Favorites

In the move "High Fidelity," John Cusack's character has running lists of favorites: five most memorable breakups, top ten songs in some category–you get the idea. There are so few things in my life that rank as the number one favorite of anything, that I have often felt left out or discussions or a sense of camaraderie with folks.

I remember trying to pick a favorite color, I must have been 12-years-old. Lots of girls around me chose blue as their favorite color, that choice was made especially easy because we all wore jeans most everyday, and jeans go with just about anything, especially other blue clothing items. This was long before I understood how to listen to my own heart or head about what I really wanted, but I did know that it wasn't a good idea to pick blue just because the majority did.

I chose orange, not because it looked particularly good on me, not because I had tons of stuff that I had collected in my life that were all orange, not because I truly believed it was the prettiest color around. In fact, I think the only reason I chose orange was because I owned a T-shirt with a clever saying on it that happened to be orange. This was long before I understood that some colors work better with my complexion than others. Regardless, it wasn't long before I gave up orange as my favorite. I eventually understood that greens, reds and blacks look best on me. I love the deep green hills of my hometown in the winter, most reds look great with my complexion, and while whites make me look pale, blacks accentuate my positive physical attributes.

For a time my favorite movie was the most recent Star Wars film. Then my favorite was the Rocky Horror Picture Show; the fact that I saw it twice a weekend for more than a year had some influence on that decision.

I have had crushes on famous folks, some lasting longer than others. There was the long term obsession with Bobby Sherman, the occasional actor. Who didn't like Sylvester Stallone right after Rocky, or Mark Hamill in 1977? Although and as I matured I preferred Harrison Ford. But no one person or place or movie or color or food has managed to find a way into my regular thoughts and stay there for any length of time.

This is an advantage on occasion: I gave birth to 2 children, they are both my favorite.

There is the occasional exception: I am married to my favorite husband. I live in my favorite house.

I love a good steak, and the minestrone soup at Negri's in Occidental. I thoroughly enjoy my extended family and most of my kids' friends. But no real favorites.

My daughter once asked me when I was the happiest. My reply was right now, right this moment. I am happier now than I have ever been. Each day is better than the last. I suppose that means that my life right now is my favorite. That is a distinction that I can live with.

This Guy Walks Into a Bar …

I once had a friend who called me everyday at work and began the conversation with the opening line of a joke. The joke was always the same, "This guy walks into a bar…" He never got passed the opening line, however, because I would start to giggle, which made him laugh, and we went from there. I never heard the entire joke, he had begun it once while sitting in a movie theater during the movie Re-Animator as a way of helping me cope with the disgusting and highly stressful moments at the climax of the movie.

Yes, I was younger; back in those days most things that made me laugh were some version of an inside joke, a shared experience. You know, those moments where something quite ordinary is funny as hell, and you can recreate the humor of the moment with a friend, even if you can't recreate the story for someone else, they to be there.

The laughter that is the byproduct of inside jokes, shared experiences and all things silly is what keeps us alive. If we have no other fun at all at high school reunions, we enjoy rehashing four years of the teacher who sat in the back of the classroom in the dark sipping from his flask while the history students watched yet another boring and historically accurate movie. Or the day at lunch when my best friend and I "shared" orange drink for a makeshift marriage ceremony as a response to reading Henlein's Stranger in a Strange Land. This was not the same lunch period when the above mentioned orange drink came out my nose, the direct result of a clever quip made by the boy I had a crush on. Many times a laughing jag was sparked by a burrito that I couldn't get into my mouth passed the rubber brands on my braces.

Lately the folks I share laughing experiences with include my own kids. They are making their way into young adulthood, and the hubby and myself are blessed that they are including us in their journey.

For her 17th birthday party, our darling daughter requested a dinner party–a complete sit down at the diningroom table with plates and silverware and beverages kind of dinner party. AND Mom and Dad were invited.

The guests began to arrive around 6pm, we served dinner shortly thereafter and proceeded to laugh ourselves silly for the next four hours. Solid. The one liners were zinging across the table ("That's what she said!") along with stories, banter, laughter, presents, cakes and condoms. Yes, condoms. The girls were putting them on their heads and blowing them up. Those things really do "swell" to quite a size before popping. Knowing that actually makes me feel a bit more secure about the statistics of failure. So does the fact that the kids are so comfortable with condoms before putting them to the intended use, that they can play with them without embarrassment or the need for disgusting or overly graphic jokes. Yes, I have pictures. No, I'm not posting them here. The pictures don't do the evening justice. You had to be there.