s Hambox! {jazz hands}
    It’s Hambox! {shimmy}
    It was when she lived in Arizona
    That she became an angry lone-a
    Blame her mom and dad’s divorce
    And that they never gave her a horse
    So angry! {Rockettes kicks}
    So bitter! {human pyramid}
    Then onto to chilly Syracuse
    And ex-per-i-men-tal drug abuse
    California was less of a bummer
    She dated drummer after drummer
    Oh Hambox! {glaring}
    We’re done! {shuffling out the door}

    This shit’s easy! Let’s start a band, ‘k?

    [I know, I didn’t live in Syracuse. Bronxville is hard to rhyme, even in my genius brain]

    nablopomo 07 day 29

  • in the depths of my habit

    Michael Kors looking like an Oompa Loompa

    [For those of you have not seen Season 4/Episode 2 yet, please don’t read this post.]

    If you don’t share my addiction, please, just look away. No need to pity me, enable me, or stage an intervention. Just let me ride it out to its inevitable conclusion. Shhhh … just hand me the remote, baby. Just this once.

    I am talking about Project Runway. Project Runway! Project Runwaaaaaaaaay!

    I was jonesing so hard for Season 4 (one agonizing year of waiting) that I got kind of sick and tired of being sick and tired. But just when my blood ran clean and sober, it is back.

    After a few false jabs and neuroses about the first episode (can’t they come up with different music? who are all these goddamn designers?), I have settled in. Will you fellow PR-ers agree that last week’s episode was a wowser? Special guest Sarah Jessica Parker, holy fuck — that is a little better than Nicky Hilton, I RECKON! I’m reduced to all caps, here. Excuse me while I curl up and whimper, waiting for tonight’s episode.

    The controversy these days is the fact that Tim Gunn is not writing a blog nor recording a podcast, which sucks hard. I was kind of assuming that the mighty Laura K over at Blogging Project Runway would be able to strongarm the Powers That Be into making it so. So far, no dice. {shivering in withdrawal}

    Fortunately, Jay McCarroll and Santino Rice are both recapping the episodes at Elle.com. Jay, in particular, has an easy-breezy writing style that is delish. Here, he talks about meeting Sarah Jessica Parker:

    i have met some sick ass fashion scags who housed the evil of all dark nations in their eye sockets, but miss parker was the super supes!

    Heh. Anyway. I highly recommend Blogging Project Runway as your companion piece whilst hitting the PR-pipe — Laura is in with the PR producers, provides links galore, and always (this is important) warns about any potential spoilers that might jump out and kill the buzz. She’s the super supes!

    Do not access the LiveJournal Project Runway site.. that one is wormy with spoilers. I made the mistake of reading a RSS feed that mentioned a really big thing that’s coming up in a future episode, and now that really big thing is grinding away at my insides. I want to tell somebody! And I can’t. Tell. Anybody. The code of the PR junkie.

    I’m not even going to dissect the source or reason for my addiction, nor make any proclamations about Pop Culture, nor make myself look good, nor limit my number of exclamation points. I love Project Runway! Give me more Project Runway!!!!

    Oh, wait, I’m going to make myself look good here:

    Photo: Michael Kors looking like an Oompa Loompa, by flickruser Μαρία. Thanks for letting me use it!

    nablopomo 07 day 28

  • we’ve always had our suspicions

    A person or persons took the opportunity of Thanksgiving vacation and ran, ran, ran with it. S/he tagged a whole lot of campus with a whole lot of red spray paint. Most of the scribbling was allusions to plot and imagery from Thomas Pynchon’s  The Crying of Lot 49, a completely nutty postmodern novel. Oh, those English Lit majors; what are ya gonna do, what with the paint and the propensity for cultish thinking. But as you can see, higher thought was not at work by the time the grafittist got to the building where I work [above].

    Physics is gay? Well, I don’t want to pry or anything, and I certainly wouldn’t judge physics for the lifestyle it chooses. [Between you and me, though, I always thought experimental cosmology was a bit queeny. And there’s something a little, um, off about that wacky many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics.]

    But physics, really: it’s okay to come out. We’ll still love you and follow your laws regardless.

    and proud of it, thank you very much, originally uploaded by hambox

    nablopomo 07 day 27

  • jingly jangly jangly jangle

    If I’m going to get into the holiday spirit this year (confidential to Violet: I’m ready and waiting with my ornaments, sister), there are a few events to which I might have to insist on dragging some suckers friends. Nothing shrieks CHRISTMAS! like CHRISTMAS!-shrieking spectacle!

    “It’s Christmas, Snoopy!” On Ice!
    Dec. 1 & 2 in Santa Barbara. I laughed out loud at the commercials — it looks so weird and cheap and utterly awesome.

    Glory of Christmas at the Crystal Cathedral
    November 23-January 5  in Los Angeles. I love me some pageantry! And a liberal use of flying harnesses? Yes, please. My desire to brave the ultra-Christian crowds and see this show intensified after seeing an America’s Funniest Home Video in which, at a Glory of Christmas-esque spectacle, the Floating Jesus started involuntarily spinning around, and he had to break character and hold his robe closed at the back. Can we all, Christians and Muslims and Jews and Hamboxes alike, agree that that is funny stuff?

    Santa Claus Flyover in Oxnard!
    December 8, before the start of the Parade of Lights in Channel Islands Harbor. Oh, and there’s Snowplay for Children, too! Does it make people from snowy climes want to kick us, the fact we have to (and want to) manufacture snow? Fun fact: I designed a winning boat for the Parade of Lights in ’97 or ’98, whichever one they didn’t cancel because of the Santa Ana winds.

    Christmas Around the World at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
    November 15-January 6 in Simi Valley. What part of this event doesn’t make you want to scream? With glee? This “enchanting exhibit” features decorated trees from around the world. And don’t worry, Jews: “Also on display, you’ll discover a Menorah exhibit consisting many of the Menorahs given to President Reagan while in the White House.”

    My head is starting to hurt. I was genuinely Christmassy there for a second, but then took a detour into the Forest of Cynicism, then have looped back, feeling wrung out and fearful of the blinking lights. So, so many blinking lights.

    Santa?, originally uploaded by flickruser McSkeletor. Thanks for letting me use it!

    nablopomo 07 day 26

  • hambox dream-lab conducts joke experiment in sociological context

    I am in a white lab coat in my test lab, behind a two-way mirror. My first subjects, a group of Chinese people, enter the room. I turn on the loudspeaker.

    Becky the Scientist: A Viking walks into a bar. He puts a vacuum cleaner on the counter. What does the bartender say?

    Group of Chinese People: {stone-faced silence.}

    The group is ushered out. I call in the Lithuanians.

    Becky: A Viking walks into a bar. He puts a vacuum cleaner on the counter. What does the bartender say?

    Group of Lithuanian People: {confused Lithuanian babbling.}

    And so on, with at least three additional ethnic groups. Here at Hambox Dream Labs, we tirelessly test the funny, all for you.

    PS If anyone has an adequate punchline, the Labs would be happy to hear from you.

    Additional news of the surreal: not to sound like a standup comedy asshole, but what the fuck is going on with that Campbell Soup commercial? A noxious-looking green bean casserole sits on a table, then an armlike pine tree bough opens the window, grabs a spoon and a big globby scoop of casserole? While a wide-eyed poppet looks on? Then the tree lights up and there’s the spoon, hanging like an ornament? What the effity eff? Tagline: “Campbell’s Green Bean Casserole — Make Some Holiday Magic.” Supposedly this commercial is supposed to be fresh n funny, but it SUCKS! {/end holiday rant}

    nablopomo 07 day 25

    Photo: Camouflage Santa Hat, originally uploaded by cobalt123. Thanks for letting me use it!

  • grave-y

    I confess to some weepiness at the start of my Thanksgiving day. Not depressed, grim, grey-cloud waah-waaahing with no endpoint in sight — more like a brief squall of hot, healthy, let-it-out tears, tears that I have shed the past four Thanksgivings. Simply put, I miss things. Our family used to have a wonderful beach house, in which we would often celebrate the holidays. My mom loved Thanksgiving in particular; it was kind of a lower-level holiday in her book, so it was a much more relaxed, less planned and more congenial time for all.

    Mom has been gone for nearly five years; my dad, over a year; the beach house for exactly three — it was sold on Thanksgiving day. These are weird vacancies in my heart to which I still am adjusting. And, let’s face it, from the data I’ve collected, I will forever be adjusting.

    I am doing a good job of forging new paths and creating new traditions and making workarounds, as it were. A nice thing: my desire to feel festive this time of year is coming back, like tingly, newly regenerated nerves. Ow! Yay!

    Oh, dear. I just wanted to talk about my wacky fun day, and here I go, with the sad. Awkward! Anyway, I had a great day on Thursday, really I did. At the first gathering, I made a really good gravy — a skill my mother taught my cooking-impaired self many years ago. It was so tasty we all raised a glass in her honor. Go Maggie! I then spent several hours shoveling the best of the Thankgivingy taste sensations into my mouth. And then I only lost $5 playing poker, which is like winning to someone less card-impaired.

    A couple glasses of wine later, it was time to toddle to gathering #2. Basking in yet more fabulous company, I helped meself to another plate of delicious food, then to pies that were baked by heaven’s angels themselves. Also, there was mead! Champagne! Absinthe! Absinthe mixed with champagne! Uh oh, time to lie on the couch!

    The party train was an express roundtrip of fun. Back I went to gathering #1 for a nightcap and a ridiculous round of Balderdash, and more mead. What’s up with the mead madness? So out it’s in again. Let’s bring back other stuff from the 500 ADs. Visigoths in the house, yo! Balderdash is the fake-definition-for-a-real-word game (usually known as “Dictionary”). The wee-hour delirium caused us to become hysterical over “a decorative stool ruffle” and “the web of a monkey spider”. You had to be there.

    No, really, you should have been there. Good gravy!

    nablopomo 07 day 24

  • i hustle for my muscle

    I will have to recap my delightful Thanksgiving shenanigans at another time, as memories of the boozing and the fooding and the latenighting re-queases my quease gland. Can you believe I was not an english major?

    Instead, I will relate to you my virtuous morning (in case it looks like I’m bragging, keep in mind that the rest of the day was a total writeoff* ).

    If you have read any “Devil’s Cake” posts (request the password if you want to read a lot of jibberjabber about my health regime), you are familiar with one of the instructors at my YMCA, the one I call the Marine Drill Sergeant Lady. She gave us a holiday gift today by teaching a 9am 12″ extended mix extra-special 100-minute version of her Step/Pump/Jump class. There was weightlifting, there was stepping and stomping and lunging, there were jumping jacks, there was jumprope, there were abs. Oh were there abs. All the while being encouraged by the loudmouth Sgt. Lady.

    It was a little rough. More than a couple people (hambox included) had to pause and put their heads between their wobbly knees as the visions of sugarplums grew a little … vivid. My mind dully marked the passing minutes by watching the ass of the young woman ahead of me: a perfect half-circle of sweat darkening her pants grew and grew and finally overtook the lower half of her body. She maintained a maniacal grin on her face, so yay for her, I guess?

    The room got so sweaty and swampy the mirrors on the wall got all fogged up. There was extra condensation on the areas where big circles of adhesive had been applied to the back of the mirrors. I was disappointed that the mirror-installers had done their job in a methodical manner — it would have been great to see a happy face or “phil rules!” emerge, secret-message-style, as the humidity rose.

    The CD blasted weird remix disco-workout covers of vintage R&B and hiphop tunes.** As Salt N Pepa extorted us to “push it real good”, Sgt. Lady had the gall to say “Yeah, push it! I didn’t see you pushing yourself away from the table yesterday!” (How dare she? Even though she totally called it?) We also had to do that MC Hammer tippytoe dance during “2 Legit 2 Quit.” Enhance the visual by imagining our 100% Caucasion, mixed-gender class of people ranging from 16 to 70+ years.

    A Hulk Hogan-esque dude was waiting, presumably, for his Old Lady to get out of the class. As we filed out, saying our goodbyes to Sgt. Lady, he was all “yeah, you’re thankin her now but you’ll be cussin her in an hour.” Oh Ventura.

    I got all googly in the car, savoring the endorphin rush, not even minding the mall traffic that lays between me and home*** and getting all cute-overloady over a little ladybug running along my windshield wipers.

    * Seriously. I took a two-hour nap then lounged in bed the rest of the day sucking on the mind-bong that is a What Not To Wear marathon. Ate two turkey drumsticks and the rest of the green bean casserole. Am hoping that the improv audience tonight won’t judge me for my sad sad bedhead.

    ** I also got into a brief yelling discussion with Sgt. Lady, after she wondered aloud why AC/DC’s [sic] “Walk This Way” was on a hip-hop CD. I tried to explain that it was actually Run-DMC (and Aerosmith), it was the first merging of rock and rap, the idea of sampling, blah blah, then gave up and called Sgt. Lady a “damn white girl.” The hypocrisy was not lost on me as, after class, I started up my playlist full of Van Halen, Radiohead and (shuddup) Coldplay.

    *** It is very easy to get all anti-Black Friday when one is broke. I Bought Nothing Today! More virtue from the turkey-strewn sanctuary of St. Hambox.

    nablopomo 07 day 23

  • cheers

    From late 2005 to late 2006, I had some murky times. It was a dark cavalcade of Fucking Growth Experiences: health problems, job problems, a breakup, the death of my last parent, a car accident, and chronic financial bullshit. Yoinks!

    It wasn’t all shit stew, of course: I made some wonderful new friends, I created good art, I did a lot of thinking, I made a lot of grownup-style decisions.

    I am pleased to report that this little boat got becalmed this year. Not having rough seas and sail-fluttering wind got a little boring at times but lorrrd it was nice not to puke over the railing and worry about the damn boat breaking apart. Not that 2007 has been all smooth sailing (to drive this fucking metaphor into the ground); I’m not out of the financial woods yet, and I still have not married a Count (c’mon already), but life: it’s better. It feels much better.

    And for that, I give thanks.

    nablopomo 07 day 22

  • meme for me

    NYC International Pickle Day Pickles

    NYC International Pickle Day Pickles, originally uploaded by flickruser Harris Graber. Thanks for letting me use it!

    As predicted on the first day of NaBlo, I will now commence with the meme-mining. I’m going to play by the rules this time and actually tag five fellow bloggers who, of course, will receive chain-letter-style bad luck and public floggings if they don’t play along.

    • Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog. [Note: I was not tagged for this, as I am the most unpopular kid at recess. However, I found this meme at hula seventy’s blog.]
    • Share 5 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
    • Tag 5 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
    • Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
    1. In the 80s, while drunk, at a fundraiser, in the ladies room, I asked Shirley MacLaine “whatcha readin’?” (Answer: the notes for the speech she was about to give at the event. Since then I have tried not to harass celebrities.)
    2. I got a concussion, fractured my skull, tore my knee ligaments, and severed an artery — all in separate accidents, all when I was14.
    3. The spirit-world inhabitant that scares me the most is the poltergeist.
    4. I have five freckles, arranged in a perfect straight line, on the front of my left thigh.
    5. I get very distracted when there’s a pickle on someone’s plate near me. My mind starts churning: is s/he going to eat that? will i get to eat it? what will it take for that pickle to be eaten by me? where can i find another pickle?

    Now for the tag-you’re-it portion of this post: regina, violet, linhart live, ukulady, cardiogirl. Contrary to my dire warnings, there will be no penalty for not playing along. I loves yous regardless.

    nablopomo 07 day 21