Tossed: Play Production Class Binder

In my senior year of high school I took a class in play production. It was a lot of fun, and I got to sit in a trash can and go blind in Christopher Durang's The Actor's Nightmare.

For the class we had to put our annotated scripts, character research, blocking, publicity flyers, etc. into a binder for our final grade. I got an 89 on the project because my stage diagrams were not in color. It's a fair cop.

In the binder, which I stumbled upon in our stuffy attic last week, I also rediscovered my bio from the playbill, from May 2003:

Helen Herbst (Dame Ellen): Hi, I'm Helen, and this is my second bior [sic] in two weeks. My, I grow so quickly. ...*

Anyway.
The contents of the binder are not the important thing. The important thing is that the binder I used was a cruddy old one I had decorated as a freshman.

I decorated it with stuff I liked. And I sure did like some things. At least 17 things.

Click to enlarge.

I've numbered and itemized my likes for your (my) reference:

1. Powertel Guy - I didn't have a cell phone when Powertel existed, so I can't vouch for their service. It was their spokesguy who rang my bell. Played by then-nobody T.R. Knight (now famous for being too gay for Isaiah Washington's taste), he offered free roaming and 30 seconds of adorable in every TV ad. I was charmed for some reason. It's not that weird. My brother-in-law has a thing for the T-Mobile pink dress girl.
2. The Kids in the Hall - Hey! I had good taste in sketch comedy shows when I was 14!
3. The Rocky Horror Picture Show - I was no virgin. I've already reminisced about this particular like in three parts.
4. Blink-182 - I really thought they were a very good band. They were the first mainstream musical act I ever saw in concert (if you don't count Laurie Anderson as a mainstream musical act. I'm pretty sure I saw her at one point in my single-digit years).
5. Eric Cartman - I loved South Park, and this was the time when everyone who wasn't already in the middle of doing an Austin Powers impression would try to "do" Cartman. I call this time in my life the "No-Kitty-this-is-my-pot-pie" years.
6. They Might Be Giants - You're familiar with the best, funnest band of ever, right?
7. Absolute Punk? - I don't know what this is. I pretty well thought I was punk because I listened to Blink-182 on my pink Hello Kitty boombox; I must have just liked this very not-punk representation of my idea of "punk" (which Avril Lavigne would later better define as "Sk8erboi").
8. Mallrats - I loved this movie and watched it over and over. I could probably still recite most of it from memory and am currently trying to bring back "What, like the back of a Volkswagen?" as  a charming "That's-what-she-said" alternative.
9. Can't Hardly Wait - I thought all the high school parties in my future were going to be just like the one in Can't Hardly Wait. To this day I've never been to a party like that. The movie is still fun, though. And that reminds me of a sweet friend who once said I reminded her of Lauren Ambrose. I should give her a call.
10. Seth Green - This was before I got into Buffy the Vampire Slayer, so I must have just loved him from Can't Hardly Wait. And maybe Radio Days, but probably not.
11. Ethan Embry - Yes, Can't Hardly Wait moved Ethan's and my relationship forward, but really, I'd loved him since Dutch***. 
12. Joey Fatone - You know he was coolest member of *NSYNC. At least before Justin Timberlake out-radded everyone on earth.
13. Jason Lee - What can I say? I was a fan of Brodie in Mallrats, and he was really sweet in Mumford. That's a pretty good picture of him, too.
14. Strung Out - I liked the band Strung Out. I was a super punk rocker, as has already been established.
15. Romy and Michele's High School Reunion - This was probably my favorite movie at the time. My friend Michele (yes, also one L) and I even learned that choreographed dance Romy and Michele do in one of the expository scenes, and we would dance it in her basement. We had big plans to request the song at one of our school dances ("Stayin' Alive" by N-Trance) and do the moves there. Never happened.
16. Eddie Mills - OK. I had to do some serious browsing to figure out who this guy was. He played Jen's boyfriend Ty on four episodes of Dawson's Creek. He has a very cute nose, if you're into that sort of thing. Oh and I just remembered he was in Dancer, Texas Pop. 81 with Ethan Embry, Peter Facinelli, and Breckin Meyer from Can't Hardly Wait!
17. Eric Lively - Known more now as Blake Lively's brother, this guy was on a Disney Channel show I watched called So Weird (what was so weird, you ask? Mackenzie Phillips played the mom). I remember it was like three months or something before I realized that in the photo on the binder he's laying in a tub full of water. My punk self also took offense to his wearing an Abercrombie shirt, so I covered the label with a sticker I made that said, "Anything but...."

So I was mostly interested in guys, but I was also a fan of the theater.

It's hard to tell, but that's an ad for the play Noises Off behind that Rocky Horror program. I remember seeing Noises Off at a rival high school and really enjoying it, so I must have -- oh, actually, looking again, I see that T.R. Knight was in this production.

So that's why I put it in the binder. Powertel Guy again. In fact, behind the Noises Off thing is a Powertel brochure. I'm not kidding.


The incomparable Johnny Bravo adorned the spine:

So as a high school senior I found this old binder of mine, and instead of discarding the remnants of past infatuations, instead of buying a new binder for a buck-fifty, I left it as was and turned it in with my final class project.
I was sure my teacher would recognize it as an ironic acknowledgement of how far I had come. And she probably did get it. The only issue is I spent a lot more time putting together the assemblage on the front than I did my play production notes, and it shows. But I still got an 89!

I'm throwing the binder out. I'm not the me I was when I was her.



The blog entry could end right here, but I had so much fun reliving my pubescent obsessions that I decided to make another such love-collage, of all the things I currently like, painstakingly Googled and laid out artlessly on a white background.

IT WAS SO MUCH FUN. EVERYONE SHOULD DO THIS.

Here are 17 things that I like now:

Click to enlarge this one too, please.

1. Da Vinci's Inquest - Come on, people. We've been over this.
2. Battlestar Galactica - You see how brilliant a promotional image that is? Frak. What a good show.
3. They Might Be Giants - Yep. I'd still put them on my binder. I'm one of those.
4. Comedy Bang! Bang! - This is Scott Aukerman's hilarious improv-interview podcast. Right now I'm snorting to myself thinking about the "Hollywood Facts" theme song, and I can't link to a sound-clip of it, so I'll instead link to a short preview clip from the CBB TV show premiering on IFC in late spring (!).
5. Hedwig and the Angry Inch - I've identified this as my favorite movie for 11 years. If it isn't actually my favorite, it's pretty close. Here's a pretty song/funny monologue/heartbreaking scene.
6. District 9 - I was thinking to myself, "What's a slightly more recent movie that I really liked?" And the first thing to come to mind was District 9.
7. Gotye - Look at him. Listen to him. Read the About page on his website. He's the neatest boy in the whole school. It's trouble, really -- if he doesn't release some tripe or say something racist or drown a sack of kittens soon, I'm going to start signing my checks "Mrs. Helen Gotye Herbst Gotye LaStar Gotye.****" 
8. Parks and Recreation - The show's just great. And look how artistic I am I put the picture sidewayz.
9. Ken Jennings - So I'm slightly in love with 74-time Jeopardy! champ and bestselling author Ken Jennings; so what? He's really funny on Twitter.
10. Andrew Bird - He's good. I like him lots.
11. The Thrilling Adventure Hour - "When there's varmints need a-catchin' and young'uns need a-savin', on my rocket steed I race across the stars / for I've sworn by the burrs of my astro-spurs to right the outlaw wrongs on Mars." -- the theme from "Sparks Nevada, Marshal on Mars," my favorite radio serial on Thrilling Adventure Hour. 
12. The Decemberists - I intentionally picked the photo with the umbrella, like Andrew Bird's photo, just to illustrate what self-important hipsters we all are when we use umbrellas.
13. Catlanta - Catlanta is a street artist whom I like very much because he is Atlanta and he is cats.
14. Jamie Bell - I wanted to be sure to include someone I liked for purely physical reasons, but then I don't think his hotness quite translates to still pictures. Watch him move and talk in something. Not in Billy Elliot, though; he's a little young in that*****.
15. Breaking Bad - I could have put any of AMC's original series on here, really. I happened to put Breaking Bad because Walt and because Jesse and because Saul and because Gus and because.
16. Tom Lehrer - His Wikipedia page used to describe him as a polymath but doesn't anymore, and I intend to write a strongly worded letter about that. Here's one of my favorites of his lesser-known songs. He's 84 years old, and I love him.
17. (The real #1): That's a creepy image of my husband. I love him more than Gotye.

Does anyone know if there are any openings in the editorial department at Tiger Beat? I think I would be really in my element there.


It can be good to get a snapshot of the external things we use to define our internal selves. I can look at that collage and say this is what I like. And maybe it's what I'm like, just a little.
Still, no matter how much the bulleted list of interests changes -- over weeks, months, years -- we remain essentially the same.
For example:
I liked cute boys when I was 14.
I turn 27 in 11 minutes, and I still like them.


*Man, I sound like an asshole. I wasn't one, actually.** 
**I am one now! :)
***Fun fact: my husband once waited on Ethan Embry at Sequoia National Park. He said he was drunk and very nice.
****J/K. I don't  use checks.
*****I linked to a scene anyway. It's so good.

Donated: Short-Neck Plush Giraffe Picture Frame

For a few months in 2001, I dated a really nice boy. He was a Boy Scout, literally. And the son of a preacher man. Literally. He was really nice.

He asked me out shortly after 9/11. At the time I was engaging in a mild flirtation with another, not-quite-so-nice boy, so when the nice boy folded a ring out of a dollar bill and popped the question* after a set build for All My Sons, I had a choice to make.

Really it was an easy decision -- the nice boy was cute as well as nice, and I really liked him -- but being a student of drama and completely sophomoric**, I had to drag it out. My girlfriends and I compiled a list of pros and cons for each boy.

With all their qualifications bullet-pointed out, it became clear to me.

Nice Boy
•  Nice
•  Cute
•  Likes me
•  Asked me out
•  Gave me a dollar

Not-Quite-So-Nice Boy
•  Held my hand outside Wendy's one time
•  Cute
•  Maybe likes me?
•  Hasn't actually asked me out
•  Possibly in love with my best friend

So I went with the nice boy, and it was really nice.
And at one point in our nice relationship, the nice boy gave me a present.

He gave me a stuffed giraffe.
In the giraffe's tummy was a picture frame, and in the giraffe's tummy picture frame were two photos -- one of my nice boy wearing a tuxedo (at a homecoming dance he had attended with someone else, before we'd met) and one of my nice boy when he was a nice little boy.

I'll admit I thought it was kind of weird, him giving me a photo of himself at age 5, but mostly it was just nice. And I really liked giraffes.


He was an atypical giraffe. He had no neck to speak of, and he had one very fuzzy nostril that stuck out about a half-inch from his face.

His fur was the thin, velour-y type you'd find on a claw-machine plush, and the stitching on his bum was all gnarled. He was also soft and very cuddly, despite the plastic panel on his belly.
I felt about the giraffe about the same way I felt about the nice boy -- he was maybe not what I expected to have, but he sweet and cute and oh, would you just look at him!?


I broke the nice boy's heart the day after Christmas. He gave me another present, and I presented my case: maybe it would be nice if we could just be friends.
For all his pros, he was just too nice, and 16-year-old me was looking for something else -- specifically, a not-quite-so-nice boy.

I promised myself I would not make a move toward the other boy for at least 3 weeks -- I owed the nice boy that much at least.
The not-quite-so-nice boy and I got together on New Year's Eve.


The giraffe went in my bedroom closet with a load of other stuffed animals and was eventually joined by the stuffed dog the not-quite-so-nice-boy gave me when we broke up.


When I look at the giraffe now, I feel a little sad that I treated such a genuinely good guy so poorly. But then I've done way bitchier things since high school, so I don't fret too much about it.

I'm bringing the giraffe to the thrift store (without the accompanying photos), where he will surely find a home with someone very nice.



By the way, don't worry about the nice boy. He grew up, married a nice girl, and became this guy. He's doing just fine.


*"Will you go out with me?"
**Though I believe technically I was a junior.

Donated: Clock/Radio/Cassette Player

"It was called the [Sony Dream Machine]. And it was. It really was."

--Old Rose, Titanic

When I was 9 years old, it became vitally important to me that I get an alarm clock.
And not just any alarm clock -- I wanted a clock/radio.
And not just any clock/radio -- I wanted a clock/radio with a tape cassette player in it. I could not wake up to just any beeps or top-40 tripe; I had The Juliana Hatfield Three on tape, and darn it if I wasn't going to hear "Spin the Bottle" first thing in the morning.

So I begged my mom for one. It wasn't my birthday, so I had to position myself as a child of desperate need. "I need a tape-player alarm clock. Because they're cool," I probably said, "Cool kids probably have tape-player alarm clocks. Because they're cool. So I need one. Please?"
And my mother, seeing the sorry state I was in, took me to Target to pick out my tape-player alarm clock.

I picked out the handsomest (and only) one in the store: the Sony Dream Machine.

I've put a picture of Blink-182's Mark Hoppus on it for scale,
 so you can really see how huge the thing is.

It was way more expensive than I thought it would be, but I was now committed to forcing my mom to buy it for me. The joy of knowing I would now get to choose the jam that would jar me out of sleep was enough to overtake any associated guilt.

So my world's-best mother bought me a clock/radio/tape cassette player. It was everything I wanted it to be and more.
The next two or three years of my life were defined by the audio tapes I listened to most obsessively:

• Juliana Hatfield Three, Become What You Are - If I was going to wear out one tape, it would have been this one. Oh my gosh, I loved this album so much that when Juliana Hatfield guest-starred on an episode of My So-Called Life, it felt like I was watching my friend on TV! Playing a homeless ghost!
• Hole, Live Through This - I was in danger of wearing this album out too, but only because it was side A of the tape my sister recorded me, on which Juliana Hatfield was side B.
• Blondie, The Best of Blondie - I even choreographed my own dance moves to most of the songs, including a partner dance with my plush Keroppi doll that involved quite a few Dirty Dancing-type lifts (for "Rapture," of course).
• Nirvana, Nevermind and In Utero - Loving Nirvana was a nationwide pastime, and even more so at my house. For my education, my sister made me a tape with Nevermind on one side and In Utero on the other. Kurt Cobain had just died, so I listened with reverence and a rhythmic but barely detectable head-bob. I wrote his name and initials all over my wall with chalk, more as a sympathetic gesture for my sister than out of devastation on my part. His middle name was Donald.
• Melissa Etheridge, Yes I Am - Grandpa loved this album and gave me the tape on one of his visits (part of me remembers him calling her a "great lesbian singer," but my mind may be playing tricks on me there). I mostly ignored side B, but loved side A as much as anything. My then-stepsister and I even put on a much-acclaimed show for our parents in which we belted out "Come to My Window," followed by "Colors of the Wind" from Pocahontas.
• Matthew Sweet, Altered Beast - This is still one of my favorite albums. Mom and I would occasionally perform "Devil With the Green Eyes" at open-mic nights and modest family functions.
• Abba, Gold: Greatest Hits - Like every other nine-year-old girl in the world, I became obsessed with Abba after watching Muriel's Wedding.
• Reality Bites Motion Picture Soundtrack - Squeeze, U2, Juliana Hatfield, and three Lisa Loeb songs -- what's not to like (except maybe "Baby, I Love Your Way")?
• Babes in Toyland, Fontanelle - I probably shouldn't have been listening to this. They said a lot of swears.
• Cats Theatrical Recording - I've mentioned my love of Cats before. I loved Cats.
• Various Artists, Rockin' Rebels - This was a collection of '50s rock and roll songs that I found at a convenience store or something. The best song on the tape was easily Del Shannon's "Runaway." I would request "Runaway" at the roller rink every skate night, and they would play it, sandwiched between "Ghostbusters" and "I Swear" by All-4-One.
• Bye Bye Birdie, soundtrack from the 1995 TV movie remake - If I'm being honest, I listened to this way more often on my Sony Walkman in the back of my mom's car than I did on the clock/radio. And if I'm being really honest (more honest than necessary, really), I had a crush on Jason Alexander.
• Natural Born Killers motion picture soundtrack - Looking at the track listing now, this is an amazingly good soundtrack. But I mostly just borrowed it from my sister for Patsy Cline's "Back in Baby's Arms."
• Deana Carter, Did I Shave My Legs For This? - I just remembered that I loved "Strawberry Wine." I must have repressed that memory. It was my then-stepmom's fault, not mine.

But it wasn't just a delivery system for a bizarre collection of music -- it was with this alarm clock that I learned how to wake myself up.
One 5th-grade morning I awoke, got dressed for school, washed up, and then looked at the clock to find that it was 2:30 in the morning. I didn't have to be at the bus stop for another four hours at least. I was the perfect combination of exhilarated and exhausted. I went back to sleep.

It's like supermodel/tycoon Tyra Banks once said:

I found I enjoyed the feeling so much that for a few weeks I set my alarm for 2:30 am, so I could wake up, realize I had four more hours, and then go back to sleep for four more hours. This eventually morphed into what I still do now -- setting the alarm for an hour or two earlier than I need to be up and then, each time the alarm sounds, manually adding another 15 minutes until it's time to really rouse myself*.
Resetting my alarm all those mornings, I got so Dream-Machine savvy that I could set the alarm without looking, reaching backwards over my half-dreaming head.


A few years after I got the Dream Machine, I got Stunt by the Barenaked Ladies on compact disc. Then  I got TLC's FanMail. Then I got the Titanic soundtrack.
And with that, I was done with the audio cassette. I was a teenager, just in time to leap from Walkman to Discman. It wasn't the mid-'90s anymore; it was the late '90s, and, like scrubs, I didn't want no tapes.

My musical tastes started to change, as evidenced by the aforementioned Mark Hoppus sticker I put on the alarm clock**.

I was 14 or 15 when I decided that Blink-182 was the best band
ever in history without exaggeration.

I still used the clock every day to wake myself up, even when CDs started giving way to MP3s. And once I got into college, I even started listening to some tapes again***.

But when I moved into the basement with my then-boyfriend-now-husband, I got a new, more compact alarm clock, and the Dream Machine sat lonely in my old room until we moved.


When I unpacked the Dream Machine, I found there was still a tape in the deck.

It was Laid by James. I'd had the tape since I was a kid but never listened to it till I was older.

That's it. I don't really have an ending for this one, so I thought I'd brag about what good taste in music I eventually sort of had.


Anyway, the alarm clock I have now just beeps.


* I never use the snooze button, for two very important reasons. 1) Six or nine minutes is just not enough, and 2) the mental effort required to manually set the clock means I'm ready to be actually awake by the time the fourth and final alarm sounds.


** I got this sticker from an issue of Twist Magazine, which at the time had a circulation of only two readers -- my best friend Michele and me. I was going to call it the "now-defunct Twist Magazine," but apparently it is very much still funct.


***And not just in the ironic hipster way, though for a minute I probably could have been the kind of person who says things like, "You just haven't really heard Pablo Honey until you've heard it warbling shittily at you on audio cassette."

Repurposed, in Tribute: Tales of Wisconsin T-Shirt

My grandpa gave me this T-shirt when I was 7 or 8. I loved puns even then.

Get it? "Tales of Wisconsin"!  Ah, homophones.

My mom's dad and his kin hail from a small town in northern Wisconsin, but he was living in Illinois, about an hour northwest of Chicago, when I was growing up. 

He had a peach-fuzz pate and a physique one would classify as jolly. He was missing what I as a kid called a "permanent tooth," but his smile would melt the hot fudge on your sundae. He loved to buy us, his granddaughters, ice-cream and pancakes and sweets -- a diabetic, he lived vicariously through our sugar highs. He loved us to the point of tooth decay.

I remember one ice-cream shop we went to had a menu item called the Kitchen Sink. It was enormous and served in a metal basin. I asked Grandpa if he thought I would be able to eat the whole Kitchen Sink, and he replied, "Your stomach is bigger than your eyes, so if you can see the whole thing, you can eat the whole thing." I opted instead for a banana split. I couldn't finish it, even with Grandpa's help.

He took us to see Batman Returns, and when I had to leave the theater due to the trauma of the Penguin biting that guy's nose,* Grandpa went with me so everyone else could keep watching the movie. I'm pretty sure I got more ice-cream then, or at least a soda pop. 

Grandpa was an artist**. He was always making beautiful pencil or ball-point sketches. 

Some kitties and a birdie, drawn by Grandpa. Click to enlarge.

He also had beautiful, whimsical handwriting.

I seem to have stolen this letter and the above sketches
from my mom and eldest sister.

While I didn't inherit his skill (my uncle did), he did manage to teach me to draw a rabbit starting with just two exclamation points:

Bunny!!

In my life he was always hard of hearing, so he wasn't his best over the phone, but that was how I spoke to him most frequently after I stopped going to Illinois every summer. Every year he would call each of his children and grandchildren and sing his birthday song -- "My Best to You," by Sons of the Pioneers***. 

His hearing got especially bad over the last 5 years or so, to the point where we practically had to yell to him over the phone. The last few times I talked to him, he would greet me with, "Hey, hon, are you pregnant yet?" to which I would reply, "NOT TODAY, GRANDPA, BUT I'LL DEFINITELY LET YOU KNOW."

As he aged and his health declined, his frame got smaller, less jolly. My mom -- far away in Lubbock, Texas -- talked to him on the phone every morning. He'd had a fair bit of kidney trouble for the past couple of years, and Mom would let us know how worried we needed to be. 

One morning a few weeks ago Grandpa told Mom, "You know, we'll probably never see each other again."

We didn't really believe it.

My grandpa passed away one week ago. 

The day before it happened, Mom got a message from her brother that it was time to come up. She got on the first available flight to Chicago. Matt and I were in Knoxville doing some research for my work, and we drove up to Rockford, Illinois as fast as we could. 

But we were too late. 

Mom called to tell us that she had just heard from the hospital that his heart had stopped beating -- we had all missed him.

We saw him afterwards, resting so sweetly in his hospital bed. He looked comfortable, at ease, handsome. He looked like my grandpa.

Grandpa.
Richard Wurl, May 26, 1930-February 18, 2012.
Photo by his favorite daughter, my mother, Karen Wurl.

So Grandpa got me this T-shirt when I was 7 or 8. 

I wore it all the time, at every stage of my life -- from elementary school, when I loved furry animals and my grandpa; to high school, when I loved the thrift-store look and my grandpa; to college, when I loved comfortable casual shirts and my grandpa. I wore it till the cotton became almost like cheesecloth and the armpits were permanently stained. It still fits me now, but it has gotten snugger and snugger the jollier my own body has become.

Knowing the shirt would fall apart if I continued to wear it, and not wanting to get rid of it, I decided I would frame the shirt. 

Thank you, Grandpa, for the shirt and the ice-cream and the memories. I miss you.

*I could link to a video of this scene here, but I will not do that to myself or to you. I have still not watched the rest of Batman Returns. I was told later in life that the Penguin was just Danny DeVito in make-up and a Tweedledum suit, but I have never been convinced of this. 

This incident may or may not have contributed to my fear of waterfowl.

**And one of those real sensitive types. Ma says that he would always cry when telling bedtime stories,  specifically Oscar Wilde's "The Happy Prince" -- no matter how many times he read it (but then, I defy you to read that beautiful story and not cry). I have inherited this trait and will cry at the drop of a hat, the spilling of milk, and the airing of certain Liberty Mutual commercials.

***I can only find the Joni Mitchell version to link to. She sounds nothing like my grandpa.

P.S. In addition to his two brilliant, beautiful children and his five pretty-alright grandchildren, my grandpa really loved Star Trek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Connie Chung. I just thought you should know that.

Sold: My Car Henri

Part I: Hello and Goodbye

I still remember the man who sold me my first car.

At least, I remember his hands. His hands and his voice -- chubby, tan fingers flipping pages of paperwork as he said, with dulcet Persian accent, "Now you are to sign this one for Homeland Security. They make us do this since September 11."

His name was Ahab, and he was everything I wanted in a car salesman -- genial, obliging, not a backseat driver, not pushy.
The car was OK, too -- automatic transmission, less than $4,000 -- everything I needed. I wasn't too keen on the color, but I figured I could have it painted. It was my first car; it was meant to be a starting point, not a dream realized.

1998 Honda Civic Coupe HX -- manufacturer's photo. They call the color "red."

I had played the field a bit, gone on several test drives with other cars, but the other cars had too much baggage -- they had body odor, or they were high maintenance, or they were old and impotent*. Ahab's red Honda, though, was so charming. I took him out and immediately knew I wanted to take him out again. He'd been around -- 186,000 miles around -- but that was why this car, which should have been out of my league (a Honda, only 6 years old, up to 40 miles per gallon), was only $3,500**.

So I bought him. I filled out Ahab's paperwork, handed over a bunch of money, and then I was allowed to take the car home. He was mine. My car.

I named him Henri. I don't know why. I used the French pronunciation, so it wasn't alliteration I was aiming for with "Henri the Honda" (there is a little assonance there, though). I'd probably just rewatched An American in Paris or An American Tail (or both, in some An American... movie double feature) and was thinking about these two gentlemen:

Henri Baurel!

Henri le pigeon!

You see the resemblance, don't you?

Henri LaStar, né Herbst

Anyway, Henri and I were inseparable for more than 7 years. We went everywhere together -- to school, to the store, to work (at 5 or 6 different places), to Starbucks, to the auto repair shop, to Michigan, and we had some good times (some of which I will relate in later posts in this multi-part Henri series). I never did repaint him. Ahab went out of business, but in those years Henri never faltered.


Early last year Henri started shuddering on the road. He would lurch forward while cruising sometimes, and at red lights I would watch the RPM needle bob up and down as his body shook. When starting from a stop on an incline, he would roll back slightly before moving forward; I was sure his transmission was sick. I took him to the doctor, who confirmed it -- Henri was terminally ill, and replacing his transmission would cost more than the car was worth. My mechanic recommended I drive him till he couldn't drive anymore.

Now by extreme happenstance, I had just received a car from my dad, as a "Happy-wedding-I'm-moving-to-New-York" present, so I could have given up on Henri right there. But Henri still got twice the fuel economy of the new car, Skoora. And Skoora, a sassy Hyundai Tiburon, was a six-speed manual. I couldn't drive her, and with my dear companion Henri still around, I had little incentive to learn.

We stuck together for 8 more months. And then my sister Valerie totaled her car.

My more-thoughtful-than-me husband suggested we sell Henri to her for cheap, so she would at least have transportation until she could find something more reliable.
It was a great idea. I was very sad.

I cleaned Henri out and drove him over right away. He had almost 260,000 miles on him. I felt like Ahab as I watched her sign the title. We had come so far, and now he wasn't coming home with me; we wouldn't be traveling companions anymore.

Valerie renamed him -- Dragon or something.

Dragon Hooper, 2012

Skoora and I are getting along just fine. She's still very young, but I've learned a lot from her -- how to drive a stick, for instance***. We go everywhere together.

Someone else's photo, but this is basically Skoora. She also answers to "Tibby."

But Henri will be missed. You never forget your first.


*That's the best dating metaphor I could think of for "lacked power steering."
**Also, Ahab's prices were amazing -- the Kelley Blue Book value for the car at the time was twice what I paid for it before tax.
***OK, mostly I learned this from my husband.

Contest Update!

So it would appear I have overestimated the number of interested reader I have.
Nobody submitted entries to this week's contest. NOBODY. 0 persons total.

Are you guys nuts? Did you see the prizes?

I'm lookin' at you, NOBODY.

As promised, I must now throw the prizes at homeless people, which I will do indirectly by donating them to Goodwill.

But since I'm so sporting, I'm going to reveal to you the answers to the three Casualties of the Hoard questions that no one attempted to answer.

Once Again, the Questions:

1. Last fall I tried to sell a biography on eBay. Which US president was profiled in the book?
2. In an attempt to move on, I gave away my late hamster's things in late 2010. What was the name of that hamster, whose death still remains a mystery?
3. I have mentioned at least 10 television shows in this blog since its inception. Name two of them.

The Answers:

1. Richard Nixon
2. Gillian (the Robo hamster)
3. Da Vinci's Inquest and Clerks both had dedicated blog posts. Other shows mentioned include sci-fi series Being Human, Doctor Who, Medium, Misfits, Torchwood, True Blood, and Warehouse 13, as well as Clifford the Big Red Dog, I Love the '90s, Sesame Street, Soap, Sports Night, Top Chef, and probably a few others I'm forgetting.

I hope you had as much fun not participating in this contest as I had not having my existence validated. You're all dead to me.



Lots of love,

Helen

CotH Contest & Giveaway: Handsome Bag & Organization Book(let)

Hello, Readers!
As a holiday treat, I thought I would have a little contest on the old blog-a-rino (ew. Oh well, there's no such thing as backspace) and give away some old crap prizes to two lucky participants.

First, the prizes:
I got both of these as free gifts for re-upping magazine subscriptions.

1st Prize:
This stunning handbag came with a reduced-price subscription to W. 

Like I said, STUNNING.

I'm just CRAZY about this bag!

Crafted from luxurious vinyl, it's easy to clean and ready to wear. Its eggshell color goes with everything. The epitome of concentrated style, it's even smaller than it looks. People will see you walking down the street with this handsome bag on your arm and say to themselves, "Who's that? Where's he/she going? Tiny bowling?" And you can glance back over your shoulder and murmur cryptically, seductively, "Maybe I am. Maybe I am going tiny bowling."

It's even smaller next to an issue of W magazine.

2nd Prize:
I got this organization book(let) free with 12 issues of Real Simple.

A book(let) every hoarder should have and then give away.

What can you do with an old tissue box? Enter the contest for a chance to find out!

I was very excited to learn that I would be getting "a free copy of Real Simple's book Conquering Clutter" with my magazine subscription, and so definitely not at all disappointed at all when I received the (very) petite volume in the mail. If you like bullet points and photos of dust-free surfaces, then this is the "book"(let) for you! Conquering Clutter contains "32 low-cost organizing ideas" and at least as many words. And because it is made of pages bound together, it is definitely apparently a book.

Real Simple magazine is also a book.

If you win, you get to choose between one of two options:

1. I will mail you your prize at no cost to you (or hand it to you directly, if we are acquainted and you are non-creepy and in the Atlanta area).
2. I will donate your prize to the charity/thrift store of your choice (as long as your choice is Goodwill, the Salvation Army, America's Thrift, or something equally easy for me to get to).

You'll also get bragging rights and a mention on this blog, which is occasionally read by such illustrious personages as my mom, my dad, and my husband's boss.

If no one participates, I will be forced to throw these prizes at a homeless person. Do your part to prevent the mistreatment of street-buddies*!

THE CONTEST

I will ask you three questions, the answers to which can be found in this blog. The first and second readers to submit three correct responses (or to come pretty close) will get the crap prizes. 

I encourage you to peruse the "Casualties of the Hoard" archives (see the right-hand margin of this page) to find the answers, like a scavenger hunt. You can try as many times as you like -- the only rule is that you submit your answers by 7 p.m. EST this Friday, December 9.

The Questions:

1. Last fall I tried to sell a biography on eBay. Which US president was profiled in the book (which no one on eBay wanted because they're all jerks)?
2. In an attempt to move on, I gave away my late hamster's things in late 2010. What was the name of that hamster, whose death still remains a (not particularly intriguing) mystery?
3. I have mentioned at least 10 television shows in this blog since its inception. Name two of them (name three or more for bonus points**!).

Send your answers to helen@casualtiesofthehoard.com by 7 p.m. EST, December 9, 2011. Please don't post your answers in the comments -- let the other reader share in some of the fun.

*I am not, in general, against the giving of useless gifts to bag-ladies and -gentlemen. 

**Bonus points mean nothing!