That Time I Went to a Movie With Ben Stiller

A sister of a friend of a friend once worked for Ben Stiller. The sister of a friend of a friend said that Ben Stiller is the worst.

To illustrate her point she said that one time they were sitting in his private plane on the tarmac in Newark and he wouldn’t let the pilot take off until he got some pumpernickel bagels.

I love pumpernickel bagels as much as the next gal – but I’d never stop a pilot from taking off at the scheduled departure time, thus affecting subsequent flights and hundreds of other passengers.

I mean, unless I had that kind of power. (Let’s be real: I have never had that kind of power and it’s doubtful that I’ll ever have that kind of power. I wouldn’t even know what to do with that kind of power – but if I did have that kind of power, I’d want to test it out a little, you know? I guess one of the ways I might test it out is to demand some pumpernickel bagels while sitting in my private plane and refusing to let the pilot take off until I got my way. Also, champagne. Also, fuzzy slippers.)

So, maybe Ben Stiller isn’t an a$$hole? Maybe he’s just testing his power?

Maybe he’s actually a really wonderful person that just really likes pumpernickel bagels?

I’m not making excuses for Ben Stiller, but I am trying to understand why Ben Stiller would behave in such a way.

(Full disclosure: I have always liked Ben Stiller. From The Ben Stiller Show to Reality Bites to Zoolander. He may not be on my “list,”* but I certainly enjoy his work.)

I digress.

I once went to a movie with Ben Stiller.

No, I did not commit adultery with Ben Stiller. (I can’t believe you would ever think such a thing. I’m actually pretty hurt that you would jump to those kinds of conclusions. You know what they say about jumping to conclusions? Someone is going to get hurt – with all of that jumping – And it’s me. I’m hurt. I love my husband, and I would never commit adultery!**)

We just went to a movie.*** Geez!

And there were other people there. Like hundreds.

It’s not like we held hands. (Do people even hold hands anymore?)

We didn’t even speak. (People hate it when you talk at the movies.)

And! We didn’t sit together. (Like I said, I’m married.)

We did make some serious eye contact. (I don’t mean that our eyes made contact – gross. I mean that we looked into each other’s eyes at least once. He was walking down the aisle to the front of the theatre to get interviewed, and I was sitting at the end of the aisle and I turned around right as he was passing and our eyes definitely met.)

When the movie was over I got up from my seat and left the theatre. I didn’t even say goodbye.

Sometimes going to a movie with Ben Stiller just means going to a movie with Ben Stiller.

 

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* My “list”: Ed Ved, a young Colin Firth, an alive Paul Newman. These gentleman have been approved by my husband for some smooching and hands stuff. He’ll joke and say he didn’t approve this at all, but he’s just joking.

**Just some smooching and hands stuff. No big whoop.

*** Walter Mitty

 

 

The Busy Is Real

Hello again.

It’s been a while.

First of all, I want to apologize.

(I’m a person who doesn’t mind apologizing. An apology means “I see you were harmed by my action, and that matters to me”. I know that there are many very unpleasant people that flat-out refuse to apologize no matter what they say or do, and I feel sad for those people.)

I am very sorry that it’s been so long since my last post. I know how much that each of you look forward to getting Hold Your Horse (the blog that you’re reading right now) delivered straight to your email inbox, along with valuable Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons.

I also know how much my blog brightens even the darkest winter days, and how it restores your faith in humanity, while also reminding you how valuable the gift of laughter really is.

I know all of these things.

I haven’t had time to write anything – except my name, and a 3800-word essay – for the past eight weeks because I have been so freakin’ busy.

I know that everyone is “busy”… everyone has lots of stuff going on at any one time. There’s lunch, and then there’s dinner, and then there’s that thing on Thursday with your cousins, and then there’s laundry, and then there’s paying bills, and then there’s work, and then there’s that important meeting, and then there’s all that paperwork, and then there’s the thing with the thing.

Busy! So busy!

I also know that people often tell people that they are “busy” as an excuse for not doing things they never wanted to do anyway.

That is not the case here!

The busy is real.

I have wanted to do all the things* (including write blogs for the enjoyment, of you, my attractive, stylish, and vivacious reader) but I just have not had the time (because of all the busy).

I’m going to try to post more regularly in the coming year because: a) I love to brighten dark winter days; and 2) when people tell me that they liked my blog, or that it made them smile, I am touched**.

Thanks for all the love and support this year.

Merry Christmas, and wishing you all the best in 2018.

Love, Kim

 

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* Send cards, phone (anyone), attend holiday events, see people, talk to people, sing Christmas carols, make sweet love to my husband, see Star Wars, eat a balanced breakfast.

** Moved emotionally, not caressed or handled.

 

The “Hi, how are you?”

I love to disarm people.

And by disarm I mean, to divest or relieve of hostility, suspicion; win the affection or approval of; to charm.

I also love to disarm people by depriving them of a weapon or weapons. Both ways of disarming are obviously great, and helpful in many situations, but I’d like to speak to the former.

A few of my friends have said when they go through TSA at the airport, or cross the border at a land crossing, they get very, very anxious.

And it’s not because they are smuggling drugs (as far as I know).

They are just normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill Canadians that want to get on a plane or do a Trader Joe’s run. These are good people, with nothing (or very little) to hide, that are just jonesin’ for a jar of Tomatillo salsa. But for some reason they get sweaty palms and a dry mouth when they talk to a TSA agent or border guard.

Maybe it’s the crew cut, or the dark shades, or the attitude, or the fact that they have a gun*?

Or, maybe it’s because they (my friends) have  unconsciously-held issues with authority that makes them respond to power and/or control in inappropriate ways, and perhaps they find themselves fluctuating between over-compliance and hostility? I mean, I’m no psychologist, but that’s probably it.

Whatever it is that makes people so nervous and awkward that they blurt out their SIN number, mother’s maiden name, and sexual history (when he just asked you the purpose of your trip), I can help.

It’s called, the “Hi, how are you?”

It’s very easy… (I really wish I could make money from sharing this information with you).

As you approach the TSA agent or border guard – before they have a chance to say anything – smile and say, “Hi, how are you?”

It literally disarms them.

And by “disarm” I mean, to divest or relieve of hostility, suspicion; win the affection or approval of; to charm – I do NOT mean, depriving them of a weapon or weapons*.

It’s just that simple.

Those four little words literally disarm them (again, I mean to divest or relieve of hostility, suspicion; win the affection or approval of; to charm – I do not mean depriving them of a weapon or weapons*).

Most people do not extend pleasantries to their TSA agents or border guards, which is a shame because their job is tough, and thankless (without thanks), and I’m sure they would benefit greatly from a few more positive interactions at work**.

So, next time you find yourself face-to-face with a TSA agent or border guard, just say, “Hi, how are you?” and feel free to thank me later***.

A few notes:

• You must say it quickly, all in one breath: Hi-how-are-you?
• You must have your music off.
• You must have your sunglasses off.
• You must be a woman.
• You must not try to be funny.
• You must limit eye contact to six seconds.
• You must not be chewing gum.
• You must not be smuggling drugs.

See? Easy!

 

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* I’m obviously talking about the TSA agent or border guard.

** NEVER DO THIS. DO NOT TRY TO DEPRIVE A BORDER GUARD OF A WEAPON OR WEAPONS. YOU WILL GO TO JAIL, OR WORSE.

*** Who wouldn’t?

**** With cash.

 

 

The Summer of George

Those of you who know me know that I love Seinfeld.

Like, really, really love Seinfeld.

I’m talking more than pizza, and weddings, and Roald Dahl books, and sauvignon blancs, and friends, and receiving mail, and cave-aged cheeses, and really anything else that I profess to love.

It really goes beyond love and is best described as a “frenzied passion”.

I digress.

As you may know, Seinfeld was full… brimming, packed, saturated… with cultural and comedy references that shaped my world view, and are still very much relevant to this day.

Case in point: the 156th episode of Seinfeld titled, “The Summer of George.” George is laid off from the New York Yankees, and receives a severance package equal to three month’s salary. He decides that he’s going to take some time off to become physically active and take full advantage of the summer.

Like George, I was also laid off at the beginning of summer. I was working on a short contract as a project coordinator and it turned out they weren’t going to need me as long as they thought they would, so I received a severance package. I decided I was going to take some time off to become physically active and take full advantage of the summer…

On Seinfeld, George does not become physically active, nor does he take full advantage of the summer. Instead, he becomes very, very lazy. He wears pajamas all day and doesn’t leave his apartment.

I almost became like George.

The first few days I was lethargic and listless (without a list!), but then I bought the June 2017 issue of The Oprah Magazine. There, on the cover, was Oprah* – living her best life – with the heading, “Your One Wild and Precious Summer!”

When is she not living her best life?

I realized that I needed to start enjoying my one wild and precious summer*!

My summer has been full of BBQs, beach days, ice cream (a lot of ice cream) traveling, cocktails, friends, family, flip-flops, sunshine, etc. I have been living my best life!

(Admittedly, my best life is probably meh compared to other people’s best life (like Oprah), but still… I’m enjoying the heck out of my one wild and precious summer!)

And guess what?

IT’S NOT OVER!

There are 37 more days of summer left!

Get out there and enjoy your summer*****!

 

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* Oprah’s always on the cover.

** Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly sure what Oprah meant by “wild” because I’m not sure that her “wild” and my “wild” are similar. I mean, Oprah’s “wild” could be combining fish with cheese in a casserole, and my “wild” could be going to a foam party at a club in Berlin***.

*** I would never do this****, but I do consider it to be the very definition of wild.

**** I know people that have done this.

***** Why the heck are you reading this blog when you should be out enjoying your one wild and precious summer?

I wish I liked anything as much as Oprah likes the beach.

The Wisdom

I love John Hughes.

There is no other writer slash director that captured youth, or jejuneness,* the way John Hughes captured youth (or, jejuneness*).

It’s like he never forgot.

He grew up into an adult, but still remembered exactly how being a teenager felt… His characters reflected the angst, the awkwardness, and the inexperience of being in that graceless phase, AKA, the springtime of life.

John Hughes’ movies were full of philosophical gems, worthy of contemplation.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is my favorite movie of all time, and it is chock-full of them… pearls of wisdom that should be reflected on, meditated on, studied, and chewed:

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

I’m no expert in Philosophy** but I think what John Hughes is trying to say is that life moves very fast, and if you don’t stop and look around every once in a while, you could miss it. It seems fairly obvious – but then again, how often do you really just stop and look around?***

Another great quote from Ferris Bueller:

“A person should not believe in an -ism, he should believe in himself. I quote John Lennon, “I don’t believe in Beatles, I just believe in me.” Good point there. After all, he was the walrus. I could be the walrus, I’d still have to bum rides off people.“

You should definitely believe in yourself (at all times), even if you are a member of The Beatles and consider yourself a walrus. And, carpooling is a virtue.

Another:

“First of all you can never go too far. Second of all, if I’m going to be caught, it’s not gonna be by a guy like that!”

Self-explanatory.

And, another:

“The question isn’t ‘what are we going to do’, the question is ‘what aren’t we going to do?'”

Life is what you make of it. You’re either in the game, or standing on the sidelines. Think big. And then think even bigger. Skip school (or work), “borrow” a Ferrari, go to a museum, take in a ball game, sing karaoke in a parade, and then swim in a stranger’s pool. Dance, hide, run, smile, kiss, and do whatever else takes your breath away.

Most importantly… You have this one life. Don’t forget to live it to the fullest.

 

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* I was looking for a way to use the word, jejuneness.

** I dabble.

*** You might want to try it right now?

That Time I Went to a Passover Celebration

By now I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m part Jewish.

For a while there I thought I was just possibly Jewish, but an Ancestry DNA test confirmed my Jewish-ness*, and now I’m officially kvelling.

I have a friend (a real mensch) that has always been Jewish (100% heimish), and this friend recently invited me along to her family’s Pesach (Passover) celebration.

For those  who are unfamiliar with Passover, let me give you a brief synopsis:

Long story short… The Jews, AKA Children of Israel, AKA Hebrews, AKA God’s chosen people…. had been kept as slaves in Egypt for hundreds of years. God spoke to this guy called Moses through a burning bush (as the supreme being, creator, and ruler of the universe does). God told Moses to go talk to the Pharaoh and see what was up with all of the slavery. Moses was like, “Let my people go!” but Pharaoh was like, “Whatever!” So God got pretty upset, and sent plagues over the land of Egypt. Plagues like lice, frogs, boils, locusts, and hail. Nasty stuff… Terrible! Eventually Moses was just like, “Why don’t we just try leaving Egypt when it’s dark?” So they all snuck out of Egypt when it was dark. (I’m sure after hundreds of years of slavery they were kicking themselves wondering why they hadn’t thought of the whole “escape in the darkness thing” sooner. I digress.) After a brief interlude at the Red Sea, Moses led the Jews to the promised land.

Passover is a holiday where we (the “Jews”) celebrate our liberation from Egypt. Jews typically observe Passover for eight days, and they have a Passover seder (or two) where family and friends gather together for a special dinner, where the story of the exodus is told using a Haggadah. A Haggadah outlines the order of the seder with offerings, blessings, songs of praise, etc.

For me, the best part about the Passover wasn’t really the Passover per se, it was the festivity around the celebration. My friend (the mensch) and her family (also, very menschy) like their celebrations to have a little flair.

For instance, we used a Baseball Haggadah, and sang an exodus song to the tune of Take Me Out to the Ball Game.

There was a matzo basket made of fabric that looked like matzos!

There was a lasagna that was made with matzos!

There was a Moses action figure!

We got to ask four questions!

There was a tambourine – that anyone could play!

We got to hit the table!

There was kosher wine (which tastes pretty much exactly like regular wine)!

We got to make sandwiches! With matzos!

We got to hit each other with green onions!

And as if all of that wasn’t amazing enough, the crowd that was gathered around the table was diverse and fascinating. My friend’s family (all mensches) had assembled a whizz-bang, multi-national, multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, multi-lingual, multi-talented group of people. A real hodge-podge of humanity**, if you will…. I mean, there was even a Republican from Florida!

On what other occasion would I meet such people***?

And THAT my friend, was the best part about the Passover celebration. The coming together of many, to celebrate, to remember, and to reflect…

I take that back… It was definitely the matzo lasagna.

I need this.

Let my people go already!

 

 

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* > 5%.

** “Hodge-podge of humanity” is now trademarked by yours truly.

*** Possibly a Kimpton Hotel wine hour?

 

 

The Move

I have moved at least 35 times (!!!) in my short, youthful life – and it has never been fun.

Moving is never fun.

The idea that you pack up all of your things into boxes or bags, put them in a truck (or other large covered vehicle), and drive them somewhere else, and take them out of the truck (or other large covered vehicle) and then unpack all of the boxes and bags is unnatural and unpleasant.

I just moved house, and I hated it. I literally wanted to cry at least once a day. It is so painfully tedious not to mention exhausting (which now that I think of it, is actually worth mentioning).

I hate wrapping breakables in newspaper! I despise putting books in boxes! I loathe vacuuming the air from Space Bags! I also don’t like forwarding my mail.

It also takes me away from the things I want to be doing (petting dogs, baking bread, making out, whitening my teeth, googling).

I never want to move again! EVER!

NEVER. EVER. AGAIN.

But here’s the thing: I need everyone else in the world to agree to this.

I need every man, woman and child in the world to say, “I’m good” and just stay exactly where they are for eternity.

You live in a tiny (but extremely smelly) one-bed flat? Stay put!

You have a lovely grand house (that you’re having a hard time paying for)? Cling like ivy!

You live in an igloo (that is really quite melty at the moment)? Stick around. Winter is coming.

It only takes one person to say, “I wouldn’t mind a view,” or “my neighbor really creeps me out” and then suddenly it is like a game of dominoes… [insert suitable metaphor here].

Please, please (now I’m begging) stay exactly where you are… DO NOT disturb the balance, makes waves, or upset the apple cart*!

No more moving!

(Let’s all make it “a thing”.)

Thank you for your cooperation.

Sincerely,

Kim “No more moving” Manky

 

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* Apples should also get to stay exactly where they are (in the cart.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Prank

This blog should probably be titled, The Extremely Hilarious Survivor Prank That I Pull on My Husband Every Week Without Fail, but it felt a tiny bit long.

I should probably preface this by saying that my husband and I really, really, really love Survivor.

(And, if you don’t know what Survivor is, climb out from under that rock you’ve been living under, and read my endnotes.*)

Our love for Survivor is a deep, pure, abiding kind of love… The kind of love normally reserved for pets and elderly grandparents.

Wednesday nights are our Fridays (and our Fridays are our Mondays… Long story), and we vibrate with anticipation as we get home, rush to the TV, cue up the PVR, and wait for Jeff Probst to say, “Previously on Survivor!” 

It’s so much more than a reality competition television franchise… It’s a cultural anthropological study of humankind, and the universal human capacity to classify and encode human experiences symbolically, and to communicate symbolically encoded experiences socially.

So, yeah.

Anyway, each week we watch the show and someone’s voted out and we’re always like “whhhhhaaaa?” and then it cuts to commercial break.

And that’s when I do it.

I press the stop button, and I scroll down to DELETE.

And my husband is always like, “STTTTTTTTOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPP!” Because we haven’t watched the “Next time on Survivor…” bit where Jeff Probst gives us a hint of what’s to come next week.

And that’s why it’s funny.

My husband thinks I’m going to delete the show and then he’ll never know what’s going to happen next week (until next week), but I just do it to psych him out…

And I find it hilarious.

And I do it every week.

And it always works.

And I always laugh.

And then I scroll back up to RESUME PLAY, and then we find out what’s going to happen next week.

Pretty funny stuff.

 

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* Are you kidding me? You don’t know Survivor?

I feel sorry for you.

Here’s a blurb from Wikipedia:

Survivor is the American version of the international Survivor reality competition television franchise, itself derived from the Swedish television series Expedition Robinson created by Charlie Parsons which premiered in 1997. The American series premiered on May 31, 2000, on CBS. It is hosted by television personality Jeff Probst, who is also an executive producer, and also executive produced by Mark Burnett and original creator, Parsons.

The show maroons a group of strangers in an isolated location, where they must provide food, water, fire, and shelter for themselves. The contestants compete in challenges for rewards and immunity from elimination. The contestants are progressively eliminated from the game as they are voted out by their fellow contestants, until only one remains and is given the title of “Sole Survivor” and is awarded the grand prize of $1,000,000.

 

 

 

The Special Request

Last month the husband and I headed to the Okanagan for a little getaway. We wanted to visit my 92 year-old grandfather (AKA “Gramps”), and see some friends that skipped town permanently (you know who you are).

We booked the trip at the very last minute – well, more specifically, just a few days before we were set to depart – using the travel website Expedia.

(I’m a big fan of Expedia… I love searching for vacations, and dreaming of vacations, and also – going on vacations. It’s my thing… Like breathing. Or, getting hives from eating lobster. Or, having webbed feet.)

(Does this sound like a commerical for Expedia? It’s not. I mean, I really do love Expedia and I don’t understand why anyone would not use Expedia to book their flights, hotels, cars, cruises, activities, and all-inclusives. It’s fast, it’s easy, and you often save money when booking a flight and hotel at the same time. Did I mention they have great customer service? Well, they do.)

I digress (but I really do love Expedia).

When booking a little (or BIG) getaway on Expedia, you are able to select your flights, choose a hotel, and then write in the little box marked “special requests.”

Well, I love special requests just about as much as I love Expedia… I mean, they’re special, and they’re requests… What’s not to love?

Here was mine:

Important things to keep in mind: At the time of my “special request” Trudeau hadn’t approved the Kinder Morgan pipeline, broken his promise re: electoral reform, or shaken hands with the evil orange one. In other words, I still “respected” him (it had nothing to do with the fact that he is easy on the eyes).

Well, when we finally went on our little getaway (days later), and I opened the door to the hotel room, I was pleasantly surprised.

They couldn’t have chosen a better picture.

I didn’t actually think the hotel (The Manteo Resort in Kelowna) would honor my “special request,” (I mean, there was a winky face, and everybody knows what a winky face means*), but they did, and it meant a lot (less than world peace, more than someone offering you a piece of gum).

 

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* Unless they don’t… A 😉 implies humour.

That Time I Received a Letter from Steven Spielberg

I recently received a letter from Steven Spielberg.

The Steven Spielberg.

You know, the American director, producer and screenwriter of such films as E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial, Jurassic Park, Munich, Schindler’s List, Jaws, Saving Private Ryan, The Color Purple, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Amistad, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Lincoln… to name a few.

The same Steven Spielberg that won two Academy Awards for best director (seven nominations), and created the “Blockbuster” film genre.

That guy.

Hi! I’m Steven Spielberg.

As a screenwriter, I have always looked up to certain filmmakers – specifically Steven Spielberg, Chris Columbus and Wes Anderson – and envied their ability to tell a story. These filmmakers totally suck you into the world they create, and you are completely captivated for one and a half to two and a half hours.

So, you better believe I was beyond excited to find a letter with a return address labelled “Steven Spielberg, Amblin Entertainment” in my mailbox.

I mean, it was from Steven Spielberg!

The Steven Spielberg!

The one and only.

Steve-o! (That’s probably what his close friends call him, and obviously it is only a matter of time before I lovingly call him that too.)

I should note: the letter wasn’t totally unexpected. After publishing my novel last month I sent my book to a few of my favorite filmmakers with the hope that they would read it, love it, want to make it into a feature film, and pay me money for the right to do so.

So, when I saw the letter, I was like…

I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter…

And it said, “Thank you for your enquiry. We do not accept unsolicited materials. Please do not send anything ever again. Thanks, The Legal Department.”

And, at first I was like…

But, then I was like…

“I got a letter from Steven Spielberg!” 

Because, it’s always better to focus on the positive rather than the negative.*

 

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* Unless you’re talking about a blood test where a positive would actually be a negative.