Denis’s new book Why we Suck, comes out today!

He’s doing interviews all day long, so I thought I would publish this exclusive interview I did with him last May for my blog. Trust me, it’s much more personal and in-depth than anything you’ll see on Today or the Daily Show. My apologies to you old-timers who have read it once. Here it is:
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The Story of Tim

Meet Tim. Tim is a beloved toy from Denis’s childhood. Visitors to our home often comment on him because he’s displayed prominently on a bookshelf and because he’s a little spooky looking. I decided to do a blog entry about him, but then I realized that, although we have lived under the same roof for many years I don’t know very much about him. So today I asked Denis some searching questions about Tim. Here is our groundbreaking interview in its entirety:

ME: Okay, so where did you get Tim?
DENIS: My Aunt Betty made him for me.
ME: I don’t think she made him. She must have bought him for you. Maybe she repaired him and you thought she made him?
DENIS: No, she made him. Look at him. Who would buy something that looked like that?
ME: Well, I thought maybe he didn’t always look like that. I assumed that he was like the Velveteen Rabbit …
DENIS: What Velveteen Rabbit?
ME: The Velveteen Rabbit was a book about a little boy who was given this beautiful stuffed animal rabbit. And the boy loved it so much that he rubbed its eyes off from cuddling it all the time and he made its seams split. And the rabbit loved him too…
DENIS: Well Tim’s no fancy-assed Velveteen Rabbit. Never was. He always looked like that.
ANN: Okay, So Aunt Betty made him for you. Now what was the name of her husband again?
DENIS: Uncle Aeneas.
ME: (fitful giggles)
DENIS: You came up with the idea of this interview just so you could make fun of my uncle’s name, didn’t you?
ANN: Well, it’s funny. And sad too, because it’s pronounced anus, so I imagine the kids in school must have treated him horribly.
DENIS: He grew up in Ireland. It was a common name there.
ME: Right. SO, anyway, Betty made Tim for you. Do you remember how old you were when she gave him to you?
DENIS: No, I was really little. It was probably that time I had to stay at her house when my parents went to Ireland.

A little history: Denis’s parents moved here from Ireland shortly before they were married. When Denis was five years old, his parents went back to Ireland to visit their families after being in America for many years. It was too much to take all the kids, so they took the oldest, John. Denis’s little sister, Ann Marie, got to stay with her fun cousin Noreen Lucey. And Denis got to stay with his father’s widowed, childless Aunt Betty. She was Denis’s great-aunt. This story always broke my heart, because Denis’s parents were gone for a month. His aunt had no idea how kids behave and she was constantly worried about him messing up the apartment and making him be quiet. She took him to church all the time. She made a big deal about giving him a gift and the gift was a white bible. She took him to visit his sister at his cousin’s once or twice and they were goofing around with all the other kids in their fun neighborhood, then she took him back to her clean, quiet apartment and made him wash up. She wiped his bible down all the time because it was white and she worried about it being smudged. She made him tuck in his shirt and pray. I think the first time he told me this story, I wept for him.

ME: Do you remember your parents leaving for that trip?
DENIS: Yes, I remember watching them walk out to the airplane, climb up the steps…
ME: Your heart must have been breaking!
DENIS: Why?
ME: Your parents were leaving you!
DENIS: No, I was all excited then. They had told me how great it would be to get to play with my toys all the time and not have to share them, and I could watch anything I wanted on TV and not have to fight with my brother about it. It wasn’t until I was actually back at her apartment that I realized how much it was gonna suck. But I did get to watch anything I wanted on TV. And she did really like me.
ME: I remember your cousin said she always doted on you.
DENIS: She did. She was my Godmother, and she didn’t have any kids. So…she really did like me.
ME: Oh, so there was something nice about the time you spent with her. She gave you a lot of attention.
DENIS: I guess.
ME: Well, I’m a middle child too, as you know, and it was often my fantasy to be the only child, so I can see where you might have liked having all that adult attention.
DENIS: Yeah, I would have like it for a few hours. It was a long month. But then my parents came back and we moved to a house from our apartment and then Tim fell behind some stairs that were being built and it wasn’t until I was an adult and they were fixing the stairs, that somebody found him. And that’s why I still have him.
ME: Awww. Look at him. It’s funny, I just always imagined that he was once this very very cute and cuddly plush panda bear and that he was just all worn out from your love. But now, you’re saying that he always looked like that, and you still loved him.
DENIS: I am?
ME: Yes!
DENIS: Okay, now can I watch the game?

Yesterday I got an email from my cyber friend Courtney Corvan, aka “Makeup Kitty,” who is a regular commenter on my blog, informing me that it’s gloomy in LA too, but not because of the weather. She emailed me some pictures of what the LA fires have done to the sky above Marina Del Rey. It was snowing ash above those crew teams paddling through the …marina? River?

I’m hoping those great LA firefighters are staying safe, as well as the people in that area.
Courtney also sent me a photo of the very dapper Shanti, who really resembles our old dog Rocky.

Coutney is an LA makeup artist with a great blog with all sorts of makeup tips. Check it out!

I love a gloomy day. The past few days have been rainy and unseasonably warm so there has been a lovely mist above our pond and some fog. Yesterday we had an afternoon storm and the rain showered down on the roof over my head, making me feel snug and warm and dry. I was curled up on my bed with my computer, my dogs sprawled around me.

Nothing makes my dogs happier than a human on a bed in the daytime. Sometimes I’ll lie on my bed to read and one of the dogs will wander in and freeze and blink in disbelief. Is it a dream? They seem to be asking themselves. Is she really on the bed? In the day? Because the dogs like to snooze in the day, and their favorite place to snooze is near a human. When I’m at my desk that means the floor for them. Now they’re laying all around me, blissfully snoring and farting and twitching.

Yesterday, between downpours, I went up to tend to the horses and took some pictures. It’s amazing how much color remains when the leaves have all fallen.

Our property is covered with stone walls, some of which have been here for over a century.

Some are old foundations like this. It’s the corner of what might have been the foundation of an old barn:

Why do I find piles of rocks so soothing?

November Night
Adelaide Crapsey (1878-1914)

Listen. .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.

It’s time, once again, for my picks from the many adoptable dogs available at Best Friends Animal Sanctuary. I realize that in previous weeks, I have been rather shallow in my picks, tending to choose what I thought were the better looking dogs. That’s just not right. So this week, I’m choosing the dogs (and one horse) who may be more beautiful on the inside than on the outside (let’s at least hope they are!)

First, meet Beckett. Yes, he’s slightly past his prime and doesn’t see so well…okay, he can’t see at all. The truth is, he used to bite mailmen, and now he can’t see the uniform, so the biting problem is solved! Plus, from the looks of those teeth, I don’t think flesh wounds are part of his repertoire any more. He’s like all of us, mellower and nicer as he ages. Won’t you consider letting Beckett spend his last days warming his paws by your fireplace?

Next, I present Tina Louise. She’s young and super sweet and I imagine the only reason she hasn’t been adopted is because she looks like she has a warrant out for her arrest in every state. We can’t all look like Lassie. Give Tina Louise the chance to show that, on the inside, she looks like the real Tina Louise.

The same goes for Hera. I think the Best Friends photographer should have taken a photo that doesn’t look like she just swallowed an infant whole. She a lovebug, really.

This week I had to include a horse, because this mare was standing in a holding pen at a slaughterhouse when the ban on horse slaughter took effect. This is one lucky Lady. Maybe she’s not so lucky in the looks department, but trust me, in horses, beauty really is only skin deep. I’ve met some gorgeous rogues in my day. So I present Lady:

And finally, my pick of the week. Meet Tweed:

Tweed is a Cattle Dog. Not the easiest breed to keep if you don’t have cattle for them to work. One of his legs is shorter than the other. Oh, and he doesn’t really like people very much either. So I would say Tweed is the neediest and one of the more unlikely candidates for adoption over at Best Friends. But before you judge Tweed, I ask you to look at yourself. Nobody’s perfect. Everybody deserves a chance. I like a dog like Tweed. he seems like the type that doesn’t always want to please you by placing dead animals on your bed. Won’t you give him a chance?

I really got into YouTube during the election. I’d just check in every day to see what the candidates were up to, and to watch funny clips from Conan and the Daily Show. Sometimes I’d find things on YouTube to post here. I really don’t think I look at stuff that’s too warped. Why is it, then, that when I enter that site, it greets me by my screenname, and then says something like, “We have a video that you might enjoy based on previous views,” and it’s always the most sick stuff. Today it was a video with the headline: “Lion Attacks Cameraman, eats arm.”

Unfortunately, I’m so morbid, I had to click on it and then began screaming when I saw a lion in a cage gnawing on an arm. I clicked it off. Then wondered if the camera man with the missing arm was actually the one still shooting the footage. Was there blood spurting everywhere Monty Python style? I decided to have another peek but I had left YouTube and when I went back I had to type in “Lion attacks man.” And a list came up that read, “Lion eats Baby,” Lion attacks Toddler,” Lion drags infant.”

Of course I couldn’t look, but my question is, do they actually show people getting killed on YouTube? Do they have snuff videos?
I think the reason YouTube thought I might like the lion footage is because I often look at animal births on YouTube. Its soothing. Try it.

Anyway, here’s a lion video from the Nick Park Creature Comforts series. Nobody gets killed, I promise.

I just had lunch with my dear friend Jennifer. Jennifer and I met the very first day of college. She was a lifelong New Yorker wondering how she ended up at a school that was in the middle of Hicksville. I was a hick wondering how I ended up in a school where everybody was a cool New Yorker. We had lunch together that first day and were immediately inseparable. I’m trying to come up with one amusing story to share about our antics during our younger days but realize that there’s not a single one that’s fit for my blog, as our kids are teenagers and might get the wrong idea about us. Let’s just say we were into the usual crazy college stuff. Necking with boys in the commons. Sharing a beer every once in a great while. Most days you’d find us in the library, our noses buried in books. We were just little sponges soaking up knowledge, Jennifer and I.

Someday, I’ll be able to write about all the stuff I learned at Bennington, but not until my kids are completely grown.

Jennifer and I both have two children and we conceived BOTH on the same day. Totally unplanned. Well, the kids were planned, but we didn’t plan to have our babies the same day. I think our firstborn children shared a due date and the second were due within days of each other. We both lived in NYC when our kids were little so we did all the nursing and weaning and potty training and stuff together. When we were in college we did almost everything together. Today we reminisced. When I see Jennifer, I still see the beautiful 18 year old I met that first day at Bennington, only now I have to put my glasses on to see her.

Jennifer is an artist. She’s a painter, an art teacher, and the mother of two gorgeous, talented daughters. She is one of the wisest people I’ve ever known, just filled with razor-sharp intuition about people and situations. We can not speak for months and pick up the conversation right where we left off every time.

I love her like a sister.

Here’s a helpful fashion tip for the ladies: When tending to your barn animals, make sure you look your best, just in case your charming Irish blacksmith should show up a little earlier than announced. I recommend you try to duplicate the smart outfit I wore this very morning when farrier Eammon Gillespie arrived:

The oversized barncoat/duster provides a delightful sense of mystery to a woman. The smudges of mysterious substance on its surface (wormer? manure) only serves to add to its tantalizing appeal. I chose the fashion forward pink hostess pajama because of it’s wonderful fit, offering just a peek of flesh between its hem and those sexy striped ankle socks. Also, I like to add a sense of fun, when I’m expecting guests. Notice how my slippers are not only two different styles, but also BOTH belong to the right foot!

Notice how I spared you my look from the neck up? Poor Eammon, not only was I dressed like a mental patient when he arrived, but my hair was sticking straight out like a hag’s and I was talking to my horse Gabriel. I don’t say things to my horses like, “Good boy,” or “Nice horsey.” I was saying, “If I drive in and out of the city today, I’ll only have to drive back in tomorrow. I really should stay the night …” Then I noticed that Eamonn was standing in the aisle. Of course, he greeted me with his great Irish brogue, as if nothing was in the least bit unusual. I suppose they have witches in Ireland too.

A Lemon
by Pablo Neruda

Out of lemon flowers
loosed
on the moonlight, love’s
lashed and insatiable
essences,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree’s yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree’s planetarium
Delicate merchandise!
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation’s
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.
Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.
So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
wells
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a nipple
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet.

Somebody recently told me that my blog is getting a little too doggy. In fact, I’ve been working very hard on this book and sometimes I don’t feel a lot of energy for blogging and so a dog blog is always easy. I’m trying to write about love (every day I’m trying to write about love), and so I’ve been reading all these poems of Pablo Neruda. Anyway, today I came across this sexy cat poem, for all you cat lovers.

If you like this, and you think you can handle it, tomorrow I will post a very, very sexy poem.

Cat’s Dream
by Pablo Neruda

How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
sleeps with all the rings–
a series of burnt circles–
which have formed the odd geology
of its sand-colored tail.
I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams.
I have seen how the cat asleep
would undulate, how the night
flowed through it like dark water;
and at times, it was going to fall
or possibly plunge into
the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
like a tiger’s great-grandfather,
and would leap in the darkness over
rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.
Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
with episcopal ceremony
and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams;
control the obscurity
of our slumbering prowess
with your relentless heart
and the great ruff of your tail.