It’s been a bittersweet year in many ways, but I have so much to be thankful for that it’s pretty overwhelming. I wish you all well over the holiday and hope that it’s spent with people that you love doing things that you love to do.

A big thank you to my loving and supportive family, Matt’s loving and supportive family, and you our greatest friends. You have held us up during some of the toughest times in our lives, and we owe you a lot.

And Matt, thank you for being my best friend and my strongest ally.

Now let’s rock dinner like the Pilgrims taught us, yo.

I go through favorite beer phases, as I’m sure everyone else does. I’m over my Stella kick, and am now too far from Worcester to regularly find Wachusett ale on tap. So my new obsession is Harpoon’s UFO.

Beer, as with music, I connect with great people, places and memories in my life. The first time I had Harpoon’s UFO was the day that we moved in to our current place. It was a frigid day at the end of December about 2 days before Christmas. My unbelievably tolerant family had helped us haul furniture all day, and just as we had finished unloading the U-Haul it became stuck in the snowy driveway. About two hours later, and with the help of many kind neighbors, we got the truck out into the street and headed to the nearest restaurant for a burger and a DRINK.

My brother-in-law ordered a UFO and let me have a sip. I was instantly in love. But it very well was because I was thawing in a warm restaurant, exhausted and sweaty, and surrounded by the greatest people on earth. You truly know the people who love you the most - they are the ones who help you move. And to all of those very very GOOD people on both sides of our family who have helped us move four times in four years, I raise my bottle of UFO to you.

From Daily Daguerreotype

So at the last minute, I have been re-routed to Charlotte for the week. I asked Matt if he’d blog all week long in my stead, and he replied with a punch to my ribcage that not only knocked the wind out of me but also made me wonder why, after five years, this is the first I’ve seen of the ribcage punch?

But I don’t want to stand you guys up, NO WAY JOSE! I’m just not that kinda girl. Actually, I totally am, but it’s my guilt complex that stops me from doing that. So this evening I have cranked out 5 great posts for you to nosh on throughout the week. Maybe not so great, but quantity has always been more appealing to me than quality. Reference the 10 guys that I dated before Matt.

Yes, they’re all based around Daily Daguerreotypes because my mom just found a tripod in her basement, and I’m the lucky recipient. I think it used to be my Aunt Lynne’s (thanks, Auntie Lynne!!!) and let me tell you, tripod photography is FUN!

Ok, enough about that and now on to the photo. My sister picked these up for me and sent them in the mail one day because she loves me THAT much. She knows how much I love letterpressed papergoods and the whole world knows (or SHOULD know) how much I love lobsters. So much so that I collected a whole family of stuffed lobsters as a child and named them all L names. The father lobster’s name was Lester because at the time my father would play an Earl Scruggs and Lester Flatt LP over and over again, and I think I had a crush on Lester Flatt’s finger-picking way back then.

From Daily Daguerreotype

Editor’s Note: He’s a hunka lunka burnin love. And here he is, your all-time favorite blogger, Matteo.

———————————————————————————-

Writing blog posts is a tiresome task for me unless I’ve got a worthy muse.  Or a nice bowl of mueslix. Today’s muse is my heart-on-her-sleeve, reserved yet resolved partner for life, Priscilla Band Hofmann. The mastermind behind this dope website you love to frequent. You may read this web log because you find what she says amusing.  You may come by to take a gander at the daily daguerreotype.  You may even come by to get a glimpse of her secret thought life that for some reason compels you to return each day.  You’ve learned a lot about the woman behind the light blue and yellow mask, but I want to give you insight into the day to day, dog walk to dog walk Experience.

The morning begins with our two alarm clocks playing call and response. Her alarm clock is across the room because there’s no room for a bedside table on her side of the bed. Why, you ask, is there no room? Well, because Berlin sleeps there, of course! Haven’t you been reading this blog at all? The needs of fluffy animals preclude any attention to her otherwise marginal personal preferences.  She’d happily stumble across the room 3 times a morning to hit the snooze (a bad habit I’m afraid I’m responsible for) just so that at any point in the night she can reach her hand down and scritch Berlin’s snout.

My schedule is variable, so I see Priscilla at different points during the morning routine. A few of my favorite elements: the sheet wrinkle mark on her cheek, the non verbal greeting/shrug during the first few lucid moments of the day, the pre-glasses grimace.  She’s never pretended to be “of the morning,” and why should she? Nothing fun happens in the morning. She’s got other parts of the day to focus on.  And as she will tell you, at any point in time she is having more fun than 9 out of 10 people in the immediate vicinity. Read those numbers and weep.

Throughout the work day there will come an occasional text message. Actual examples: “Guess who got a burrito with beans!”, “You are a reticulated giraffe.”, and “I love you more than I love Ikea.”  If one were given the task of summing up an individual’s personality based solely on that person’s text messaging, she would be a prime candidate. I mean, how much more would you need? Those of you who know her personally: Am I wrong?

But of course she’s so much more than that.

One of my favorite movie lines comes from As Good As It Gets with Jack Nicholson, or as we say in my family, Uncle Rich.  He plays an author who, when faced with the question of how he so accurately depicts women in his books, responds blithely: “I take a look at a man. Then I take away all reason and accountability.”  Priscilla and I battle about how different we are—“why do you have to be so rational all the time?” “I’m sorry, I just don’t see it any other way.”  For me, the five years we’ve been together have been an exercise in viewing the world through the eyes of a dreamer.  She may lament her generalist ways, but I’ve seen more great things accomplished by her in the past five years than I may be able to claim in my life.  Over 5 grand raised for breast cancer with 120 miles clocked on blistered feet.  A child in Burkina Faso comforted by her letters.  A workplace filled with people who know her faith.  Could any of these actions be called rational? And who’s keeping who accountable here?

Our evenings together consist usually of flopping on the couch in front of AFV and laughing at the fat guy on the slip’n’slide.  We do this because the work day is taxing.  Priscilla is a live-to-work turned work-to-live adherent, taking her highest joy from kicking back and enjoying the company of her family: the love-hungry puppy, the recalcitrant cat, and the guy who can’t seem to stop registering for more night classes.  Does she complain? Sometimes. You’ll have that.  Why shouldn’t she? I mean, I would.

But she lives for it. She lives for the good things in life: the excitement, the meaningful relationship, the connection between best friends.  Never let it be said that we’re only at half-throttle.  Because for her, that’s not a life worth living.  And I’ve learned volumes from this outlook.

Her music taste? Common knowledge. Her love for animals?  Please.  Her encyclopedic knowledge of sports? Bob Costas, go change your diaper.  We all know these things about Priscilla. But what you don’t know, dear reader, is what words can’t express.  And those things I will hold dear to the end, and gleefully keep all to myself.

From Daily Daguerreotype

Another thing I swiped from my Grandmother one day, this little globe canister make me smile every time I glance at it. It’s gotten quite beat up over the years which, in my mind, adds to the appeal. Not only is this my favorite shade of blue, but I love how it sets off the gold trim - plus the font used is to die for.

Initially we used it solely to store spare change that eventually Matt would take to the grocery store and exchange via Coinstar for iTunes giftcards. This always seemed to please him immeasurably. Lately, however, we’ve also been using it to store the guitar picks which previously were tossed willy nilly on the coffee table, but now are too dangerously close to Berlin’s digestive tract. It is well suited to both purposes.

We have a funny (to us) joke in my family. We tease that at some point we sisters will all participate in a WifeSwap of switching husbands. Whenever we come across a trait that drives us bonkers about our man, inevitably another sister will pipe up with “Well I could certainly use Matt’s expertise in potty training. That will be great during the WifeSwap.”

Either way, I’ll make out well. One of my brother-in-laws brews fresh and delicious Starbucks coffee no fewer than three times daily. The other one matches my adoration for both Robert Plant and Tom Waits, which would be such a beautiful relief from the Sharon Jones and the Daptones disc constantly spinning in the player.

Last weekend, however, Matt and I found the perfect couple to WifeSwap with. The conversation went something like this.

“So I just saw (our landlord’s) wife outside. She’s got dark curly hair.”

“OOO! Sounds right up your alley, Matty. Why don’t you have a hot rendezvous with her… and then ask to lower our rent.”

“Ok.”

“And I’ll try the same with (our landlord). That thick Irish brogue is more than I can handle.”

“Sounds perfect. Operation Rent Overthrow.”

The next couple on MY list for WifeSwap are the BlurboDooce’s. MMMhmm… Jon Armstrong.