I write at this time to share another incredible entry in the giveaway. But first, I feel compelled to apologize.
All this time, I have felt concern for Renee Zellweger - thinking that she was perhaps a victim of unfortunate circumstances. But I was wrong.
You see, I occasionally put my foot not only in my mouth, but fully down my esophagus, through my stomach and into my duodenum. Apparently, my comment about R.Z. was such an example.
It wasn't the first time. Frankly, it probably wasn't even the most egregious example. No the most egregious example in recent memory involved an unfortunate incident with our former neighbors and a cheap bottle of scotch. Allow me to explain.
Some years ago, we had two very interesting neighbors in the TSMK cul-de-sac.
Note - by the "TSMK cul-de-sac" I'm speaking geographically and not anatomically. To my knowledge, not only do I not possess a Pouch of Douglas between my rectum and the back wall of my uterus, but I don't happen to have a uterus, and seriously doubt that if I did I would have two very interesting neighbors in the vicinity. No, indeed, I'm referring to the actual street upon which I and the entire TSMK clan happen to live.
With that minor issue cleared up, let me explain my gaffe. Our neighbors, Zeus and Hera [names changed to protect the odd, if not exactly innocent] were very strange, sweet people. For the first two years we knew them, I'm not sure I ever saw Zeus wearing a shirt. This in itself was unusual, given that Bainbridge Island is not exactly Ibiza. Meteorological issues aside, Zeus also resembled strongly resembled Christopher Lambert as Tarzan, Lord of the Apes. At least he would have resembled Tarzan if Tarzan had been covered in tattoos, with pierced nipples and a penchant for borrowing my table saw.
You see Zeus was remodeling his kitchen, and although he claimed to be a carpenter, he apparently didn't own any tools. And so he used mine. Often. And for long periods of time.
When Zeus and Hera [who, unfortunately did not resemble Andie MacDowell in her role as Miss Jane Porter - or any other role for that matter] finished remodeling their kitchen, they wanted to thank me for the use and significant dulling of my tools. In thanks, they graciously gave me a bottle of scotch.
That isn't exactly true. They gave Mrs. TSMK a bottle of scotch, and asked her to give it to me. I'm sure that she did tell me about the bottle. In fact, she probably showed me the bottle. But I'm afraid it just didn't register.
A few days later, Zeus and Hera came over to our house for dinner. Mrs. TSMK prepared a lovely meal, and we sat around the table trying to engage in polite conversation despite the fact that we had essentially nothing in common other than a similar street address. Thankfully, Zeus was wearing his shirt.
Trying to be the good host, I offered our guests some drinks. They accepted. This wasn't especially surprising, particularly with Zeus. In fact, Zeus had that very evening spent a good fifteen solid minutes contemplating the exposed gears of the bevel drive on the TSMK Ducati while expounding upon how cool it would be "on acid." Zeus was an accomplished user of all manner of mood-altering substances.
I left the table and went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of something. Reaching into the cabinet, my hand first met a very disappointing example. This was good, I thought, because I wouldn't necessarily need to share a bottle I prized. I quickly shut the cabinet, got some glasses, and made my way back to the table.
On my return, I immediately began apologizing. "This all I have" I said. "I wish I had something better," I said. "I didn't buy the good stuff the last time I was at the store," I said. "This stuff is awful," I said. All the while Zeus and Hera looked at me in stunned silence. Mrs. TSMK glared.
I'd tell the punch line, but of course you've already guessed. The bottle I was holding was the scotch they'd given me in thanks only a few days earlier. In my own defense, it was a very poor example of the breed.
Zeus never borrowed my tools again.
All of which leads me back to my most recent gaffe. One reader has been kind enough to point out that R.Z.'s facial features may be the result of her ancestry. Apparently she's of Sami descent, and that may explain the vast plateau between her eyes, although it does not necessarily explain her complete inability to act. And so I offer my apologies to R.Z. Or more specifically, to R.Z.'s mother with respect to any prior allusion to fetal alcohol syndrome. No hard feelings I hope.
That out of the way, let me share one of the more remarkable entries I've received in the giveaway: a sonnet from M.H in Massachusetts.
I saw a photo on a blogspot blog
That stopped my heart, it was so fair to see:
I shudder at the thought that one might frog
A shawl so delicate, so fine -- indeed so "me"!
I've heard about the knitter of this find
A man of class, who drinks of Islay's dew
Who cheers his fans with his discerning mind,
Who wears the kilt, and blows the bagpipes, too!
Dear sir, if a poor poet may request
A thing as worth as this grand confection
Such skillful use of Araucania's best
Would be the glory of my own collection!
Alas, my time to make my case has gone
And so, sir, "slainte mhath, is soraidh slan"!*
*Scottish Gaelic: "Good health, and farewell!"
The shawl is folded and ready for its new owner, and sits peacefully on the shelf of single malts in my office. Well, actually it sits with a bunch of single malts, a bit of port and a remarkable small batch bourbon. Keep the entries coming - the ides of March will be here before we know it.
~TSMK
