* Welcome to The Big Jewel, a bucolic safe house for those in full retreat from reality. This week please welcome Elizabeth Bastos, whose first piece for us shows that, while she may be somewhat behind the times, she is always up front.

Holiday News From The Bastos Household

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I meant to write this in time for it to get to you in December for the holidays, friends, but there has been so much going on since we turned urban homesteaders. We do a lot of our own canning now and it took us the whole month of December to lay down the late fall kale crop so, sorry. Also, it’s taken longer than expected for the kids to train our Golden Retriever to deliver the mail, so please don’t fear him or take a broom to him; he’s just waiting by your door for a tip. Simply say, “A Bientot, Emil,” and send him on his way, reattaching his little rucksack. You could put a rawhide in it, if you have one.

I’ll come right out and say it: at first our decision to homestead was about the economy. I was laid off from writing my novel. But there is opportunity at every crossroads, and I discovered what people are calling “the farm to table pipeline.” I followed the egg man from the Giant, all the way back to a warehouse in New Jersey after I picked up the kids from school like I usually do on my retrofitted cold-weather bike with panniers. The kids wondered what we were doing, but this is the other part of my journey: home schooling.

Like a hand in a glove; home schooling and homesteading go together, though the kids don’t see it yet, how important it is for them to learn to milk Madame Milch. Yes, of course we have a cow! And an apple orchard! Madame Milch lives in our bathroom that we converted to a stall. We go out back, where we’ve a rough-hewn outhouse, just like in olden times. The kids’ friends say that it’s only at our house that they follow a staked line of twine back to bed and they love it.

We’ve learned — as we could not have in a “traditional classroom” — that chickens come from eggs. My kids were like, wow. Can you strap us back into our panniers for the bike home now? Mom? We’re hungry. I produced from my rucksack home-smoked venison jerky, from the 10 point buck their daddy shot in Patterson Park before we knew what we know now about permits, public parks, and hunting seasons. This is the chaw of your forbears, I told them. Appreciate the taste and the calories because I don’t know if daddy shot any rabbits at the suburban office park for dinner.

There was silence and peace for twenty minutes. Do you all have these moments of peace? I doubt it. You all are still in the rat race, drinking from CapriSun pouches, your kids in the back seat of your car fighting for the attention that you don’t have to give. Not me, though. I bartered like, 200 pounds of kale for the lambs that gambol on my lawn. I have bundles of foraged, hand-tied lavender and other herbs hanging from the exposed beams in my kitchen. This is the life.

I get up early to feed the wild hogs that bed down in what was formerly my daughter’s bedroom. She sleeps with us now. So does my son. All of us in the same bed, the way it’s meant to be. The kids are so much better behaved and I believe co-sleeping is the reason. Why, anything but the family bed is unnatural and cold! And by huddling together under a handmade afghan made of celery stalks and watching no more television, we’re saving energy. What are you doing for Tierra Madre, friends? Think about at least composting your cashmere sweaters and gourmet food and shelter magazines.

All the best from our household to you and yours during this season of spring abundance and until after the hog slaughtering season!

The Bastoses

P.S. If you have a hatchet and some elbow grease to lend, come on over — don’t call first. Our hogs ate our phone and that’s just the way we like it.

Taglines To Underwhelming Movies

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This time, they pushed him to slightly just this side of “too far.”

Part robot. Part woman. All nun.

HE’S BACK FOR MORE. (In moderation.)

A story you’ll never forget. For a day or two, tops.

Find out why the critics express an abiding tolerance for this movie.

For people who just can’t get enough epilogue.

He’s back for more chase scenes, explosions and so forth.

A film unlike any you’ve ever seen, technically.

This time-traveling ear, nose and throat specialist is going places. Mostly historical ears, noses and throats.

She’s an outdoor cat with an indoor heart.

What do you get the globe-trotting playboy who has everything? A committed relationship with a quirky woman who favors peasant skirts, apparently.

He’s back for more, and this time he’s got a medium-sized container to carry it.

Can’t get enough Children of the Corn?

History comes alive in this three-hour montage of Civil War daguerreotypes with a voice-over by Hal Holbrook.

He’s back for more of a slight variation on what he was back for in the previous sequel.

Uncomfortable silence finally hits the big screen.

He’s a farm boy. She’s a city girl. Can town and country meet in the middle? Yes, with good communication and a willingness to compromise.

A romantic comedy for people who are also fond of the frozen-Neanderthal-thawed-in-modern-times premise.

He’s back for more (of the same).

They kidnapped his family. They stole his identity. They shattered his life. But he’s got a secret weapon: small-claims court.

What’s a claustrophobic agoraphobe to do?

A movie, but with a twist.

He’s back for etc.

I’ve Got You Under My Skin, Babe

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“Cher experimented more than anyone. I believe she paved the way for today’s stars. I think as a society we really owe her a great debt.” — Makeup artist Kevin Aucoin in Interview

The following excerpts are from a speech given by the President of the United States in the year 20 A.C. (after Cher).

Ladies and gentlemen, Sonnys and Chers, on the occasion of this 20th annual Cher the Love Day, it’s appropriate to reflect on the debt that we as a society owe to this amazing woman. For starters, if not for her keen fashion sense and willingness to push the envelope of taste I would not be standing before you today in a leather thong and spiked dog collar. I would be forced by outmoded convention into the navy blue or charcoal gray suits in which most presidents once performed their public duties.

Those dark days are long behind us, thank heaven. But it is worthwhile to take stock of how different our lives would be, how utterly futile and miserable and empty of meaning they would seem, if not for all that Cher has given us. Before the Nine-Day Limit Law (”Allman’s Joy”), for example, many doomed marriages struggled on and on for weeks, sometimes months, before the unhappy couple could throw in the towel. Nowadays an unsuccessful union can be ended in roughly the same amount of time and with the same amount of pain it takes to complete — or remove — an especially complicated tattoo.

Cher’s impact on our political institutions has been equally profound. It was her brilliantly conceived, constitutionally sound nose reduction surgery, after all, that ultimately inspired the successful downsizing of the U.S. government.

Nor should we forget the far-reaching consequences of her solo hit “Half-Breed” — the song which, we can now say in hindsight, provided the necessary catalyst for healing our nation’s racial wounds. When she sang “Take Me Home,” her last major single of the 1970s, we assumed it to be merely another mindless paean to the joys of casual, drugged-out, disco-thumping sex. How little we knew. With the perspective of decades, we can today perceive the seeds of the simple yet elegant solution to the homeless problem that this song set in motion.

In fact, her musical dominance needs scarcely be mentioned. A single Cher video, “If I Could Turn Back Time,” was responsible for both the worldwide adoption of permanent daylight savings time and a 3000 percent increase in Navy enlistments, though the new recruits were probably disappointed to find themselves swabbing the decks instead of wiping down a sweaty, gyrating Cher with a damp chamois (I know I was).

Like so many Americans, my life has been touched directly by Cher through the Cosmetic Surgery Rights Amendment to the Constitution. My parents were poor — gypsies, tramps and thieves, if the truth be told. And when it became apparent that the slight but psychologically painful flaws in my physical makeup could only be corrected by a Beverly Hills specialist, that law made it possible for me to get the help I needed.

Cher’s contributions to the sciences may, if anything, outweigh her artistic achievements. It was a global day of rejoicing when her decades-old work on The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour earned a Nobel Prize for mathematics for her discovery of a new lowest common denominator.

Environmental concerns were never far from Cher’s heart. Thanks to the hallowed documentary videocubes that are required viewing in every high school history class, all of us are familiar with her breathtaking appearance at the 1986 Academy Awards. And we now realize why less than three decades later Congress passed the Exotic Costume Preservation Act, with its particularly stringent provisions for endangered theatrical plumage.

No doubt some of the seniors watching today can remember America’s old-style economy of heavy and light industry, of tangible goods and useful services. Yes, it worked. But was it fair? Did it allow everyone the chance to star in their own infomercial? By contrast, today’s Cher-based, infomercial-driven economy guarantees every American the right to trade shares of Cher and Cher derivatives on Wall Street.

Cher did not live to see every change inspired by her example. And while she received ample honors in her day — the Jack La Lanne Chair of Physical Education at Steady State University, being named first head of the Federal Spandex Administration, and a Penthouse Soft-Focus Award for Best Half-Naked Cannon Straddling — it would have been impossible to repay her in full for her contributions.

So the next time you get a makeover grant from the Department of Glitz, the next time you receive confidential marital advice from the Chastity/Chaz Institute for Human Sexual Response, the next time you salute the Red, White and Elijah Blue…think of Cher, and say a silent prayer of thanks.

Reader’s Digest Rejected Humor Submissions

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My boss keeps a close eye on employee expenses. One time, while going through my receipts, he asked who I’d taken to lunch on Saturday.

Puzzled, I asked for the restaurant’s name on the bill. “La Chaumiere, $193,” he replied. “Oh that,” I laughed. “I’m having sex with your wife.”

– M. Bradley (Submitted Jan. 2004)

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Having been an English teacher for many years, I tend to be a little fussy when it comes to grammar. After noticing a typo on the menu at the restaurant one day, I couldn’t resist having a little fun with the waitress when she came to take our order.

“What’ll it be?” the waitress asked.

“I think I’ll get the chicken noodle soop,” I replied, tongue firmly imbedded-in-cheek.

– Harold H. (Submitted Sept. 2004)

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A co-worker came in to work one morning looking rather disheveled. When I asked what was wrong, she replied, “Do you ever have one of those days where you just feel off balance?”

I had to chuckle. What she didn’t realize was that I suffer from Superior Canal Dehiscence Syndrome, a debilitating balance disorder caused by a large gap in the temporal bone leading to the irreversible dysfunction of the ear canal, the symptoms of which are elicited by sound or pressure secondary to a dehiscent superior semicircular canal.

– Judy G. (Submitted Mar. 2002)

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As an Aerospace Engineer, I get asked a lot of extremely funny questions by people who don’t understand what it is I actually do.

However, because my social skills are severely lacking, I tend to just ignore them.

– Ben M. (Submitted Jan. 2007)

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Halloween is a big event in our neighborhood — decorations, haunted houses, and many of the adults even dress up in costumes. Shortly after moving in, I was taking my children trick-or-treating when I noticed that one particular woman who came to the door was dressed as a pirate. I complimented her on her choice in costume while she gave the kids their candy.

A month later I bumped into the same woman at the grocery store. Imagine my embarrassment when I realized that she was, in fact, a pirate.

– LeAnne M. (Submitted Jan. 2007)

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I was working as a customer-service representative in a bank when a young man walked over and was staring at me intently. “May I help you?” I inquired. “Not this minute,” he replied. “I’m just checking out the goods.” Blushing furiously, I said, “I beg your pardon?” He then pulled out his gun and told me to shut the hell up and put my hands where he could see them. I was so embarrassed. I totally thought he was checking me out!

– Name Withheld (Submitted Aug. 2000)

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My ex-husband, Dick, also happens to be a real dick.

How ironic is that?

– Jessica F. (submitted Feb. 2005)

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While preparing dinner, my wife accidentally chopped the entire upper portion of her thumb off with a butcher knife. Hearing her horrific screams, I ran straight to the kitchen.

When I looked at the counter and noticed the bloody mess, I couldn’t resist. “So, I take it we’re having lady fingers for dessert?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face.

– Bill J. (Submitted Apr. 2004)