For my next trick, I’ll use a phone with a cord attached to it.

We don’t own a microwave, so when Paul and his friend asked for popcorn I hauled out the air popper. “What’s that?” asked the friend. I explained. “Oooo,” she said, as if I’d just wound up a Victrola and begun to dance the jitterbug. “That’s neat.”

Paul and I were talking to Todd via voice chat and the webcam. I realized that I could maximize the webcam window, which led to bigger-than-lifesize close ups.

Wanting nothing to do with Todd’s Max Headroom impression, the King of Anatomy instructed Todd to put his ear as close as possible so that we could see inside it. I think I need to get that kid an otoscope.

Though I have only seen one episode of “The Bachelor”, I’m an avid follower of the Television Without Pity recaps. Because the recapper, djb, is not only funny but also tends to tie moments in the show in with lyrics from Broadway musicals, and has thus made me his eternal love slave.

I mean, and therefore I haven’t missed a recap since he took them over.

After reading two seasons worth, I noticed that the names of the participants tended to be taken from the same pool and decided to find out if I was right. Out of 103 women (three seasons worth of The Bachelor and one season of Joe Millionaire) I counted:

• 2 - Amanda
• 2 - Amber
• 2 - Mary
• 2 - Brooke
• 2 - Dana
• 2 - Heather
• 3 - Jen (if it were 1987, this number would be more like sixty four)
• 3 - Angela
• 3 - Shannon
• 4 - Amy
• 4 - Melissa
• 4 - Catherine/Katherine

But if you’re dying to be cast in reality tv’s version of a really, really bad Harlequin romance, then run do not walk to the nearest city hall and legally change your name to Christine. Eleven contestants. Christi, two Christinas, Christy, Cristina, two Kirstens, Kristina, three Tinas. Even the current season of Joe Millionaire has a contestant named Kristyna. From the Czech Republic.

Kalaleq’s Camel

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon and listening to a Tori Amos song.

Todd Tori Amos - ego = (Susan Court)

Okay, so in my own defense, I had heard my Canadian friends complaining every once in awhile about how they couldn’t order a particular CD because that company wouldn’t ship to Canada. And I know that Rhapsody is only available in America. So I asked two Canadians, an Australian and a New Zealander (otherwise known as the Valentines):

So do y’all have limited net access, not living in the United States? I mean, when it comes to online ordering and stuff?

and Kalaleq replied as follows.

Well, once every two weeks I travel out into the desert on the back of my trusty camel, Abdul, until we reach the oasis. The oasis is located in the centre of Winnipeg, so it’s a bit of a trek, but that’s the nearest bit of real civilisation to the west coast. We’re lucky we have Winnipeg or we’d have to travel all the way to Montreal and that takes more than a week by camel!

At the oasis I’m able to stock up on water for my family for the coming two weeks. Poor Abdul complains but he is a strong camel and more than able to bear the load, and we all skip many baths to make his load lighter. While I’m at the oasis I can, if finances allow, rent time on an ancient pdp-11 (all that western Canada could afford) at cdn $78/hr (which actually cheaper than it sounds, don’t forget the exchange rate). From there I can connect to what we call Cannet, which is sort of a quiet backwater of the american-run internet, we can’t connect to anything directly but we are able to send these email things (at an extra surcharge of $59 per email) out and they eventually make their way onto the internet, I am told, after a few days of being reviewed by our censors.

Now I must return to my family. They are waiting for this precious water and if I do not return as quickly as Abdul will take me, they will become sickly and likely will be overrun by desert pirates. Unfortunately we cannot afford proper law enforcement here in Canada so life is a risky business here. Once I reach home I will drop off the water, eat a lovely dinner of rice or barley mush and some fresh dates, and then Abdul and I will begin the week-long trek to Winnipeg again for more water.

I hope this missive finds you in good health, and does not get stopped at the border by the internet police.

Kite was at my house when this email came in, and I read it to her. By the end, we were both laughing too hard to speak.

We know you’re in there!

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon and listening to a Dean Martin song.

Todd Oh my god - I think Dean Martin is my Dad.
Todd looks like him
Todd drinks like him

Sage No, don’t worry. Your dad would NEVER have sex with Jerry Lewis.

Todd No - but he did with my mom, and she was just about as wacky.

Sage Ew. EW. Get that image out of my head! NOW!

I know y’all are tired of hearing about how much I love this Ozarks town. But really, yesterday I called the electric company - a place I’ve been in approximately twice - and the clerk knew who I was and where I lived as soon as I’d said, “Hi there.”

Compare this to the Audiobook Store Lady in the southwest, who called me Alicia every single time I entered her shop, no matter how many times I explained that my name was Sage.

Todd and Sage are playing online backgammon. Todd is famous for ordering pizza, then jumping at every single tiny noise, certain that it’s the Pizza Man, even if he only just hung up the phone. On Halloween, he’s even worse.

Todd, on Halloween I’ll work late and avoid the trick-r-treaters.

Sage Oh good lord. Just don’t turn on your porch light or you’ll have pizzaparanoia.

Todd I got pizza two nights ago, though and the knock on the door just about made me jump out of my skin. I thought it was the secret police trying to prevent me from immigrating.

No one here understands why we think a store called MFA is funny.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Todd What else are you doing? Or are you just feeling quiet today?

Sage I’m anxious that I might be feeling irrational anxiety.

Todd That’s irrational! I object.

Sage Sustained.

When we arrived at Bea’s birthday party, Paul immediately asked if he could open the trap door in the living room floor, which leads to a tiny cave-like space that the previous resident used for storage. With great regrets, everyone shook their heads and said no, not today, we’re sorry, another time.

About an hour later, when Paul and Kite had headed off to have first aid after Paul had been stung by a wasp, I heard Paul’s namesake arrive (and now I’m kind of grumpy because I looked up namesake and it doesn’t seem to refer to the person you’re named after but rather to the person who’s named after you, and if you know the right word, please send it, you can just click on Contact at the top of this page, you don’t have to be a member, it’s driving me nuts now). Not ten minutes later, the trap door was being opened.

For two people who are different genders, 45 years apart in age and only see each other once a month if that, they are unbelieveably alike. I know Namesake was just as excited about the trap door as Paul, and I can tell you from experience, it’s impossible to stand up under the onslaught of both of them when they’re excited about something.

Todd and Sage are playing online backgammon.

Sage Our quality of life has vastly improved, by the way, now that we’re using litter from the MFA. I tried pretty much every single fucking kind of litter they sell in this town and none of them worked. So I’m back to the MFA litter. It’s amazing how well it works.

Todd Our quality of life has improved in every way
Todd When we started using litter from the MFA
Todd Our cats are happy it is true
Todd And you can be happy - yes, you too!

I bet the Protestants only get a 13 inch black and white.

As someone whose idea of a rectory was formed solely by reading Jane Austen books (in which they are described as bare, spartan cottages) I was tickled when I walked by the parish of Sacred Heart Church, only to see the resident priest lying back in an armchair watching the biggest big-screen tv in existence as it played what looked suspiciously like a Maybelline ad, which I don’t think they allow on the Catholic channel.

Despite my intention to spend the weekend going through closets throwing away anything we won’t need in Canada, answering Ask the Crackpot questions and hanging out on the forums while Paul played at Granny’s, I spent the weekend helping Kite take care of what seemed like hundreds of children (though the final count was more like five) and then going home and crying while begging the cats not to die.

On Thursday morning, Habanero stopped eating. By Thursday night he wasn’t drinking water either. Meanwhile, all Harriet wanted to do was sit under the table and whimper, while Shelly constantly slept and Karma swanned around the house looking like Ewan McGregor from Transpotting, all sunken eyes and losing weight even as I watched him. On Friday morning, Karma wanted to go outside. Thinking that was a good sign, I let him go, then spent the next day and a half looking for him.

By that time, none of the cats would eat at all - not even tuna - and I was beginning to worry that they’d somehow all contracted cytauxzoonosis. In the midst of an icy rain, Karma let out half a mew at the door before I tearfully ran outside, scooped him up, fed him wet food and pet him for the next three hours. Now whenever there’s a rainstorm, Karma will be at the door pleading to be let out.

Why not take them to the vet, you ask? Although they do not have the head of a two-headed calf mounted on their waiting room wall like the 97 year old vet we went to once in Pennsylvania, the vets around here are in business to keep farm animals alive until it’s time for them to be slaughtered. Being gentle or kind is not something that would ever occur to them. And really, why be gentle or kind to a cow that may be on your plate next Thursday? There are no two-headed calves, but there are deer heads and hunting trophies and bewildered looks in response to, “Could you handle my cat a little less roughly, please?”

Just after we moved to the Ozarks, we took Karma to the vet and were told he had cytauxzoonosis and needed to be “put down”. Then when Anita was on her very last legs as a result of the terrible flea “treatment”, the vet pumped her full of steroids, which only prolonged what was already a painful death.

So instead, I called an acupuncturist friend who cheerfully agreed to come over and give all of the cats a treatment. You have not seen funny until you have seen Shelly lying stretched out purring at top volume and kneading while she has pins stuck into her. Meanwhile, the cat who lives next door tried his damndest to open the screen door, trying to get to the acupuncturist. Even Habanero was completely still during his treatment. Harriet and Karma just have severe worms, which black walnut extract will take care of. Shelly and Habanero’s malady is a little more murky, but the treatment definitely helped.

After she’d left, the cats were perky and happy and I went out and bought all the fanciest wet food I could find. All the cats had some for dinner. So. Crisis averted. I can’t tell how how much I’m going to miss everyone here when we’re in Canada.

Sage There are no songs by the Beatles on Rhapsody because Paul McCartney isn’t rich enough yet. See? “McCartney is currently estimated at about $864,480,000 according to the Times’ ‘Rich List.’ McCartney earned close to $78,500,000 in 1999 alone.”

Todd Christ! He’s talented, but not THAT talented.

Sage He just had a kid with his trophy wife. That kid is going to have to marry Madonna’s kid, because that’s the only human being in the whole world it will be able to relate to.

Todd Right, and they’ll make fun of Michael Jackson’s kid together.

Though, really, are there any particularly GOOD Phil Collins songs?

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon. They’re listening to a particularly bad Phil Collins song.

Todd Poor Phil. Had to pay the bills.

Sage In the mid 90s Rosie O’Donnell was interviewing Sting. She made a reference to a movie and said she really liked Sting in it.

And he said, “No, that was Phil Collins.”

Can you imagine mistaking Phil Colllins for Sting? That’s really when everyone knew she was a lesbian.

I realized recently that I’ve never actually explained what we’re doing in the Ozarks, while Todd is still in the Southwest.

It started in September, when Kite asked if we’d be willing to allow Paul to come to the Ozarks for a visit, if she came down and was the bus chaparone. Initially I said yes, then I remembered that the last time Paul went on a bus with Kite I was so consumed with anxiety that couldn’t sleep at all that night and ended up lying in bed at three o’clock in the morning with the light on staring at Seinfeld reruns. He could have been on the bus with the entirety of the Secret Service; I wasn’t with him and therefore I was a nervous wreck until they arrived at their destination.

So I said never mind, I’ll drive him down and we’ll visit for a couple of weeks. The thought of having two weeks to myself while Paul spent all his time playing with Granny was extremely tempting, and I felt terribly guilty about the cats thinking we’d abandoned them forever. We set off on our bizarre road trip and arrived to find our Ozarks house perfectly preserved: The Tyrtles - September 2002, just after Paul’s giant birthday party, and the collapse of my web design business.

After two weeks had passed and Todd’s work schedule had grown from 50 hours a week to 80, and we were getting involved with Mia’s unschooling school, and every time I went to the health food store people beamed at me and asked me how I was, and the leaves began to turn red and orange and fall to the ground in the ever-increasing wind, I decided to stay a little longer.

And in the interim the details of our move to Canada were cemented. We’ll be there in 2004, living far away from what feels increasingly like the prelude to a real life Handmaid’s Tale.

Every so often I’ll be driving by myself and think, “Soon, you’ll be saying goodbye to everything you see,” and get tears in my eyes. Then I whoop, “CANADAAAAA!” and thump the steering wheel and jump up and down in my seat a little.

When we get there, I’ll be like those people who convert to a religion late in life and then they’re way more obnoxious and prone to proselytizing than the people who were born to it. People in Canada will probably hate me.

Cargo Cult Cat

During World War II, South Pacific islanders saw that when colonial occupiers built wharves and airstrips, ships and airplanes arrived with cargos of goods. They built their own wharves and airstrips, believing that their own cargos would then arrive.

Yesterday, after I turned the heater off, Harriet sat in front of the heater vent for three hours straight.

There’s a website called Worth 1000 in which participants transmogrify an existing photo to fit a theme like, “If Hippies Ruled the World“.

When Todd pointed me towards this gorgeous David Till photograph, taken in Toronto:

I could hardly believe it wasn’t a Worth 1000 photo. Y’all make fun of me for my idealism when it comes to Canada, but come on, an hour spent in the icy cold stomping out a smiley face to make everyone who sees it feel better? It’s just…it’s adorable!

Even though academically I know that my ongoing dizziness is a result of hypoglycemia, I’ve been obsessed with whether or not I feel dizzy from moment to moment ever since that bath. The fact that I’m able to make myself feel dizzy when I’m feeling extreme panic isn’t helping at all.

I watched too many Lifetime movies in the 90s in which the heroine would say one day, “I feel a little dizzy,” and the next scene was her family tossing roses as her coffin was lowered into her grave. Never watch Lifetime movies, kids. They will come back to haunt you in the wee hours of the morning.

The Sacred Herb

A stimulant acts like a stimulant. And if you could ingest enough caffeine, you could have a high like cocaine.
- Dalen Duitsman, university professor of public health

I don’t think this warning is going to work in quite the way Professor Duitsman was hoping it would.

Todd and Sage are playing online backgammon.

Sage If I have to hear pot referred to as the “sacred herb” one more time I may scream.

Todd Oh, christ. Hang on - I have to pee and get more of the sacred drink.

Sage Hee.

Todd You know - coffee’s bad for you, but drinking of the sacred bean furthers my spiritual development. So it is a good thing.

[Todd and Sage listen to a new agey song via Rhapsody.]

Todd I like this new age store. It smells a bit too much of incense though.

Sage I’m going to buy that cool cape over there.

Todd I’m going to get a psychic reading.

Sage Oooo, we should get this amethyst for Paul.

Todd Hey - click that button and try the other “Soundscapes” cd. Wait…how did we end up in Target?

Sage Too much of the sacred herb. We got confused and lost our way.

Todd Come - drink of the sacred bean. You will find clarity within. Honor the sacred bean, and you will be blessed with vision and motivation.

[The new agey song is over. Next up: “Wind Chimes” by the Beach Boys.]

Beach Boys
Hangin’ down from my window
Those are my wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
In the late afternoon you’re
Hung up on wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes

Todd I hate the beeeach boyyyys.

Sage Wiiiiiiieeeeeend chiiiiiiiimes… We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Mike Love’s wind chimes.

Beach Boys
Though it’s hard I try
Not to look at my wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
Now and then a tear rolls on my cheek

Sage I think they were smoking the sacred herb.

Beach Boys
On a warm breeze the little bells
Tinklin’ wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
Close your eyes and lean back
Listen to wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes

Todd Maybe the sacred blotter acid.

Beach Boys
It’s so peaceful
Close to a lullabye

Todd That’s definitely a case of the sacred herb providing more importance to things than they deserve. “Listen, Mike, I thought of this groovy song - it’s about wind chimes.”

Beach Boys
The wind chimes tinglin’
Tinglin’
Tinglin’
Tinglin’
The wind chimes tinglin’
Tinglin’
Tinglin’
Tinglin’
Da do do da do do da do do da do do

Todd “Wow - man. It’s just so full of emotion. Wind chimes - look - a tear is rolling down my cheek.”
Todd “Hey! We can use that. Good job, man!”

Beach Boys
Whisperin’ winds send my wind chimes a tinklin’
Whisperin’ winds send my wind chimes a tinklin’
Whisperin’ winds send my wind chimes a tinklin’
Whisperin’ winds send my wind chimes a tinklin’

Good luck from Sweden!

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Sage I dreamed that we were practically having sex in the living room
Sage even though people were over
Sage we were like
Sage WE HAVEN’T SEEN EACH OTHER IN TWO MONTHS
Sage JUST AVERT YOUR EYES

Just as I was promised in the eighties, I am now playing backgammon with people all over the world. In fact, the other day I was playing with a person from Sweden.

“Good luck from Sweden!” the person said.

I replied, “Good luck from the midwest U.S.”

“No fires?” S/he asked.

“No, not here. We’re lucky.”

You know what I know about current events in Sweden? It’s a country. People live there. That’s about it. And yet, this person knew all about the L.A. fires.

Is this specific to American news? I remember being in England in the mid 80s and the tv news was all American - and nothing was even happening here at the time. Or is it just that people who don’t live in America are more up to date on what’s going on internationally?

I asked my mom and she said, “It’s like a big family, where the youngest child gets almost all of the attention.”

What do y’all think?

Todd I think I might have begun to put my neck back in.

Sage YAY!

Todd I agree - it’s been a long haul. If it works it’s because of that back cracking trick your mom taught me.

Sage My mom RULES.

Todd Let’s trade in her bike for a Trans Am.

Green Tent

Remember the big boxes you used to play with when you were little? You’d cut windows and doors into them, and they’d be the most prized toy in your room until the box finally collapsed?

Paul took his big box and made an outhouse out of it. You can take the boy out of the Ozarks, but you can’t take the Ozarks out of the boy.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Sage What are you listening to?

Todd The mix tape I made you.
Todd Rhapsody playlist, I mean.
Todd I’m so old.
Todd I hated it when my mom would do stuff like that.

Sage Like what?

Todd I’d bring home CDs and she’d say “I see you bought a bunch of tapes” or somesuch. They’re CDs, dammit. And now I do it.

Sage Paul supplies words when I can’t think of them. He does it in this hilarious “Oh Mama, I wish you weren’t 100 years old and senile,” kind of way.

In 1976, a green tent was born in Cumberland, Maryland at the green tent factory. It was a small, two-person tent and it went unnoticed at the Baltimore K-Mart #9 for a long time. But one day, a young father picked it up and took it home.

Soon afterwards, the tent travelled all the way from Baltimore to Southern California, keeping the father and his five year old daughter warm and dry at night during their move across the United States.

After that, the tent went on camping trips at least twice a year, with the father and his daughter. Sometimes the daughter put the tent up in the back yard and slept in it for a night or two.

When the daughter grew up, the father sent the tent with her on her way to college. So the tent was able to shelter the daughter and her road trip companion from the elements all the way from California to the Ozarks.

The tent was glad to arrive in the Ozarks, where it was pitched for years at a time, and it was able to enjoy the woods and the animals who shuffled into it when the weather was especially hard. But eventually even the fine Cumberland, Maryland tent makers were outdone by the rain, and the tent developed so many leaks that the tent was taken down and the pieces put into a shed.

The tent slept deeply, expecting that it would be in the shed forever and always. But one day, in the middle of a dream, the tent was woken up by a woman fussing around in the shed, muttering, “Tent pegs. Tent pegs…where are you?” And suddenly, the green tent was pressed into service again, to serve as the stakes for a tipi that the woman had just finished putting up.

And just as the tent settled happily into its new job, it heard the daughter say, “I bet this tent had absolutely no idea what an exciting life it was going to have when it was first put on the shelf twenty seven years ago.”