Capturing the Christmas Card -- Cat Clips #234

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In this episode: Problems arise when Michael tries to help the cats take a Christmas Card picture in their Halloween costumes.  To watch the video, please CLICK HERE.

Cat Clips--Lil' Cupid

This special Valentine's video (one of two) features the very first appearance of Tuck. To watch the video, please click on the photo above. In this episode, Tipi finds something adorable in the bathroom.

The Incredible Journey of Wine

I’ve never been a particularly big wine drinker. Except for the occasional sip of wine I got during church communion, wine never held much interest for me. And because of a rather embarrassing incident at a recent wine tasting party (humorously recounted in the online mystery “It Happened in Plainfield”), I don’t think I’ll have occasion to ever raise a glass of Chablis again. And yet I still receive bottles of wine as presents from friends and relatives. Even though most of them know I don’t drink wine, they still insist on bringing me a bottle every time they come for dinner or a visit. Unless they were intending for me to open it while they were there, I can’t really see a reason for the gesture. (In fact, it really seems more like an empty gesture, because they hadn’t bothered to listen the last seven times we discussed my dislike for the beverage…but I digress…)

Anyway, the best thing about getting a bottle of wine is that you can pass it along to someone else at your next dinner party, or birthday celebration, or family intervention. (Well, maybe not the latter.) Which is exactly what I do. Every time I need to give someone a present, I go to the trusty old supply of wine bottles I’ve accumulated, and pick one that doesn’t look too dusty. And since I know very little about wine, or their preferred expiration dates, I’m not really sure if a 1993 Pinot Noir is better than a 2007 Chardonnay. And frankly, I don’t care, either. As long as my host is happy with my selection, that’s all that counts.

And though I’d like to think I pay close attention to the intricacies of the bottles and the types of wines that pass through my doors, I rarely look at them before banishing them to the bottom of the liquor cabinet. All except one particular bottle which I happened to notice one day. It had a very unique design on it, but I also discovered that someone had scratched my name on the back of the label. The writing was small and almost undetectable, but it was obviously someone’s attempt to separate this particular bottle from the masses they intended to distribute. As I stuffed the bottle into an overpriced gift bag to give away that night, I tried to remember who might have given me that particular bottle. But after searching my memory for maybe two minutes, I was distracted by something else and never thought of it again.

Until two months later, when I happened to notice the same bottle on the wine rack of a friend’s house. It was not the same friend I’d given the bottle to, but rather someone else who had apparently received the bottle from them. And I knew it was the same bottle, because I found my name still scratched on the label on back. Obviously, no one else had the eye for detail that I did, though I certainly didn’t mention my discovery that evening.

Then about three weeks later, I attended a birthday party and found the EXACT SAME bottle of wine among the gifts. At first, I found it terribly amusing. But then I began to wonder if somehow the bottle of wine was stalking me. Maybe it was trying to punish me for giving it away in the first place. Maybe I was meant to keep that bottle of wine for some reason, and there was some kind of universal karma that was constantly bringing it back to my attention. Or maybe I was just a little tipsy from too many jello shots, and so the bottle of wine took on much more significance that it needed to.

Needless to say, the bottle did eventually make it back to me. Nearly a year after it was originally given it out, the winsome wine had made an incredible journey around my social circle, and eventually ended up right back where it started. And who knows how many other homes it had visited besides my friends? It made me wonder if all bottles of wine go through a similar journey on their way to the proper owner. Too bad you couldn’t put a notch on a bottle every time you gave one out, so others would know how many times it had already been passed before they received it. You could even make a game of it. Track the journey of wine.

At any rate, this amazing bottle of wine now remains a permanent fixture in my cupboard. It deserves a special place in my bottle collection, because like a young adult, it went out into the world, had a little adventure, and now has come home to age gracefully. And who knows, someday I might even drink it. After all, should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought some wine? I think not.

Who Took the Vacate out of Vacations?

I love to travel. There is something very exciting about going to a foreign country. You get to learn about different cultures, try new kinds of foods, and spend way too much time exploring gift shops filled with overpriced junk and unnecessary trinkets. Unlike a beach vacation, which emphasizes relaxation and drinking, traveling to a foreign city or country requires a desire to move outside the confines of your hotel. In fact, a trip to Paris or London might hardly be relaxing at all if you tried to cram everything you could in the time allotted.

Even so, I much prefer the rapid pace of this type of exploratory holiday over the slow-as-molasses atmosphere at a beach. Plus, on a beach I turn into a slovenly glutton after ten days, whereas on a touring vacation I lose ten pounds.

Last year I went to Italy and immersed myself in the history, architecture and classic art of this incredible country. It was a wonderful vacation, though there was hardly enough time to see and do everything. One of the highlights was getting off the train in Venice and walking onto the promenade for my first glimpse of this incredible city. It was truly a magical moment, like stepping into a living fairy tale.

This year, I wanted to visit Spain as a part of my annual sojourn to Europe. But after looking at the prices for airfare alone, I might have to rethink my plans. How the heck am I supposed to survive in Madrid for ten days, if the cost of getting there could send me to the poorhouse? The price for airfare alone is staggering. Unless I wanted to make more than one stop, with layovers of five to six hours between flights. On top of that, there’s the cost of the hotels, the meals, the attractions. And all the many souvenirs and momentos I’d have to purchase in order to remember the trip when I started getting old and senile. I could probably pay someone’s college tuition for a year on what it would cost to go. (Granted, it might only be tuition at a community college or night school, but still…)

When did traveling become so expensive? Even Canada, which used to be the best bargain vacation of all, has caught up in strength against the U.S. dollar. No longer able to take advantage of the two for one exchange rate, going to Canada is now as expensive as going to most cities in the U.S.

At this rate, the only vacation I may be able to take this year is a vacation from vacations. Who can afford anything else?

The Danger of Watching Donny and Marie; The Joy of Resurrecting Sonny and Cher

Christmas is a great time to reunite with friends and family, and to share happy memories of times past. (Or is that New Year’s?) Either way, I had a very interesting Christmas this year when it came to the presents I received. Apparently I must reek of nostalgia for TV variety shows of the 1970s, because a lot of my gifts seemed to share that common theme. (I kid you not.) I was given “The Best of Donny and Marie,” “The Sonny and Cher Show,” “The Best of Laugh-In,” “Love, American Style Season One” and the weirdest selection of the bunch, “Paul Lynde’s Halloween Special.”

Some people might consider this a collection of bargain bin items. But I was actually looking forward to sitting down and reconnecting with some of the shows I thought were so great when I was younger. (With the possible exception of Paul Lynde's special, which I'd never heard of before.)

First in the line-up was “The Best of Donny and Marie,” which comprised several of their greatest episodes from the first two seasons of the show. But after watching the first three, I was surprised the show ever made it to Season Two. (Let alone Episode Two.) The sad part is that the DVD is being released as “the best” of the series; which makes me wonder just how bad “the worst” of the series is. (Perhaps those would be more interesting to watch.)

The jokes were horrible, the sketches were childish, and the singing was mostly lip-synched. How did I ever think this show was good? Or maybe I never really did; I just thought I was supposed to. After all, Donny and Marie are a part of American culture. We grew up with them; or at least I did. And though I don’t think the show translates well in today’s more sophisticated TV environment, I’m sure the simplicity of themes and dialogue might do well on a channel like Nickelodeon, or perhaps in conjunction with a show like “The Teletubbies.”

I’ll admit I’ve always had a place in my heart for Donny and Marie. Not because I was such a big fan, but because they represented the kind of nerdy optimism I wanted so badly to believe in. Their perfect smiles and happy-go-lucky attitudes were as foreign to me as the countries we’ve bombed and invaded over the past several years. Perky was not accepted in rural Ohio like it is in Hollywood; especially from a boy. But on television every week, Donny and Marie reminded me that anything was possible; even if it meant using a laugh track and ice skates to accomplish it.

So maybe my happy memories of “The Donny and Marie Show” were more about what Donnie and Marie represented rather than the actual show itself. They taught me to look for the silver lining and never wear spandex in public, and for that I will always be grateful. Their shows, however, could use a major facelift.

And that's when I wondered whether I was getting into some dangerous territory. If I didn't like the Donny and Marie show as much as I thought I did, what did that mean for the rest of my 70s memories?

Next on the viewing agenda was “The Paul Lynde Halloween Special,” which is just as creepy as you might imagine. Mr. Lynde, a regular on Hollywood Squares and Bewitched, is just not interesting enough to carry his own show. He’s much better served as a supporting player, using his signature vocal inflections to deliver a ribald punch line or two. But in this TV special, which only recently became available on DVD, he is horribly upstaged by the long list of celebrity guest stars, Donny and Marie among them.

Margaret Hamilton, the Wicked Witch in “The Wizard of Oz” reprises her famous role for the special, and is humorously aided by Witchipoo from the old “HR PufnStuf” series. Together, they drive the show forward, as Paul Lynde sort of stands around looking miserable. The highlight of the show is a horrible disco version of Harold Arlen’s “That Old Black Magic,” uncomfortably sung by Florence Henderson, who dances around the set in a floor length sequin black dress accompanied by dancers in orange Afros. Screechingly bad!

Two down. Three to go.

Finally, I decided to watch a little of the “Sonny and Cher Show,” just to make sure my memories of 70s television weren’t being irrevocably tainted by our current atmosphere of terror and cynicism. And to my relief, the show is as funny and campy today as it was when it first aired oh so many decades ago. Cher is much younger, of course, and her nose looks different. But the chemistry between these two is unquestionable.

Every time Sonny thinks he’s going to win an argument, Cher easily deflects his zingers with her deadpan attitude and delivery. It’s classic comedy, brilliantly marketed to the masses by two people who always seemed like the epitome of cool. Even when they were arguing, they were fun.

And then of course, there are Cher’s many costumes and solo performances, which have been copied and duplicated by drag queens all over the world. No wonder she’s been able to survive so long. People keep resurrecting her persona. (Although at this point, I’m not sure how many more resurrections her body can physically take.) Nevertheless, I loved this show when I was younger, and I still love it today.

Having restored my faith in the legitimacy of my happy memories, I will next move onto “Laugh In” and “Love, American Style.” But right now, I just want to bask in the glow of at least one childhood recollection restored, and one more Christmas celebrated.

I can’t even think about 2008 yet.