Guests from Hell

Posted on December 14, 2015 by Susan Kelly

Since the biggest entertaining season of the year is now well upon us—starting with Thanksgiving, now past; proceeding into Hanukkah, well underway as I write this; with Christmas and New Year’s upcoming—I thought I’d write about everyone’s looming but generally unspoken seasonal dread. That would be The Guest from Hell.

Guests from hell come upon us in different shapes and guises, but they all have one thing in common: You never want them to darken your door again. Unfortunately, sometimes the dictates of family and friendship require that you do.

I should note that I have never actually entertained a guest from hell. (I must be lucky; my relatives and friends know how to behave at dinner parties. Or maybe I just have good taste in friends and relatives.) I have, however, attended a fair number of dinner parties at which a guest (or two) from hell was present.

Generally, guests from hell can be broken down into four categories: The bore from hell; the drunk from hell; the teetotaler from hell; and the pugilist from hell.

The Bore from Hell. My most memorable encounter with one of these was at a dinner party I attended several years ago. Among the eight guests were a very cosmopolitan English couple who had arrived in the United States loaded with juicy gossip about the royal family and various members of the peerage. Everyone was totally dying to hear about the latest high-profile hijinks of Charles, Camilla, Anne, Fergie, Andrew, Edward, and whoever other of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II’s spawn and grandspawn and other assorted relations had been doing something scandalous recently. After we were seated, and enjoying the first course, the wife of the couple began relating a saga that involved, if I recall correctly, the Royal Navy, some polo ponies, and an orgy. We were riveted. Except, of course, for the bore from hell, who decided he wanted to discuss…Schubert Now, I bow to no one in my regard for the canon of western classical music. But I don’t need to hear about—over dinner—alternate titles, numbers assigned in the catalogue, conflicting versions of the first line of any given song, or the history of various instrumentations of any of Franz Schubert’s works. Well, anyway…we finally managed to get back on the subject of royal orgies. Just as the resident story-teller was reaching the good part, Bore from Hell interrupted her with: “Getting back to the subject of Schubert lieder,” and treated us all to a non-stop droning monologue about the chronology of part songs for male and female vocalists. Everyone at the table glumly subsided into resigned silence. You could see the thought bubbles over their heads: “Oh, shit, let’s just get this meal over with.”

The Drunk from Hell. My worst experience with a drunk from hell was at a very flossy Harvard dinner party thrown by a dean and his wife. I was seated at the table next to a very senior professor who had gotten himself insanely drunk during the preceding cocktail hour. He kept pawing me, which was extremely disconcerting for numerous reasons, one of them being the fact that his glowering wife was seated directly across the table from us, staring daggers at him. (I don’t blame her in the least.) Things got worse when he put his hand under my dress, and—I still don’t know how he accomplished this—managed to rip my pantyhose into shreds. (He must have had claws instead of fingernails.) I was considerably younger than I am now when this happened, and I had no idea what to do other than sit still and feel horribly embarrassed and uncomfortable. I know what I’d do now: I’d remove his hand from under my dress, place it on the table, impale it with a fork, and smile serenely at the rest of the company. I pass this advice along to any young women who might find themselves in a similar situation.

The Teetotaler from Hell. This is the kind of person who, if you ask him or her if he or she would like a drink before dinner—martini, Scotch on the rocks, bourbon, wine, whatever, responds by saying: “No, thanks. I don’t believe in polluting my body with toxic substances.” This is not a person who is interested in maintaining a healthy lifestyle. This is a person who takes pleasure in being a morally superior killjoy. Rational people—good guests—who don’t drink alcohol, for whatever reason, simply ask politely for ice water, a soft drink, or fruit juice. I am always very happy to accommodate them, as I am when cooking for people with real, special dietary requirements, whether dictated by religion, culture, or genuine health issues such as gluten intolerance, lactose intolerance, or the need to restrict salt or sugar consumption.

The Pugilist from Hell. This is the guest who will start a fight with anyone, any time. Both sides of the political spectrum produce this creature. The fight is always about some hot-ticket cultural, religious, or political issue that can’t be reduced to simple sloganeering, which is what the pugilist always does. The pugilist always thinks he’s in the right, and everyone else is completely wrong. Not just wrong, but evil. This does not make for a jolly evening.

Well, that about wraps up my list of Guests from Hell. Certainly there are sub-categories, such as the Drunk Horny Guest from Hell (which I believe I described above); or the Drunk Pugilist Guest from Hell (not uncommon); or the Teetotaler Pugilist Guest from Hell (a ghastly permutation of the breed); or the Drunk Bore Pugilist from Hell (I think we have some cross-breeding here), but you get the point. I’ve been there, seen that. And I wish they could all go to dinner by themselves and leave the rest of us alone.

That said: I wish you all the happiest of holidays, a very good New Year, and…a Guest from Hell-free guest list. With respect to the Guest from Hell-free guest list: Am I asking too much?

BETTER DEAD THAN RED

Posted on December 7, 2015 by Zachary Klein

Zachary Klein

I’ve never lived in a Communist country. Never lived in a Socialist country either. But in our capitalistic United States, money is the gift that keeps on giving—even after you’re dead. Money for nothing, (but the chicks ain’t free).

Admittedly, this isn’t the way I usually think about dying, but since I don’t believe in heaven or hell, the notion of money pouring in post mortem, (something I rarely experienced in my lifetime), may lift my thoughts when I see the White Light.

Over the years I’ve ranted and railed against vast wealth accumulated in too few hands. That hasn’t changed. But I just don’t see much downside to lining my pockets from six feet under.

Here’s a look at some people who have been partaking in death’s affluence for decades. All figures are approximate since different sources report different amounts—but with these numbers…who’s counting?

Albert Einstein, dead since 1955, squared away $10,000,000 last year alone. And this before the supposed line of scientific instruments, tablets, and computers bearing his name hit the market. I shoulda’ gotten a degree.Let’s face it, no matter how political I am or ever will be, no one will ever mistake me for a White Bob Marley. I can’t hold a fucking tune. And though he’s been dead since 1981, no matter. Mr. One Love chilled with a cool $18,000,000 last year. That kind of scratch scores some really, really good shit. But even with all that money, he might have a difficult time finding a dealer. Now that would hurt.

Believe me, Marley isn’t the only singer who no longer has to sing for supper.

John Lennon, who died in 1980, does pretty well at $12,000,000 a year. This for a guy who curled up naked and used to warble All You Need is Love.

And it’s impossible to speak about love, death and money without noting that Elizabeth Taylor (2011) rakes in $25,000,000 per. Imagine if she also got alimony.

To put her yearly earnings into perspective, the entire estate of Richard Burton (dead since 1984) was estimated in 2013 to be worth a paltry $50,000,000 total.

I guess it’s better to slug down pills AND alcohol.

Of course, many other actors have their hands out, even if it’s in front of their headstones. The “King of Cool,” Steve McQueen, who died way back in 1980, earns a nifty $9,000,000 yearly.

A pretty good reward for making his Great Escape.

And please, let’s not forget Marilyn. Her medicine chest gets replenished with the $15,000,000 a year. I’m guessing that JFK and the Yankee Clipper are gritting their teeth with envy. Or, given their lives, maybe not so much.

Lest you think that only pop culture superstars and actors get this gig (and, yes, these days Einstein is exactly that), think again.

Dead since 2004, Ray Charles manages to earn a solid $10,000,000 a year. In fact, Ray’s earnings have risen since his death.

Theodor Geisel (aka Dr. Seuss) dumps about $9,000,000 into his hat every year. No wonder the Doctor’s cat has a smile like the Cheshire’s.

And believe it or not, the cumulative net worth of Rodgers and Hammerstein has also been upwardly mobile. (Oscar died in 1960, Richard in 1979). Does $235,000,000 sound like Some Enchanted Evening to you?

There are so many dead people earning that I can’t list all. But I would be incredibly remiss if I neglected “The King” despite the fact that Elvis, who died 1977, isn’t the highest annual earner. That honor goes to yet another “King,” Michael Jackson who, since his death, 2009, has earned close to a billion dollars.

Now that’s one hell of a lot of toys—if he can use them. (And enough to fund some new exquisite videos). Still, the “original” King is making $55,000,000, which ain’t exactly chump change. That’s over $150,000 a day for being dead!

I guess Stephen Sondheim (alive, but expected to earn after death as well) knew what he was talking about when he wrote:

I like to be in America, Okay by me in America, Everything free in America ~ West Side Story (1958)

Trump-o-mania Quiz: Did He Really Say That? You Decide!

Posted on October 19, 2015 by Susan Kelly

Susan Kelly

Below are some real, actual, bona fide Donald Trump quotes, interspersed with some I’ve invented for the occasion. See if you can guess which are real and which are fake.

Quiz rules:

You may NOT cheat by Googling the quotes. (Humpf.)

Commenters may invent their own Trump quotes, but these fakes should be clearly labeled as such. The individual who devises the most outrageous yet plausible.

Trump quote will receive ten bonus points.

The winner will be declared on Friday.

All right? Ready, set…go for it!!!!

1. “The gays love me. I’ve hired a lot of gays.”

2. “My wife Melania will be the hottest First Lady in the history of this country.”

3. “Jeb Bush has to like the Mexican illegals because of his wife.”

4. “What’s really bugging the other Republican candidates is that they know I’m much richer and much smarter than they are, and it makes them crazy.”

5. “The women have told me that once they’ve had sex with me, they can’t be satisfied by any other man.”

6. “If Hillary Clinton can’t satisfy her husband, what makes her think she can satisfy America?”

7. “Part of the beauty of me is that I’m very, very rich.”

8. “Writers and artists and musicians are good, but basically they’re losers. Most of them don’t make much money. I can respect a guy like Stephen King. He’s made a lot of money.

9. “I will be the greatest representative of the Christians they’ve had in a long time.”

10. “When I get to the White House, there will be an upgrade, I can tell you. We’ll be putting in a world-class spa, a gourmet kitchen, and penthouse accommodations. And Donald Trump is telling you it won’t cost the American people one cent.” [Note: Donald Trump, like very small children, often refers to himself in the third person.]

11. “I have a great relationship with the blacks. I’ve always had a great relationship with the blacks.”

12. “If I decide to run, you’ll have the great pleasure of voting for the man that will easily go down as the greatest president in the history of the United States: Me.”

13. “I’m much taller than Vladimir Putin. That’s important in making a deal.”

14. “Susan Kelly is a bimbo.”

15. “Arianna Huffington is unattractive both inside and out. I fully understand why her husband left her for a man—he made the right choice.”

16. “I love associating with losers, because it makes me feel better about myself.”

17. “Women find his power almost as much of a turn-on as his money.” [Again, third person.]

18. “I don’t want [ISIS] to know what I’m doing. Unfortunately, I’ll probably have to tell at some point, but there is a method of defeating them quickly and effectively and having total victory.”

19. “It’s a proven fact that my I.Q. is pretty much the same as Einstein’s.”

20. “They kiss my ass in Palm Beach.”

Author’s note: It was fun writing this quiz, but a lot harder than you might think to invent the fake quotes. By the time this piece is published, Trump will probably have said a few more things even more grotesque than I could ever imagine.

JUST BOUGHT MY BOOTS

Posted on September 14, 2015 by Zachary Klein

Zachary Klein

I know. Boston’s been flirting with record high temperatures this past week. But so what? We’re a third of the way into September and no amount of heat and humidity can shatter my cringe as winter approaches.

I remember the last one all too well:So I cling to my fast fading memories of summer. And honestly, there aren’t all that many. This wasn’t a kick-out-the-jams season since we’re in deep reno prep for a long overdue overhaul of our living space. We rent out the first floor apartment, live on the second, and have our offices on the third.

By “prep,” we’re talking about packing up everything from the kitchen, pantry, and a good chunk of the living room and hauling it to the third floor to stuff into our offices and anywhere else we can stack boxes.

Which meant no long trips but didn’t mean no fun. We took a couple of weekends to visit cousins in Western Massachusetts, who have a sweet home on Lake Buel in Monterey.

Of course it was also wonderful to stay in Brooklyn and drive to Connecticut to visit our grandchildren, who are on the move now—crawling, pulling themselves to their feet, and making all sorts of strange sounds.

Between the family visits, Sue and I continued our ongoing tour of “not particularly first rate cities”—a weekend in Portland, Maine, and, a day in Salem, Massachusetts.

Ahh, what sacrifices we make for CULTURE. Portland Museum of Art (PMA) was showing a exhibit culled from eight Maine museums called Directors’ Cut: Selections from the Maine Art Museum Trail. It was a hell of a lot easier to view the best of each museum gathered in one place than scrambling around—no matter how beautiful the roads might be. This wasn’t leaf-peeping season.

Andrew Wyeth-Turkey Pond.

Marguerite Thompson Zorach

The exhibit placed images by distinctively different artists next to each other to treat us to the breadth of visions inspired by the state. For the most part it was successful, showcasing the talents of Winslow Homer, Rockwell Kent, and Andrew Wyeth alongside works by Lois Dodd, Marguerite Thompson Zorach, or Robert Indiana.

Winslow Homer-Sunset Fires.

Robert Indiana-Eat with Fork

As is the case with many small city museums, Portland’s is a nice size—that is, you don’t start blurring out by the time you leave.

Poker Night from A Streetcar Named Desire

And there was certainly no blur when we visited the Peabody Essex Museum (PEM) in Salem to see American Epics: Thomas Hart Benton and Hollywood.

While the exhibit focused on Benton’s years in Hollywood, creating huge poster-like paintings that captured a sense of story (and were often about great movies), the show included a number of his earlier, more political paintings—some of which were surprisingly (at least to me) powerful. The man didn’t like what we did to Native Americans and abhorred slavery.

Thomas Hart Benton

Of course you can’t visit museums without proper nourishment. Each of these two cities had a number of good restaurants, though Portland takes the prize. Rapidly becoming a real artisan, locally sourced foodie town, our favorite meal was at Fore Street.

The atmosphere was New England coast casual, but the food was not. And people know about it. Fore was banged out for months, but if you were willing to check in at 5 p.m. and hang at the bar for about an hour until they opened the restaurant, it was possible to be seated. ‘Course, I’d be pretty much willing to wait at a bar any time of day, but this time it let us score the best meal we had all year.

Lunch in Salem’s Finz Seafood and Grill didn’t match Fore. But we left with wide smiles and full stomachs having split a FINZ Burger that came loaded with fried oysters, melted onions, boursin cheese and bacon—and then, there were those fish tacos.

In between our “not ready for prime time” tours, we went to a number of friends’ parties, including our traditional July 4^th at Bob and Randee’s house. Always great people time with super food. (Hmm, I’m seeing a pattern here.)

The other party that jumps out was Mike and Carol’s 50^th wedding anniversary. Mike had been working for close to fifteen years rebuilding a ramshackle carriage house that was crumbling behind his beautiful Dorchester Victorian. We hadn’t been over in a while and the carriage house, where the celebration was held, just blew us away. As did the pig roast and band. It had been a long time since we’ve heard live music at an indoor/outdoor private party. A whole lot of happy.

There were two more day trips to Rhode Island. One to Newport with Bob and Emily, sans Sue, Randee, and Michael, where we sat on a windblown beach protecting our subs from marauding seagulls.

Bob

With Emily

And finally at summer’s end, a group excursion to Pawtucket R.I. to see the Triple A Pawtucket Red Sox.Upon reflection, summer turned out to be a fine time. And while we were fooled (according to Snopes) about having a once in a lifetime view of Mars on August 28^th, it was still something to see.Luckily, we were easily able to fall back asleep. Musta’ had to do with schlepping those boxes.

“This may not be the best of all possible worlds, but to say that it is the worst is mere petulant nonsense.” ~ Thomas Henry Huxley

Great Inventions of Our Time

Posted on September 7, 2015 by Susan Kelly

Susan Kelly

Actually, this column is going to be—mostly–about great unheralded, or at least underappreciated, inventions of our time. Do I need to talk about antibiotics, which have saved countless millions of lives? (Unfortunately, about 10% of the population of the planet is allergic to them.) Or Novocain and its successors, which have made trips to the dentist, if not a joyride, far less unpleasant? Or the Salk vaccine? The internal combustion engine? (Yes, it pollutes, but seriously—in the event that it’s necessary, do you want to be conveyed to the hospital via horse-drawn buggy?) Civil rights? Universal education? Computers? Telephones? Refrigeration, which has also saved countless millions of lives? Air conditioning? Vodka martinis? Mel Brooks’s movies?

No. I don’t need to talk about those things.

What I want to write about are those little things that make life so much easier, that we take for granted (our grandparents wouldn’t) and never acknowledge. The following list is not in any order of importance.

Suitcases with wheels. Whatever genius invented rolling baggage deserves the Nobel Prize for so doing. I’m not sure which Nobel Prize. In my case, the Peace Prize, since it prevents me (and zillions of other people) from having meltdowns in airports as a result of having to carry all that stuff.
Salad spinners. How did we prepare salads before these were invented? Well, we did, but it was considerably more work than necessary. I’m old enough to recall the time when you had to use a roll of paper towels to dry the lettuce you just washed. Or soggy-up a bunch of clean dish towels doing the same thing.
Stamps that you don’t have to lick before you stick them on an envelope.
Carpet-sweepers. These have been around a long time, but I really like them better than vacuum cleaners. They don’t jack up my electric bill and I don’t have to buy bags and change them.
Rolled oat cereals. (These are commonly known as Ch—rios, but I don’t want to get into potential trademark violation. I wasn’t allowed by my editor to use the word Sty—f-am in a novel to denote a disposable coffee cup, so I’m careful about these things.) No, not for the fact that rolled oat cereals are apparently a heart-healthy breakfast food, but because they endlessly entertain babies. As soon as the kid’s able to maintain an upright position, buckle your infant into a high chair, sprinkle the pristine-clean high chair tray with you-know-whats, and the child will be absorbed for hours trying to pick up the things and insert them in his or her mouth while you occupy yourself with other matters. (Of course you don’t leave the kid unattended. I suppose I need to say that, just as blow-driers now come with instructions NOT to use them while one is taking a shower.) Babies seem to be able to pick up only one Ch—rio at a time, which is why I say they provide hours of entertainment for her or him. Full disclosure: I don’t actually like to eat this cereal, and never did.
Plastic ice cube trays that you twist to release the contents. When I was a kid, ice cube trays were metal, with levers that you yanked back in order to relieve the cubes from their confinement. But you had to be Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime to do this successfully.

Here are some modern inventions I could do without:

Reality television
Ice tea or lemonade that purports to be kiwi-strawberry-flavored. This is not a beverage. It is what you pour into the anti-freeze compartment of your car.
Boy bands
Microwave pizza. This is not food. It is mattress stuffing compressed into a circular shape and topped with ketchup and a sprinkle of cheese product.
Any carbon-based alleged life form calling itself Kim Kardashian

Neither of my lists is by any means comprehensive. In fact, as soon as I send this column to Zach, I’ll probably think of a dozen other unheralded but vital inventions that I love. And even more inventions that I hate. That being the case, I invite you to list your own loved and hated inventions. It’s still summer: This is the silly season, as they say in the news biz. So go for it.

I’ll be back later in September with some, ahem, more serious commentary. Promise.

But in the interim, tell us what you love. And hate.

Zachary Klein

Author of the Matt Jacob Mystery Novels

Category Archives: Humor

Guests from Hell

BETTER DEAD THAN RED

Trump-o-mania Quiz: Did He Really Say That? You Decide!

JUST BOUGHT MY BOOTS

Great Inventions of Our Time