CELEBRATING TOWEL DAY

Graphic by Lemon.ly

"A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have." -- The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy


I've often described my teenage years in a way that might make one think I was filled with more adolescent angst than all the characters in all the John Hughes' movies combined.  This would, in fact, be mostly accurate.  On the other hand, those same years are also memorable for being the time period during which I was introduced to a number of people, places, and things that have remained my obsessions interests all these years later -- Chicago Cubs baseball, Agatha Christie, Doctor Who, the Beach Boys to name a few.  At the top of the list is my favorite author, the late Douglas Adams.

Marvin the Paranoid Android

My older brother is responsible for bringing both Doctor Who and Douglas Adams into my consciousness, perhaps not surprisingly.  Adams is the author of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (and all the subsequent books in that series), as well as Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul, the under-appreciated Last Chance to See, a great book about endangered species, and more..  In 1994 I loaned my then-boyfriend my copy of Mostly Harmless, the fifth book in the Hitchhiker Trilogy.  (Yes, it's really called the fifth book in the trilogy.)  Boyfriend never seemed to get around to reading the book or returning it to me and I finally had to marry him to get it back.  Nineteen years later he still hasn't read the damn thing...

Douglas Adams left us much too soon, dying suddenly of a heart attack on May 11, 2001 at the age of 49.  I still mourn not only the writer but all the wonderfully quirky, witty, bizarre, and hilarious books that could have been.  I know I'm not alone because two weeks after his death fans celebrated the first Towel Day, a way to pay tribute to the man and his works, specifically by walking around with a towel.  Non-fans or non-readers of his books scratch their heads at folks who look like the cast of The Big Bang Theory parading into restaurants with Egyptian cotton bath towels draped around their necks like fur stoles.  Fans, on the other hand, immediately recognize kindred spirits.  (For the section of Hitchhiker related to towels, check out The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Towel here.)

Towel Day is usually a solitary event for me, with time spent reading my favorite passages.  This year I decided to pull the family into my celebration.  I originally intended to knit each person a "Don't Panic" hand towel from the pattern by Katie's Knits.  (Free pattern can be found here.)   My dexterity still isn't what it used to be and I quickly found the towel very time consuming considering I had to make four of them.  I finished up a small towel for myself and looked for another option.  (For the non-fans, "Don't Panic" are the words printed on the cover of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in large friendly letters).

Washcloths seemed more doable and I quickly found a great pattern at irishlace.net.  In the center is the number 42, which is of course the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything.  I managed to quickly knit them up for my mother, sister (the Inmates' Uncle Chester), and the Inmates themselves.  (The free pattern can be found here.)




  

Professional cake decorator I'm not.

For refreshments I opted for a heart-shaped chocolate chip cookie with golden yellow frosting to honor the starship Heart of Gold.

 

Hitchhiker inspired wrapping paper,
courtesy of Google images.

And we'll finish off the celebration tonight with a viewing of the 2005 movie.  I'm actually not a fan of the film, but while my son has seen the original television series and read the first book with me, he hasn't seen this screen version.  I can almost guarantee he won't like it either.

I had the privilege of meeting Douglas Adams at a book signing in 1993.  I sat in a crowd of people, most with towels, and listened to him read from Hitchhiker.  I then nervously took my paperback copy of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency up to the table for his signature.  He scribbled his name and as I took the book I wanted to say something witty and profound.  Instead I stammered, "Thank you for everything you've written."  He looked at me and smiled broadly and said, "Thank you very much."

Twenty years later I still can't think of anything better to say.  Mr. Adams, thank you for everything you've written.

KEEP CALM AND HUG A DOG

I am obsessed with the "Keep Calm and Carry On" poster from World War II-era Britain.  It's such a reassuring little motto and I try to say it over and over to myself like a mantra.  (If there's one thing I've never learned to do it's "keep calm".)  I've mentioned before that I want to have Obama's Zen-like calm, but my inner Rahm Emanuel gets the better of me and shoots my middle finger skyward against my will. 

I recently read an article on BBC America's Anglophenia blog about this poster and it included the most charming video.  I knew the basic origins of the poster, but seeing this incredible second-hand bookshop, Barter Books in northern England, just increased my enthusiasm for this bit of propaganda.  (Plus, as a confirmed bibliophile, I'd give my right boob to visit that bookstore.) 

I must admit that, yes, I did purchase the iPhone app (and if my husband is reading this he can quit clutching his chest like Fred Sanford.  It only cost $.99).  With the app, though, I can join the thousands who have created their own slogans for this iconic poster.  I'm partial to the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy-inspired one that reads "Don't Panic and Carry a Towel" or the knitting one urging me to "Keep Calm and Carry Yarn."  I now add to that my own creation:

And be sure to check out the video below.  It totally makes me want to wave a Union Jack.

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MEET THE INMATES - "FOGHORN"

She's 7 years old, in the 99th+ percentile for height, and has the shape of a runway model (meaning her three measurements are roughly the same).  She received the nickname "Foghorn" during a trip to our local Mexican restaurant when her booming voice boomed even louder and my sister snarled, "OK, foghorn, keep it down."  Her interests include Spongebob, Monster High dolls, and farts.  She categorizes the latter.  A few weeks ago she was describing to us a "fire fart" or "flaming fart" which, according to her, feels like fire is coming out of your butt.  While waiting for the doors to open at school the other day she informed me from the back seat of the van that she had just done a "porcupine fart," which feels like there are little pricklies coming out of your butt and kinda hurts.  She is obsessed with body parts and The Warden is fed up with coming down to the kitchen and finding obscene pictures drawn on her grocery list chalkboard.  (And how exactly does that girl know in detail what a circumcised penis looks like?)  Her crude talk horrifies her grandmother and would have thrilled her late grandfather.  He was amused enough when she was 3 years old and I told him the story of going to the Cincinnati Art Museum, where a towering nude male statue stands just inside the entrance.  Somehow she only noticed him once we were on his backside (literally).  Suddenly she looks up and in her explosive foghorn voice  hollered, "Look!  His butt!"  She frowned and bellowed, "Where's his penis?"  She quickly scampered to his  front and announced, "There it is!"

Foghorn at the school Thanksgiving lunch, dressed as a pilgrim.

Her much-loved nemesis is her aunt, my sister, who is now permanently called "Uncle Chester".  Sydney consistently calls her "Chester" loudly and in public and also insists that she is a boy (which causes some embarrassment for my sister when she takes Foghorn places like public restrooms and then is told she should not be in there because she's a male).  Of late the nickname has morphed into the much longer Schnooger Boogers Chester.  Verbally, and sometimes physically, abusing Chester is a popular inmate pass time.

If talking burns mega-calories then that explains Foghorn's bony physique.  She is neither quiet nor curvy.  When listening to Foghorn I sometimes go back to a quote from Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy regarding the alien's observation of humans' talking habits:  "If they don't keep on exercising their lips, he thought, their brains start working."  Her non-stop chatter and accompanying calorie burning may also account for what I lovingly refer to as her "meat cleaver ass."  She has absolutely the boniest butt ever put on a human being and when she climbs into my lap I get stabbing pains in my upper thighs.  I, unfortunately, frequently comment on this physical feature as I cry out in pain and then inform her that she doesn't have enough "junk in her trunk."  This led to an incident at Dewey's Pizza a month ago when, in the presence of the waitress, she asked for more pizza saying, in a matter of fact tone, "I have to have more pizza.  I have a meat cleaver ass and I need more junk in my trunk."  Foghorn's antics in restaurants and harassment of the waitstaff  has led me to frequently comment to the adults in my life about the subsequent spike in condom sales as a result of an interaction with Foghorn.

As a toddler she was voted Most Likely To Climb Into The Dishwasher And Turn It On.  Today she gets the trophy for Child Most Likely To Be Suspended From First Grade For Using The F-Word, as well as Child Most Likely To Grow Up To Be A Pole Dancer.

-- Originally written in December 2010.


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