Thursday Free Association

3rd Ave & 43rd Street

Did you know that the Chrysler Building is my favorite building in New York City?

Well, it is.

Partly because I love all things Art Deco. Partly because I love shiny things.

And partly because it makes me think of that scene from Annie, where the spirited, dancing orphan girls sing "It's a Hard Knock Life" and Molly - doing her best Miss Hannigan impersonation - shouts, "You'll stay up / til this dump / shines like the top of the CHRYS-ler Building!"

Everytime I see it, glittering and looming above me, I think, "The CHRYS-ler Building!" in my best Molly-the-Orphan voice. Every. Time.

I did a scene in Improv class this week where my scene partner and I played two child actors in the cast of Annie.

But that wasn't the first time I've pretended to be in the cast of Annie. At my very first sleep-over party (Kathleen L.'s 7th birthday) we all stayed up very, very late (like, midnight) and reinacted the entire movie. Tara got to be the Molly character, because she was the smallest. I wanted to be Pepper, because she was the sassiest of the orphans, but I think I lost that role to some other seven-year-old.

A couple years later, we moved from Annie to Little Women. Then I did get to be the sassiest - I was Jo. Always Jo. Tara, being the smallest and blondest, was Amy. Always Amy. Leaving Katie and Kathleen to duke it out for the role of Meg. (No one wanted to be Beth. Because Beth dies.)

I'm not sure we ever got around to actually playing Little Women. Mostly I just remember us endlessly discussing role distribution, as we walked to and from soccer practice. (Practice was just down the street from our houses, and this was back in the day when kids could walk places on their own, without cell phones and without fear.)

We may have been too old to be playing, anyways, at that point. I think what was at stake, what was really at the heart of the "I want to be Meg and if I have to be Beth then I'm not participating" argument, was more about defining our developing personalities.

We were figuring out who we were, who we were going to be in life. How did we fit, how did we relate with each other? And how were our lives going to play out? No one wanted to take on Beth's ill fate, not even for one afternoon before soccer practice. We wanted to dream bigger than that.

We didn't want to be expendable; we wanted to survive into the sequel.

I think that's what the Chrysler Building is for me now, every time I catch a glimpse of it: a metal-and-mortar symbol of dreaming big. Of infinite possibilities. Of a Daddy Warbucks, pie-in-the-sky life beyond the proverbial orphanage.

Maybe. Or maybe I just like it because it's shiny.

A Royal Tannenbaum

Hey, lil' cutie!

This here is the Christmas tree I mentioned yesterday. How cute is he!? And he smells good, too.

The nice man who sold us this purty fir tree gave us some instructions on how to take care of it. Fill the stand with hot tap water at first, then room-temp water going forward. And you can help things along by crushing up some aspirin in the water once a week. (If you're wondering whether ibuprofin would also do the trick, the answer is 'no.' We already asked.)

Admittedly, the tree could use a little sprucing* up, and we're working on that. I know I used to own ornaments at one point during my career as an adult, but I don't know where they've gotten off to now.

It's possible the ornaments were thrown away during The Great Cull of 2006, when - faced with the prospect of carrying all my stuff up five flights of stairs into a new apartment - I decided to quickly lighten my load and kick a lot of belongings to the curb. Including, but not limited to: a couch, my snow boots, and a cashmere sweater.

Yes, I made a lot of rash decisions during The Great Cull, but it seems unlikely the ornaments (some of which were over 30 years old) would have been one of my curbside victims. I can be ruthless with cashmere, but I'm pretty tender when it comes to nostalgia.

More likely they ended up in my Spanish Harlem storage unit, along with my framed college diploma, the Buddha lamp, angst-ridden journals from my teenage years, and four place settings of Fiesta Ware - none of which were needed (nor fit!) in my current cozy apartment.

If that's the case, I'm afraid those ornaments are going to be spending Christmas in el barrio because I don't have time to go cross-town and retrieve them any time soon...

...Which means I'll need to find a home-grown way to decorate our little Christmas tree. Off the top of my head, I'm thinking of tying silverware to the boughs with dental floss. Any other suggestions?

*Sprucing! Spruce! Everyone loves an evergreen pun, am I right?

Wonders, Never Ceasing

All lit up and purty-like

My roommate was out of town last week.

This was sad for me. The apartment was very quiet without her.

I filled the void with noise. First, with my out-loud laughs while watching the entire first season of Head Case. (Totally hilarious. Give it a watch and laugh for yourself. Especially if you've always wondered what Jason Priestly might look like in drag.)

After the end of Head Case left another void in my life, I needed to create my own entertainment. So I walked around the place belting out Broadway showtunes and Christmas carols.

Then one night in the bathroom, I discovered a hither-to-unknown talent.

I can gargle "I'll Be Home For Christmas" while brushing my teeth!!!

It's amazing what you can discover about yourself while in the bathroom.

(Wait...what?)

(Nevermind.)

Fast forward to this week. Koko has returned home, and earlier tonight we ventured across the street to buy a little Christmas tree. After we set it up, as we sat in the soft glow of twinkle lights while listening to the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack, I decided this was the right moment for my new talent's debut.

"Hey, you wanna see what I can do?" I asked.

Koko was impressed. Well - mostly confused, I think, but also a little impressed.

Next stop(s): Broadway. Radio City. A Crest commercial.

With a talent like this, I'm going places, people.

Serendipitous

Serendipity's Holiday Decor

Book Club tonight with a group of fun and wise girls.

We started our discussion over Frozen Hot Chocolates at Serendipity, before moving the party to a 'Bucks around the corner.

The last time I was at Serendipity was over four years ago, my very first week in the city. So much has happened in those four years; I have trouble remembering that new New Yorker I used to be. Who was I? What was I thinking, dreaming of? Where was I trying to end up?

I've come a long way. I have a long way to go.

I'm blessed to have friends who meet me wherever I am in the journey, and let me be who I need to be, where I need to be, when I need to be.

And I think such friends are not so much serendipitous finds as they are providential provisions.

Of Pines and P...

Have I mentioned before that I love my neighborhood? Because I do. I really do.

This here is my local bagel shop. You can't see it very well, on account of all the pine trees. But it's there. In all it's flour-y, carb-y goodness.

Christmas tree stands (like the one blocking the bagels, above) pop up all over the city around Thanksgiving. Most are open 24-hours, with the workers taking shifts sleeping in a van or camper parked near the stand. They do this for several weeks, right up until Christmas Eve.

(I know this because I once almost dated a Christmas tree stand salesman. Almost, I said. We're going to call that a bullet dodged.)

I love walking by the tree stands. They make the city streets seem friendlier, more communal, more FAN-good-old-fashioned-holiday-TASTIC.

Plus the lovely smell of pine covers up the usual street stench of dog piss. Bonus! And, Merry Christmas to all!

Lilah Tov
(Good Night)

. . . Evening, when the measure skips a beat
And then another, one by one, and all
To a seething minor swiftly modulate.
Bare night is best. Bare earth is best. Bare, bare,
Except for our own houses, huddled low
Beneath the arches and their spangled air,
Beneath the rhapsodies of fire and fire,
Where the voice that is in us makes a true response,
Where the voice that is great within us rises up,
As we stand gazing at the rounded moon.

-from Evening Without Angels, by Wallace Stevens

* * *

When I got home at 2am, I realized I hadn't yet taken Saturday's photo-of-the-day. So I turned around in my doorway and snapped this shot.

It was late, but I wasn't sleepy (tired, yes, but sleepy, no) so I stood on the stoop a few moments more, breathing spangled air and gazing out at night on my street.

This day began with rain and a few tears, both of which eased up when the snow started in the afternoon. Then it progressed on to a chilly church in Brooklyn, candle-lit for a Christmas concert, and I was happy to huddle there with good friends. A long pause from busyness, which was so welcome. A reminder to be watchful and waiting, which was so needed.

Then a trip to Chelsea, just before midnight, just in time to take my first-ever steps out on stage. I did two scenes in an Improv Mixer, which was a little scary, kinda trippy, and so, so, so fun.

So, so, so fun.

I left: hyper, as I always leave Improv. I left wanting to see more Improv, do more Improv, spend more time on that stage, talk about craft and technique at length, practice object work and compare improvisational theories, play longer and get better and improve my game.

But it was 2am.

And it was time to go home.

So I stood on my stoop, breathed spangled air beneath the arch, and said, "Good night."

But Santa, Dear, We're in a Hurry

Santa on Sixth Avenue

This photo was actually taken earlier in the week, but I'm posting it as today's daily December Photo because I doubt my abilities to get a new picture out of my camera and onto this blog later today. After work, I'm rushing into a busy weekend; all good things, but I'm anticipating being t-i-r-e-d by the time Sunday night rolls around.

Which doesn't bode well for me, because I'm way beyond t-i-r-e-d already, here on Friday morning.

When is a girl supposed to sleep, exactly?

Anyways, I'm posting this picture today, though it just occurred to me that perhaps I should have saved it for tomorrow. You know what tomorrow is, right?

You don't?

It's Sinterklaas Day!!

In the Netherlands, jolly old St. Nick makes his toy-laden appearance on December 5th, instead of the 25th. Well, let me back up: he actually arrives in the country (via a boat from Spain) in mid-November. Then he spends a couple of weeks touring the country, making house calls, taking inventory on who has been naughty and who has been nice.

Sinterklaas is assisted by his helper, Zwarte Piet, or 'Black Peter' (not to be confused with Sint's trusty white horse, who is also named 'Piet'). If you are a good little boy or girl, Zwarte Piet will bring you gifts and sweets on December 5th. However, if you've been bad, there is always the threat that Zwarte Piet will kidnap you, stuff you in a sack, and ferry you back to Spain. Uh-oh. Be good, kids!

Family and friends also gather on December 5th to exchange presents. It's traditional to wrap each gift in some kind of imaginative packaging, preferably something that reflects the personality of the recipient, i.e., if your grandma likes gardening, maybe you encase her gift in a paper-mache flowerpot. Or if your little brother is a stinker, maybe you wrap his gift up in dirty socks. (Being mischevious is perfect acceptable, and probably won't result in you being forced into slavery by Zwarte Piet.)

Along with the gift, it's customary to write a short poem about the recipient. I love that the emphasis on Sinterklaas Day is not about getting/giving the biggest or most expensive present - the real fun is in being creative with your gift's presentation and poetry.

Hmmm. Writing all this out has made me miss the Netherlands! Love that country. But it's also given me some ideas for putting together my brother's gift this year...heehee. Mischief abounds.

Light of Lights

Star gazing at Columbus Circle

Light of lights! All gloom dispelling,
Thou didst come to make thy dwelling
Here within our world of sight.
Lord, in pity and in power,
Thou didst in our darkest hour
Rend the clouds and show thy light.

Praise to thee in earth and heaven
Now and evermore be given,
Christ, who art our sun and shield.
Lord, for us thy life thou gavest,
Those who trust in thee thou savest,
All thy mercy stands revealed.

- St. Thomas Aquinas

Stars Shining Brightly

I have two photos for you today, readers, centering on the theme of celebrities. And how I saw some.

Our first photo was taken yesterday evening, as I rushed from work to class. I didn't do a very good job of rushing, however, because I unthinkingly turned down a side street along Rockefeller Center to cut cross-town.

Rockefeller Center is a speed bump on a normal day, but during the holidays? Forget about it. Tourists, tourists, and a couple more tourists make it very difficult to get through with any speed.

Yesterday the area was even more jammed than usual, owing to a crowd of people milling about to watch Rod Stewart rehearse his part for the Rockefeller Center Tree Lighting Ceremony (which took place this evening).

I didn't have time to stop and listen, but I snapped a quick and blurry photo for you:

Our second Photo of the Day comes from a Salvation Army luncheon I attended this afternoon. Kathie Lee Gifford was the emcee of the event. Here she is, about to be introduced:

Hi, Kathie Lee!

She brought her entourage with her: husband Frank Gifford and Today Show co-host Hoda Kotba sat a few tables away from us, looking on as Kathie Lee narrated the proceedings with her signature Kathie Lee style.

The event was really quite a beautiful testimony to the work of the Salvation Army. They are good folks!

One of the honorees at the luncheon was Malaak Compton-Rock (wife of Chris Rock), whose organization, The Angel Rock Project, has partnered with the Salvation Army to create a program called Journey for Change. We watched a short video about this program, which takes youth from Bushwick, Brooklyn on a service trip to a shanty town in South Africa.

Peeps, can I tell you something? And this stays between us: I nearly lost it, watching this video. Nearly broke down in heaving sobs in front of several co-workers; this video (this program!) was so moving. Convicting. Inspiring. A good work by good folks.

Another honoree at the luncheon was Andy Pettite. Apparently he is a "pitcher" for the "New York Yankees," or so they tell me. (I love New York in a big way, but the baseball section of my heart still belongs to Boston.) Anyways, despite being a member of the pinstripe-wearing evil empire, Mr. Pettite struck me as a genuine, humble, Texas-twangy, all-around good guy. One who does a lot to give back to his community.

Throughout the event, Kathie Lee kept reminding us that "to whom much is given, much will be required." This is one of the motivations for members of the Salvation Army Corps to do their many acts of service - to give back to the community out of the blessings they've been given.

Kathie Lee enjoined us to similarly support the Salvation Army's good works with our own financial resources, so they could continue to reach out to the poor and marginalized. There were mini red kettles at the center of each table, if we felt so moved to give.

"That means you, Frank Gifford," Kathie Lee stage-whispered into the microphone.

It means me, too. Have I been a faithful steward of the blessings I've been given? Can I be doing more to give back to my community?

Thanks, Salvation Army (and Kathie Lee), for the conviction and questions at a lovely luncheon. The coffee was quite good, too.

Decemberishly

It's December now. Undeniably and unavoidably.

And you know what that means, right?

It's time to kick-off the December Photo Project!

Remember that from last year? It was fun! (for me, anyways) So let's play again, shall we?

I'm not sure I'll be posting a "Good Thing" item of thankfulness along with each photo, as I did last year. But I might. I just might.

(I am a master of suspense.)

So here we go. Me, you, December, Photo #1.

I wandered past this East Midtown Starbucks on my lunch break today, and remembered meeting up with MZB there one afternoon, three years ago.

We got our coffee, then grabbed seats by the window where we received an unrequested grammar lesson from an eaves-dropping senior citizen. Providing inspiration for this poem.

I know it's cliche, but SO much has changed in three years. And yet, I can't believe three years passed so quickly.

Time: she's a witchy woman and a slippery charlatan, wouldn't you agree?

Begin the Beguine

Riverside Park in the morning time

Today is the first Sunday in Advent.

Soon it will be December.

I have very mixed feelings about these facts.

Actually, my feelings aren’t mixed. They just aren’t mapping to what I might normally be feeling during this time of year.

I’m the girl that normally sneaks in Christmas music starting in September. I’m the girl that used to revel in December – loved everything about it, loved all the tinsel trappings, the cookies, the traditions, the lights, the cookies, the gift-giving. Not to mention the cookies.

December meant Christmas and my birthday and New Year’s. It meant family and friends and parties. It was 31 days of awesome, wrapped in shiny happy paper.

That’s how I remember December normally feeling to me.

But this year, as the twelfth month has neared, I’ve watched the holiday decorations go up around town with unease. I didn’t feel the urge to listen to Christmas music in September. And not in October, not even in November. This worried me a bit; was my soul broken? What was wrong with me?

The thing is, I’m just not ready to give up on autumn. I’m not ready to find myself in December.

Autumn seemed a perfect match to my mood this year – burning colors and muted sounds of crunching leaves. Deep breaths of cool air, after a stretch of many months which had felt so stifling. In autumn there is the excitement of new beginnings, but it’s also a life cycle ending. The pace of life quickens, as daylight hours fade. Communities gather around classes, football games, Halloween parades, and Thanksgiving tables, but there are hours and hours for solitary walks and quiet reflection. There is joy layered with sadness; promise mingled with pain.

My heart was at home with this duality, this autumn.

It had fought a hard fight all year to arrive at this season, and at a place of acceptance that SAD is not BAD. We don’t have to slap a smile over the hurt. We don’t have to apologize for our feelings, we can feel them fully and acknowledge that they are part of what makes us human. SAD is not BAD, dear readers. There is a season for it.

And maybe I’m worried that December requires me to return to a place of pretending. Because December (at least the way I’m looking at it right now) seems like a la-la happy-clappy cloying land of forced cheerfulness. And maybe I’m worried there won’t be space for sadness in a month that office building décor, Kay Jewelers commercials, and Mariah Carey holiday tunes seem to indicate should be an up-beat dance of delight.

Maybe.

But if I can look past all that glitters¹ and think about Advent's core message instead, with its story of a people (and world) waiting longingly for a change, an arrival, for justice and peace – well, that sounds like a story I can inhabit during this next season. There is confusion, there is an ache, but there are angels singing over it². That’s a story I think I’m ready to explore.

So goodbye, Autumn, you with your red and orange and gold-colored leaves. And hello, Advent, you with your mystery and blue-tinted longing and candle-flickers of hope. I’m ready to let you show me a thing or two.

¹That was a combined Shakespeare/Mariah Carey reference. Did you get it? Ok, good.
²Absolutely not a Mariah Carey reference.

Here's to the Harvest

Sukkot in Washington Heights (#1-3) & Washington Sq. Park (#4)

Back in early October, I took myself on a field trip to see some sukkot, Hebrew for 'booths' or 'tabernacles.' These are structures that observant Jews build during the holiday of Sukkot, or the Feast of Tabernacles (you can read more about that here).

Sukkot occurs around harvest-time and it is, in part, a time to give thanks for God's provision of crops and food. Another aspect is God's command to the Israelites to celebrate the holiday by living in booths for seven days - an annual remembrance that when God brought the Israelites out of Egypt, they lived in booths for many years before arriving in the Promised Land where they could build more permanent structures.

As you can see from the photos above, sukkot vary in form and appearance. Not much detail is given about these booths in the biblical text, so rabbis and scholars had to draw out and extrapolate some guidelines for modern observants to follow. The basic rule of thumb is that a sukkah must have at least three sides. It should also have a roof - something to provide shade from the sun, but one that allows you to see the stars by night (this is interpreted as either a partial roof as you can see in Pictures #1-2, or a loose and hole-y roof made of branches and greenery, as seen in Pictures #3-4).

Today, rather than actually living in the booth structures, Jews in colder climates observe the holiday by just eating their meals in the sukkot. And there is a communal aspect as well - especially in urban areas where there simply isn't space for every family to have their own sukkah - often a group will arrange to build one large booth, where many can share meals together.

Why am I telling you today about a holiday that happened almost two months ago? The answer is two-fold:

a) I'm lazy. And I just got around to processing my sukkot pictures and posting them.

b) Sukkot is thought to have been the Pilgrims' biblical inspiration for their first Thanksgiving celebration - a time to thank God for the harvest and for leading them to a new Promised Land where they could worship Him freely.

So actually, this post is right on time.

Just like God and His provision.

Happy Thanksgiving!

For All The Saints

Docks at the 79th Street Boat Basin

I went for a walk yesterday morning through Riverside Park, took an inadvertant turn, crossed under a bridge, and ended up down next to the Hudson River. I love that I live so close to a large body of water.

I kept walking and (re) discovered something else I love: creaking docks. You know the sound that docks make as they're bounced by the river waves, bolts clinking and boards creaking? It's all very nautical and lulling. I suspended my stroll and just stopped to listen for several minutes.

Then I went home; then I went to church. And there I heard sounds even sweeter than creaking & clinking docks.

It was Membership Sunday, or Covenant Entrance Day, or whichever you prefer. Several people became members and our church family got a little bigger. They lined up along the stage and - aided by a few questions from our pastor - told the rest of the congregation a little something about themselves.

I loved hearing their stories, which were all unique, and all kind of...quirky? Which means they belong, they totally fit in our family, because we are nothing if not...quirky.

Two of the new members also got baptized during the service. I tried really hard not to cry during that part, but it was a losing battle.

[Three things never fail to make me cry: this Sesame Street song*, the ending of "Sleepless in Seattle," and adult baptisms. So beautiful.]

It was a sweet Sunday morning, and by the end of the church service my heart was pretty full for this quirky band of imperfect misfits, who are a perfect fit for me.

As we sang our closing hymn, I felt more tears welling. I reflected that many, many a Sunday morning had seen me standing there with tears in my eyes - but those had all been heart-achy tears. And my tears on this Sunday were overflowing joy for the sense of belonging that the church (both local and catholic) gives to me.

I was immensely grateful to feel that shift from heart-achy to joy. Thanks to God and my group of fellow misfits.

And a heart-felt welcome to our newest saints/misfits. I was glad to hear your stories as you stood up on stage; gladder still that I'll get to watch them unfold further as we "do life together." As they say.

I considered ending with an analogy between the creaking docks and the membership service, something about how we're the docks, and we're tied to one another, and sometimes we bump into each other and make noise (discord), but ultimately we keep each other from drifting away and out to sea. But I think that may be a stretch. And life doesn't usually fit into a neat little analogy. Life is messy.

So instead I'll end with someone else's words, and a vision of life beyond the messiness:

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day:
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His Way
Alleluia! Alleluia!

*I don't know why. I really don't. But tears are guaranteed, EVERY time.

Further Proof that Crime is Cool

Zooey Deschanel, I like the cut of your jib. Let's be friends.

PS - I'd like to borrow your headband. Because that's what friends do.

PPS - Also that dress, the sweater, those shoes...pretty much your whole wardrobe. Not to mention your joie de vivre and your je ne sais quoi. Hand 'em over. I'll owe ya one, friend.

Improv(ing)

I took an Improv class this summer. And I really loved my Improv class this summer. Like the acting class I took last fall, it was great to be thrown together with people with whom I ordinarily wouldn’t cross paths, and to play silly warm-up games like “Zip-Zap-Zop” and “Woosh!” with enthusiasm.

I work at an accounting firm, people – I’m near-starved for silliness during the week. Improv was a great outlet.

The classes were long – three hours on a Monday night – but I loved creating something with my classmates – even if all we were creating were quick 3-line scenes and spontaneous, rambling monologues. I entered each session feeling a bit workaday-worn-out, but by the end of the class I had such a rush of energy.

I was there, I was present, I was focused and using my wits. I was talking, I was shouting, I was sometimes singing. I was stretching, walking, twisting, clapping. I was zipping, zapping, zopping. Playing.

And I felt (oh Lord, I sense a cliché coming on…) alive.

I also felt terrified. Because Improv is scary. It is challenging. It is rife with opportunities for failure.

It is also rife with opportunities to learn about yourself. I drew so many life-application lessons out of my classes - lessons that extend far beyond the reaches of the Improv stage and apply to inter-personal relationships, character development in writing, finding “your voice” and speaking truthfully from that place, slowing down and being fully present, etc. etc.

I could go on.

In fact, I will go on. Because I signed up for another Improv class which started last month, and it’s been teaching me tons. I'm digging it mucho, as they say in Mexico.

Stay tuned, as I will be sharing some of those Improv life-application lessons in the weeks ahead. You can follow along at home, if you like.

But no pressure. If you’d rather watch this instead of reading about my Improv experiences, I completely understand. Nay, I encourage it.

Happy Friday...

The Holidays Approacheth

The countdown has begun. One week until Thanksgiving and five weeks until Christmas. You know what that means - time to get cozy and jolly and thankful and...shopping.

And for my brother and me, it means it's time to get to trash-talking about who will score the more hideous gift for the other one. I enjoy participating in said trash-talking, but deep down I know I have no hope of besting my brother. He wins every time.

Here is a transcript of our recent Facebook chat/smackdown. This is gearing up to be a particularly frightening gift-giving season. Heaven help us. And Steve Buscemi.

* * *

Brother: Oh Sister Where Art Thou?

Sister: I emailed you last week and you didn't respond, so I figured we were feuding. If we were not feuding, then I apologize for all the slanderous remarks I have made recently regarding your character.

Brother: Has my honor been slandered by a foul-mouthed trollop? Feud is on!

Sister: Anyways. Do you have anything fun or interesting to tell me?

Brother: I got your Christmas present already.

Sister: Is it a Zebra-print Snuggie, or is it a surprise?

Brother: No Snuggie for you. Yours is something much, much bigger.

Sister: My apartment is the size of a walk-in closet. I have no room for something bigger. How big are we talking??

Brother: Bigger than a bread box.

Sister: NOOO!!! How much bigger than a bread box? Is it smaller or larger than a Miniature Schnauzer?

Brother: I'm not sure it will fit under a bus; we might have to Fed-Ex it home for you.

Sister: Is it an inflatable sofa? Does it make noise? Is it perishable? You gotta give me some hints.

Brother: It's not inflatable; it makes noise, and is perishable. Before I tell you, let me ask a question: have you ever considered Chinchilla farming as a career?

Sister: You can't Fed-Ex an animal. It's not an animal is it?? Is it a guitar made out of cheese?

Brother: Actually your gift is a gift of 7 parts - you might not see how they work together, but you have to have a little faith. Speaking of Christmas, the parents will be ok with having one more person over, right?

Sister: Are you talking about Steve Buscemi?

Brother: I meant my girlfriend, but do you really think we can get Steve Buscemi this year?

Sister: It never hurts to ask, right? I bet he doesn't get a lot of invites because people always assume "Oh, Steve Buscemi probably has other plans."

Brother: It must be lonely being Steve Buscemi.

The End.