Thursday, August 25, 2011

Late Summer Patchwork

This is a sort of patchwork blog entry of tidbits stitched together with late summer thread.

I’ve wanted to tweet about how much I admire Paris Hilton, but I don’t want anyone to get the impression that I’m shallow and starry eyed. Actually, I don’t for a minute believe that Paris is vacuous. In fact, she’s a brilliant marketer. How many of us grew up with Barbie dolls? I sold my gown-bedecked Barbie and tuxedoed Ken for good money a few years ago. Paris appeared on Saturday Night Live as Barbie—and she was hilarious at faking dumbness. Nobody is that dumb.

I follow her on twitter—and she posts a lot. Every night (well, the sun is actually peeping over the horizon) she sends a kiss to her tweet followers. She travels around the world marketing her products—which include herself—and hits nightspots in exotic places and posts photos on Twitpic. I long to be there next to her, tossing my arms on the dance floor to the thump of the disco bass and the flashes of the strobe.

There’s no denying it—Paris markets hotness. Just look at the August 1 New Yorker, page 45, the cartoon triptych called “Hotness.” First section: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one marked ‘hot.’” Second section: “I think that I shall never see A poem as hot as a tree.” Third section: “The fog comes on little cat feet. That’s so hot.”

If that’s not Paris, I don’t know what is. Dumb? I think not. A marketing product? Sure. Hot? You bet.

I keep thinking that if I continue to read Paris’s tweets, maybe I’ll figure out how to market my books. Or at least how to acquire a modicum of hotness.

But I wanted to tell you about some of Fern Forest Treehouse guests. Too many since the last entry to dig into in depth, but here are some highlights.

For three nights there was an Egyptian and his Japanese artist wife who live in Brooklyn. He came into the main house at six a.m. for coffee and conversation and one morning made us Egyptian eggs, which he deep fried in olive oil. They were quite yum sprinkled with kosher salt. She appeared at elevenish and ate some melon. One night the five o’clock cocktail hour lasted until ten-thirty. The Egyptian is a bit of a philosopher, and the conversation left my head spinning—or maybe that was H’s rum punch.

There was the flutist and his wife from Boston. I thought maybe he was a flautist and when I looked it up, I found that flaut is Italian for flute. People who play the flute generally like the Italian version of the word, but flutist is the English version. Whatever he’s called, our guest plays flute professionally and serenaded Fern Forest birds sweetly from the deck of the treehouse.

“Your birds sing in the key of D minor,” he said. Well, I’d always wondered. These lovebirds were celebrating their 29th wedding anniversary, having met when she heard him play in a band. His flute generates love.

Another couple came to Fern Forest in the spirit of adventure. H and I really do have to install a zipline from the treehouse to the tractor shed for intrepid souls. But, then, we’d have to increase our homeowners insurance. Margie, the wife, has trekked through Iceland, jumped out of airplanes, ridden in a hot air balloon and piloted a small plane. Sleeping forty feet up in a maple tree was nothing. Frank keeps his feet on the ground—and keeps Margie grounded.

Just yesterday we said goodbye to a psychotherapist and his school principal wife. Actually, Barbara is retired from being a school administrator and now does educational consulting with principals. Lee advises people how to be self-actualized. For three days I kept worrying that I’m not self-actualized and he’d be able to see right through my thin veil of pretense at normalcy. If he did, he was nice about it and didn’t offer to give me a session. I don’t know about H.

Now we’re deciding about whether or not to head to Maine for a few days. Hurricane Irene is on her way and looks to have both Vermont and Maine in her sights. H dropped $200 on a pair of Red Sox tickets that will surely be rained out on Sunday. So we’re hanging tough to see what the next few hours bring. Stay tuned. And thanks for reading.

1 comment:

Life's Beautiful Path said...

Ellie, take care and be safe. Don't let Irene cause you any pain.