Kelsey Grammer

he hates these stairs

I haven’t been getting any exercise, unless you count walking the dog a couple times a day, and that’s just so boring. I’m still trying very hard to stay away from processed and non-local foods, but I do work within striking distance of a vending machine that is always stocked with kettle-cooked BBQ potato chips–my Achilles Heel.

And, I am a sucker for candy corn because it’s really fun to put them in my mouth and pretend they’re my teeth. My friend’s son was smart enough to put them in his mouth upside down so they looked like fangs. Dammit. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I always go for funny and not scary. Sigh.

not even that funny

I should put a transition here, but I’m not going to [editor!]. I went to see Argo at the Nickelodeon this weekend. It’s a great movie. Ben Affleck’s stupid quivering chin is completely covered in a beard and he’s learned to stop breathing through his mouth, so he doesn’t look like he’s about to cry in every scene. I hated the long meandering handjob scenes in Gone Baby Gone, but wow is he an amazing director now. Holy crap. Awesome movie.

I will have to see it again, however. See, I went with a friend who always talks through movies. And, it isn’t “What did he say?” kind of stuff. It’s “Did I tell you what my son did yesterday?” kind of stuff.

I’m always prepared. I know how to watch the movie and acknowledge her talking without getting pulled from the story. This weekend, though, was Olympic-level chatting–all my training, all my focus was put to the test. While the movie played, she chatted about her son, her most recent exam, her plans for the weekend, etc. I was able to field her chatter while keeping track of the various characters walking across the screen and the multiple story lines and trying to remember the history of the hostage crisis in the late ’70s, early ’80s. I had this. I was about to get the gold medal in “watch the movie while I distract you with my random thoughts.”

Then, as Ben Affleck’s character was driving the streets of Tehran heading into a possible volatile situation, I hear her lean over and ask, “Isn’t Kelsey Grammer dead?”

I tilt my head toward her, my eyes never leaving the screen. “No,” I whisper.

I’d like to point out that Kelsey Grammer is not in this movie.

I hear, “I think he killed himself.”

“No, no he didn’t…” I lean in, curious but still my eyes are on the screen. “Did…what? When?”

“A few years ago.”

“No. He’s alive,” I say dismissively and lean back in my chair, confident that the questions are over.

“Yes. It had something to do with his wife.””

Finally, she has me. This line of questioning is so bizarre, I feel myself get pulled from the movie and thrusted into her weird chatty realm.

“No,” I look straight at her. “His wife is on Housewives of Beverly Hills.”

There’s a pause. I wait.

Nothing.

I settle back into the movie.

“You mean his ex-wife,” she says.

I don’t respond.

“I’m thinking of Phil Hartman,” she continues.

“No,” I say. “Phil Hartman didn’t kill himself. He was murdered by his wi…fe….” Ugh. I roll my eyes. Sigh.

“OH, right, yes,” she says and leans back in her seat to continue watching the movie, but I am plagued with questions. What made her think of Kelsey Grammer? Why did she ask the question if she knew Kelsey Grammer’s ex-wife was on that reality show? How could she get Kelsey Grammer confused with Phil Hartman? And, why is the housekeeper at the Canadian Embassy so important to the Argo story? Why is Ben Affleck drinking alone in his hotel room?

After the movie, I left my friend and wandered town, picked up some yumminess at Standard Bakery, got a pound of coffee at Coffee By Design, browsed the racks at Bliss. But, really, I needed a drink. So, I met a couple of friends at Nosh.

i don’t remember taking this picture at nosh

I don’t know why I sometimes find myself at Nosh. It’s generally because someone else wants to go there and I never fight hard enough to say “No, let’s walk across the street to Taco Escobarr or a block up the street to LFK or Local.” (I had lunch at Sonny’s, Local’s sister ship, earlier in the day, but I totally prefer Local. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the clientele. The food is always, always, freaking delicious at Sonny’s but the people kind of bum me out.)

But back to Nosh. Nope. I just go, thinking it will be yummy. And, I suppose it is–who can be unhappy with fries covered in bacon dust? But, this Friday night? The median age in that place was somewhere between 50 and 70. Did it get written up in DownEast or in Yankee or something?

Sorry for the digression. I’m not linking Nosh here because I’m not saying anything positive about them and there’s no reason for them to get a Google alert about it. Just because I don’t like it, that doesn’t mean it isn’t a perfectly nice place. Either way, my mission was accomplished. I left there well in my cups and had to spend the night at a friend’s house before limping home the next morning with very puffy eyes.

A hangover walk on the beach at Popham with a lobster stew reward from Spinney’s and I was right as rain. I could even join Groom at a friend’s house for supper last night and keep track of a  conversation that wandered through everything from stereo systems for iPods to the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator to the upcoming election to the cost of dinner in New York City to David Brooks.

Yes, I just reread what I wrote. I’ll put a dollar in the douche tin for being such an elitist weenie. And, yes, NPR did come up in conversation last night.

That reminds me. Did anyone catch Governor LePage’s weekly address on MPBN yesterday (Sat., Oct. 27)? Did he really haul out 9/11 and a Pat Tillman reference? One word: pandering.

Today, I swear to spend a number of hours on some freelance work, but Sandy is on the way and Groom and I really need to batten down the hatches and whatnot. Since our house is pretty well protected and on high ground, we rarely see a lot of damage, but our place was crushed by the Patriot’s Day Storm back in 2007, so I’m feeling cautious.

I should put some type of conclusion here, but I’m not going to [editor!]. Blah blah blah, at the end of the day, blah blah blah, feel better after exercise, blah blah blah, funny snarky comment.

Sarah Devlin

About Sarah Devlin

Sarah Devlin has been writing about the recreational industry since the late ’90s but ironically can’t run, swim, or bike a mile.