Tuesday, July 10, 2007
A QUICK 1 mo. OVERVIEW
Went to Chi-town with my GRRRRLs at the beginning of June. Between airplane delays and checking into the wrong hotel we managed to have (in my mind) some of the best 48 hours of our lives.
Before the fine, FINE dining (see below) we went to the original Marshall Fields (now Macy's - sacrelig!) and got FAB-ulous make-overs.
The highlight of the trip (and truly a keystone in my life) was this. Words cannot explain - either you get it, or you don't.
We get it.
A few days later, I turned 25. My sweet Quackie got me the mostly beautiful chef's knife. Folklore says that for a person to give their lover a knife means they want to cut things off. My guess is that Quack just wants me to keep cooking for him.
Just in case, he got me a helmet (pink to match my bike!) I wonder what the lover-to-lover symbolism in that is?
A few days after that I took off for my grandparent's 50th wedding celebration in the Rocky Tops.
The whole fam-damily got together in Colorado in a cabin that slept 14 (I think there were 19 of us) making for close quarters, but luckily we were in Rocky Mnt. Ntl. Park where there is about 10 sq. miles of land for every one who visits.
We paddle-boated and swam and sunned and golfed and did some shopping and horse back ridding and ate and drank and laughed until we all tumbled back down the mountain and back into reality.
My Mom's side of the family is also in CO and my granny threw a mini-reunion bash at her place.
Before I headed off to the airport, my G-mas gave me a zippy of chocolate chip/coffee cookies... YUM!
When I arrived to DIA, I didn't have any singles to tip the luggage carriers, so I gave them cookies and they were so, SO happy. Dollars be damned!
Oh yeah. On the way home a guy had a heart-attack and died on the plane. I wasn't anywhere near him, but the whole thing was very disturbing. (Nuff' said.)
Now I am back in PA doing the newspaper-tango, pencil in teeth like a rose.
Went to Chi-town with my GRRRRLs at the beginning of June. Between airplane delays and checking into the wrong hotel we managed to have (in my mind) some of the best 48 hours of our lives.
Before the fine, FINE dining (see below) we went to the original Marshall Fields (now Macy's - sacrelig!) and got FAB-ulous make-overs.
The highlight of the trip (and truly a keystone in my life) was this. Words cannot explain - either you get it, or you don't.
We get it.
A few days later, I turned 25. My sweet Quackie got me the mostly beautiful chef's knife. Folklore says that for a person to give their lover a knife means they want to cut things off. My guess is that Quack just wants me to keep cooking for him.
Just in case, he got me a helmet (pink to match my bike!) I wonder what the lover-to-lover symbolism in that is?
A few days after that I took off for my grandparent's 50th wedding celebration in the Rocky Tops.
The whole fam-damily got together in Colorado in a cabin that slept 14 (I think there were 19 of us) making for close quarters, but luckily we were in Rocky Mnt. Ntl. Park where there is about 10 sq. miles of land for every one who visits.
We paddle-boated and swam and sunned and golfed and did some shopping and horse back ridding and ate and drank and laughed until we all tumbled back down the mountain and back into reality.
My Mom's side of the family is also in CO and my granny threw a mini-reunion bash at her place.
Before I headed off to the airport, my G-mas gave me a zippy of chocolate chip/coffee cookies... YUM!
When I arrived to DIA, I didn't have any singles to tip the luggage carriers, so I gave them cookies and they were so, SO happy. Dollars be damned!
Oh yeah. On the way home a guy had a heart-attack and died on the plane. I wasn't anywhere near him, but the whole thing was very disturbing. (Nuff' said.)
Now I am back in PA doing the newspaper-tango, pencil in teeth like a rose.
First Time Tag
I've been tagged (read: e-chain letter) by Ms. Blahler. Some may find these annoying, I however need to update my blog.
So, here goes:
8 things about me:
1. I just bought my first car (traded in the Subaru Outback Wagon - which got me through 5 Duluth winters and 7 college/post-college moves - for a sleek iPod on wheels.)
2. I have an obsession/knack for painting my nails. I've trained my usually floppy left hand to paint my right without any wobbles. My favorite color is Cranberry Cream by Cover Girl (now named Magenta something-or-other, but I'm not fooled... I can spot it from a flourecent-aisled mile!)
3. Most of the jewlery I wear is hand-me-down costume jewlery from my Great Grandmother. The brand is "Sarah Coventry" and there is a tiny "SARAH" stamped into most of it. For a while I didn't know SC was as popular as the jitterbug in the 30's and 40's, rather, I thought my Grandmother had intended on giving it to me before she passed away and had everything engraved.
4. I like smoking wine-flavored black and mild cigars (VERY occasionally).
5. I helped bring a homeless shelter to the community I write for.
6.My favorite yoga-pose is a head stand, which my friends will tell you I demonstrate at every opportunity possible.
I learned it while taking a Hatha Yoga class in England from a proper Indian Buddhist (He was working on levitating in the lotus pose when I met him.)
The first day I was in the class (which grossly enough was held in the padded-floor wrestling room of a University) the instructor came up to me while I was struggling into a pose and whispered "A lot harder than the fitness-club American yoga, huh?"
That padded floor, with small curly hairs all over it, saved my arse while I was perfecting it. But it was worth it, especially when it comes time for party-tricks!
7. My parents and Quack's parents were college roommates. He (my BF) was actually in my mom and dad's wedding, as his mother was uber-preggers with him while serving as my mom's maid-of-honor. To this day, our moms and dads are very close friends.
8.I am a total addict of Public Radio. I listen to it in my car (talk and music stations) and on my iPod and on my iPod in my car (but with an adapter to the speakers, not with headphones in!)
So, I guess I'm tagging Eating Through the Year and Scrumpies
I've been tagged (read: e-chain letter) by Ms. Blahler. Some may find these annoying, I however need to update my blog.
So, here goes:
8 things about me:
1. I just bought my first car (traded in the Subaru Outback Wagon - which got me through 5 Duluth winters and 7 college/post-college moves - for a sleek iPod on wheels.)
2. I have an obsession/knack for painting my nails. I've trained my usually floppy left hand to paint my right without any wobbles. My favorite color is Cranberry Cream by Cover Girl (now named Magenta something-or-other, but I'm not fooled... I can spot it from a flourecent-aisled mile!)
3. Most of the jewlery I wear is hand-me-down costume jewlery from my Great Grandmother. The brand is "Sarah Coventry" and there is a tiny "SARAH" stamped into most of it. For a while I didn't know SC was as popular as the jitterbug in the 30's and 40's, rather, I thought my Grandmother had intended on giving it to me before she passed away and had everything engraved.
4. I like smoking wine-flavored black and mild cigars (VERY occasionally).
5. I helped bring a homeless shelter to the community I write for.
6.My favorite yoga-pose is a head stand, which my friends will tell you I demonstrate at every opportunity possible.
I learned it while taking a Hatha Yoga class in England from a proper Indian Buddhist (He was working on levitating in the lotus pose when I met him.)
The first day I was in the class (which grossly enough was held in the padded-floor wrestling room of a University) the instructor came up to me while I was struggling into a pose and whispered "A lot harder than the fitness-club American yoga, huh?"
That padded floor, with small curly hairs all over it, saved my arse while I was perfecting it. But it was worth it, especially when it comes time for party-tricks!
7. My parents and Quack's parents were college roommates. He (my BF) was actually in my mom and dad's wedding, as his mother was uber-preggers with him while serving as my mom's maid-of-honor. To this day, our moms and dads are very close friends.
8.I am a total addict of Public Radio. I listen to it in my car (talk and music stations) and on my iPod and on my iPod in my car (but with an adapter to the speakers, not with headphones in!)
So, I guess I'm tagging Eating Through the Year and Scrumpies
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
What IS that?
I guess I should've included a little more info than just the tattoo picture. But it was a teaser to get all of you to email me!! Ha, ha ha... worked pretty well :-)
Here's how it went:
The tatt is a Ginkgo leaf. They have a lot of good herbal benys and a neat evolution story and blah, blah, blah.... but I just like the way it looked and thought is would go well on my shoulder. Read more about it here.
So anyways, I was strolling through the streets of the community I write for when the lovely Ginkgo twirled down from the sky. This was in the fall and it was a bright toasty yellow. I thought it was pretty, so I picked it up and pressed it in my day planner, where it remained for the last couple of seasons.
And then - SPRING FEVER.
I was killing some time in Philly one fine Thursday this Spring when I passed a neat looking tatt shop. It was called Tikki Tattoo, and it was themed like a cabana with breezy murals and ALL female artists with pretty arm art and dainty facial piercings.
The music wasn't Death Metal, I swear they has some aromatherapy going on and there was even some tea and a back porch to relax on.
It all just felt right.
So I asked if they took walk ins, and they said yes.
My artist Andrew (the only guy in the place), with the help of some transparency paper, sketched the exact leaf I'd been carrying around for my shoulder.
"Perfect!" I thought.
"Lovely," I said.
"Whee!" I felt.
"I have to run down the street and plug my meter," I said. "Be right back."
"Okay. Meet me down there," Andrew said pointing to one of "those" tatt shops a couple of doors down.
I walked back toward "Body Graphics," heels dragging. The Death Metal blared, the bathroom was out-of-order and there were more examples of dragon, skull and serpent tattoos on the walls than I'd ever seen before.
Mistake, right? HUGE. MISTAKE.
But not so my friends, not so.
Andrew turned out to be an awesome jokester who said the Death Metal relaxed him even if it tensed me up - and I suppose he's the one I want relaxed, what with the needle wielding gun and all.
He told me what the howly-sinister metal words were as we went, such as "Zombies Rise!" and "Apocalypse to All!" and we laughed at how stupid it actually sounded in a sweet slowed down MN accent.
Finally, what relived me the most, was the bathroom was actually in-order, they just put the sign up so that every bum off the street wouldn't ask to use it(those Andrew's words.)
At the end, he let me do a little wheelin' and dealin' on the price and I tipped him So that's the story of the Ginkgo leaf on my shoulder- a story that was better on my way out of "Body Graphics" than it was going in.
I guess I should've included a little more info than just the tattoo picture. But it was a teaser to get all of you to email me!! Ha, ha ha... worked pretty well :-)
Here's how it went:
The tatt is a Ginkgo leaf. They have a lot of good herbal benys and a neat evolution story and blah, blah, blah.... but I just like the way it looked and thought is would go well on my shoulder. Read more about it here.
So anyways, I was strolling through the streets of the community I write for when the lovely Ginkgo twirled down from the sky. This was in the fall and it was a bright toasty yellow. I thought it was pretty, so I picked it up and pressed it in my day planner, where it remained for the last couple of seasons.
And then - SPRING FEVER.
I was killing some time in Philly one fine Thursday this Spring when I passed a neat looking tatt shop. It was called Tikki Tattoo, and it was themed like a cabana with breezy murals and ALL female artists with pretty arm art and dainty facial piercings.
The music wasn't Death Metal, I swear they has some aromatherapy going on and there was even some tea and a back porch to relax on.
It all just felt right.
So I asked if they took walk ins, and they said yes.
My artist Andrew (the only guy in the place), with the help of some transparency paper, sketched the exact leaf I'd been carrying around for my shoulder.
"Perfect!" I thought.
"Lovely," I said.
"Whee!" I felt.
"I have to run down the street and plug my meter," I said. "Be right back."
"Okay. Meet me down there," Andrew said pointing to one of "those" tatt shops a couple of doors down.
I walked back toward "Body Graphics," heels dragging. The Death Metal blared, the bathroom was out-of-order and there were more examples of dragon, skull and serpent tattoos on the walls than I'd ever seen before.
Mistake, right? HUGE. MISTAKE.
But not so my friends, not so.
Andrew turned out to be an awesome jokester who said the Death Metal relaxed him even if it tensed me up - and I suppose he's the one I want relaxed, what with the needle wielding gun and all.
He told me what the howly-sinister metal words were as we went, such as "Zombies Rise!" and "Apocalypse to All!" and we laughed at how stupid it actually sounded in a sweet slowed down MN accent.
Finally, what relived me the most, was the bathroom was actually in-order, they just put the sign up so that every bum off the street wouldn't ask to use it(those Andrew's words.)
At the end, he let me do a little wheelin' and dealin' on the price and I tipped him So that's the story of the Ginkgo leaf on my shoulder- a story that was better on my way out of "Body Graphics" than it was going in.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Nice to meet you.
Went to put some fuel in the old Subi-Roo this weekend. It was a Friday around 3p.m. and the Easterners were gassin' up to go to The Shore.
These folks were lined up at the pump like the Iraq War was going out of style.
Motorhomes, motorcycles, motorcars and motorcades had all formed neat little lines according to which side their fuel-filler was on.
With the exception of one middle-to-maximum aged d-bag in a stupid yellow Mustang. You know the color, the one that should be reserved for those with eternally sunny/loony dispositions.
He had situated himself in such a way that which ever pump opened up next he would be able to dart into (I can only assume this is what he was doing in the middle of the lot.)
I unfortunately pulled in right behind him, my parents in tow by the way, (my Dad is ridding shotty and my Mom in the back.) His selfish maneuver made it so I looked like the a-hole with the big-butt of my Subaru hanging out in the middle of the entrance intersection.
I manage to squeak around Mr. Sunshine and pull into a "right-side" gas-tank line.
Evidently, this did not suit Sunny.
He zoomed up next to my window and started mouthing words.
I was so oblivious to doing anything wrong that I rolled down my window and politely said, "Excuse me?"
"I'm Chopped Liver, nice to meet you," he said, his toupee sliding slightly over his right eye.
"Uhhh...." I said, still not understanding that I had foiled his fuel plan.
He continued to rant as I rolled up my window, his insults muffled by the pane and giggles from my mom and I.
"Nice to meet you Chop," my mom sweetly delivered in that Midwest way of hers.
We. lost. it.
----
In other Midwest Mom news:
"I'm in a perpetual state of hotness," claimed my mother (in response to the humidity of course.)
Went to put some fuel in the old Subi-Roo this weekend. It was a Friday around 3p.m. and the Easterners were gassin' up to go to The Shore.
These folks were lined up at the pump like the Iraq War was going out of style.
Motorhomes, motorcycles, motorcars and motorcades had all formed neat little lines according to which side their fuel-filler was on.
With the exception of one middle-to-maximum aged d-bag in a stupid yellow Mustang. You know the color, the one that should be reserved for those with eternally sunny/loony dispositions.
He had situated himself in such a way that which ever pump opened up next he would be able to dart into (I can only assume this is what he was doing in the middle of the lot.)
I unfortunately pulled in right behind him, my parents in tow by the way, (my Dad is ridding shotty and my Mom in the back.) His selfish maneuver made it so I looked like the a-hole with the big-butt of my Subaru hanging out in the middle of the entrance intersection.
I manage to squeak around Mr. Sunshine and pull into a "right-side" gas-tank line.
Evidently, this did not suit Sunny.
He zoomed up next to my window and started mouthing words.
I was so oblivious to doing anything wrong that I rolled down my window and politely said, "Excuse me?"
"I'm Chopped Liver, nice to meet you," he said, his toupee sliding slightly over his right eye.
"Uhhh...." I said, still not understanding that I had foiled his fuel plan.
He continued to rant as I rolled up my window, his insults muffled by the pane and giggles from my mom and I.
"Nice to meet you Chop," my mom sweetly delivered in that Midwest way of hers.
We. lost. it.
----
In other Midwest Mom news:
"I'm in a perpetual state of hotness," claimed my mother (in response to the humidity of course.)
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
10 situations under which 10 blocks can feel like 10 miles:
1. The fender you so lovingly polished - falls off.
2. That skin on your thumb, you didn't need that right?
3. It's only 6 a.m.
4. The stoop-loungers watching you can't help b/c they haven't gone to bed yet.
5. The sidewalks in your city haven't been repaired since the days-of-yore.
6. The bike trail - loose gravel in an old railroad bed. Your bike - wibbly.
7. The gentlest of slopes proves to be too much for the single-speed you posses.
8. You're wearing a helmet - while walking the bike.
9. Even though the peddles are fine, with each pump you're sure they'll fall off.
10. Once you're home - your burning lungs convince you the few cigarettes you've ever smoked were a bad idea.
1. The fender you so lovingly polished - falls off.
2. That skin on your thumb, you didn't need that right?
3. It's only 6 a.m.
4. The stoop-loungers watching you can't help b/c they haven't gone to bed yet.
5. The sidewalks in your city haven't been repaired since the days-of-yore.
6. The bike trail - loose gravel in an old railroad bed. Your bike - wibbly.
7. The gentlest of slopes proves to be too much for the single-speed you posses.
8. You're wearing a helmet - while walking the bike.
9. Even though the peddles are fine, with each pump you're sure they'll fall off.
10. Once you're home - your burning lungs convince you the few cigarettes you've ever smoked were a bad idea.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Operation Spit-Shine (Done and done!)
Maiden voyage was fine.
I ran into my neighbor as I was wibbling (this should say wobbling, but how funny is wibbling?) out of my driveway for the first time...
"Just take it kid-style," he said "You know, ride it up and down the street until you get the hang of it."
Seems to have done the trick.
BTW - It appears that $3(+) per gallon is my breaking point for fuel. I will be riding this baby to work tomorrow (the coffee shop that is 10 blocks away, that is.)
We'll see how round two on ol' Hollywood goes. (Any other name suggestions for my new companion?)
Maiden voyage was fine.
I ran into my neighbor as I was wibbling (this should say wobbling, but how funny is wibbling?) out of my driveway for the first time...
"Just take it kid-style," he said "You know, ride it up and down the street until you get the hang of it."
Seems to have done the trick.
BTW - It appears that $3(+) per gallon is my breaking point for fuel. I will be riding this baby to work tomorrow (the coffee shop that is 10 blocks away, that is.)
We'll see how round two on ol' Hollywood goes. (Any other name suggestions for my new companion?)
Monday, May 21, 2007
Please be my friend (and don't think I'm not talking to you):
This is my new favorite Website.
Thanks to it, I can't stop reading.
And when I read, I can't stop wanting to be a writer.
Which I am.
But you know what I mean.
So join me! Sign up for an account (search for my gmail address, or my name)and let me know what's on your book shelf. I will visit my favorite neighborhood library and CHECK IT OUT!!
This is my new favorite Website.
Thanks to it, I can't stop reading.
And when I read, I can't stop wanting to be a writer.
Which I am.
But you know what I mean.
So join me! Sign up for an account (search for my gmail address, or my name)and let me know what's on your book shelf. I will visit my favorite neighborhood library and CHECK IT OUT!!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
I WANT TO RIDE MY BICYCLE (i want to ride my bike)
Picture this:
A throw-back Schwinn.
Magenta.
Hollywood Edition.
Basket up front.
"S" for "Sarah" (alright, "Schwinn") stitched into the fatty seat.
Love it!
LOVE. IT.
This is my new obsession, purchased off of Craigslist from a graduating U-Penn student. I imagine riding this bike with a nice flowy skirt and the basket filled with flowers and fresh produce.
I feel like a little girl, all pig-tails and streamers and pink, pink, PINK!
Unfortunately, I also have the confidence of a 10-year-old, as I haven't rode a bike in years.
The last bike I owned was swiped off of the back-porch of my hillside home in college. I saw a hobo riding it weeks later with the tires still as flat as I'd let them become.
But not this time.
Oh no.
I have yet to ride it farther than one block.
See, the thing is, the brakes (which are back pedal) aren't working. Quack found this out when he took it on a test drive down a little hill. He had to use the soles of his shoes to come to a screeching halt.
"When I was a kid, I was really good at going fast, but not good at braking," he said. "I liked to bail instead."
"Just jump off?" I asked.
"Yeah. You know, I just let it slam into the garage door."
Seeing as how I have no garage door, I guess I'm going to have to get the brakes fixed.
Which is okay by me. Because to honest, I need a little time to warm up to it.
I walked it up to the air pump at the neighborhood gas station, and walked it back. Soon I will get the chrome polish out and make sure she's a-shining.
I am still debating about a helmet.
This whole bike thing takes me back to what I remember to be my 10th birthday.
I had just lost my first tooth (while eating vanilla ice cream of all things) and my folks bought me my first "big-kid" bike.
It was in the garage with a bow on it.
A red street racer with handles that curled like a ram's horns.
Slight frame.
10-speed.
FAST!
My mom says she'll race me around the block (which if you know my mom is terribly out of character for her.)
She gets on her mom bike (much like the magenta Hollywood Edition, I might add).
We set off around the block, riding with helmets IN the road (for the first time in my life).
We round the corner and my house comes back into sight. I see that my father has used side-walk chalk to make a great finish line in the road.
I decide to see what this little mama is made of. I start pushing the pedals faster.
I'm cruisin' and the gears are click, clicking against my sneakered feet.
I figure my Ma will let me win, but I guess when you ride a "big-kids" bike, your Ma doesn't just let you win anymore.
I see that she's gaining on me (and on her 1-speed, fat-seated mom bike!)
I'm standing (sprinting if you will).
I'm closing in in the chalky line drawn into the roadway from the base of our driveway.
50 feet,
20 feet,
12 feet.
I can still remember my dad smiling near the line, beaming as his girl is sailing in.
And then, oh yeah - you saw it coming -
CRAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!
I fall hard and swiftly onto my left side. My ankle, knee, hip, elbow, shoulder and face is tenderized by the black-top.
Dad sprints from the finish line. Mom bails off her bike (strangely a skill she and Quack have in common.)
I am a screaming mess. It hurt, but I cry mostly for the ruined finish on my apple-red bike.
I walk the bike across the finish line, with dad and mom (and mom's bike) in tow.
I push the racer into the garage, hang the helmet on the ram's horn handles and don't touch it for the rest of the summer.
Let hope things are different with the Hollywood's maiden voyage...
I'll let you know how it goes.
Picture this:
A throw-back Schwinn.
Magenta.
Hollywood Edition.
Basket up front.
"S" for "Sarah" (alright, "Schwinn") stitched into the fatty seat.
Love it!
LOVE. IT.
This is my new obsession, purchased off of Craigslist from a graduating U-Penn student. I imagine riding this bike with a nice flowy skirt and the basket filled with flowers and fresh produce.
I feel like a little girl, all pig-tails and streamers and pink, pink, PINK!
Unfortunately, I also have the confidence of a 10-year-old, as I haven't rode a bike in years.
The last bike I owned was swiped off of the back-porch of my hillside home in college. I saw a hobo riding it weeks later with the tires still as flat as I'd let them become.
But not this time.
Oh no.
I have yet to ride it farther than one block.
See, the thing is, the brakes (which are back pedal) aren't working. Quack found this out when he took it on a test drive down a little hill. He had to use the soles of his shoes to come to a screeching halt.
"When I was a kid, I was really good at going fast, but not good at braking," he said. "I liked to bail instead."
"Just jump off?" I asked.
"Yeah. You know, I just let it slam into the garage door."
Seeing as how I have no garage door, I guess I'm going to have to get the brakes fixed.
Which is okay by me. Because to honest, I need a little time to warm up to it.
I walked it up to the air pump at the neighborhood gas station, and walked it back. Soon I will get the chrome polish out and make sure she's a-shining.
I am still debating about a helmet.
This whole bike thing takes me back to what I remember to be my 10th birthday.
I had just lost my first tooth (while eating vanilla ice cream of all things) and my folks bought me my first "big-kid" bike.
It was in the garage with a bow on it.
A red street racer with handles that curled like a ram's horns.
Slight frame.
10-speed.
FAST!
My mom says she'll race me around the block (which if you know my mom is terribly out of character for her.)
She gets on her mom bike (much like the magenta Hollywood Edition, I might add).
We set off around the block, riding with helmets IN the road (for the first time in my life).
We round the corner and my house comes back into sight. I see that my father has used side-walk chalk to make a great finish line in the road.
I decide to see what this little mama is made of. I start pushing the pedals faster.
I'm cruisin' and the gears are click, clicking against my sneakered feet.
I figure my Ma will let me win, but I guess when you ride a "big-kids" bike, your Ma doesn't just let you win anymore.
I see that she's gaining on me (and on her 1-speed, fat-seated mom bike!)
I'm standing (sprinting if you will).
I'm closing in in the chalky line drawn into the roadway from the base of our driveway.
50 feet,
20 feet,
12 feet.
I can still remember my dad smiling near the line, beaming as his girl is sailing in.
And then, oh yeah - you saw it coming -
CRAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!
I fall hard and swiftly onto my left side. My ankle, knee, hip, elbow, shoulder and face is tenderized by the black-top.
Dad sprints from the finish line. Mom bails off her bike (strangely a skill she and Quack have in common.)
I am a screaming mess. It hurt, but I cry mostly for the ruined finish on my apple-red bike.
I walk the bike across the finish line, with dad and mom (and mom's bike) in tow.
I push the racer into the garage, hang the helmet on the ram's horn handles and don't touch it for the rest of the summer.
Let hope things are different with the Hollywood's maiden voyage...
I'll let you know how it goes.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Crash and .....
Burn out.
I am currently suffering from writers block and burn and seeing as how I have to do it for a living, Oh Roo! is what will go to the back-burner.
This is just temporary, but I had to let y'all know, in case you hadn't already figured it out by my complete absence for the last month.
Feel free to email though.
Peace Out (for now)!
Flee
Burn out.
I am currently suffering from writers block and burn and seeing as how I have to do it for a living, Oh Roo! is what will go to the back-burner.
This is just temporary, but I had to let y'all know, in case you hadn't already figured it out by my complete absence for the last month.
Feel free to email though.
Peace Out (for now)!
Flee
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Do the iPod Shuffle
This is not an original idea, but a fun one. I have put my favorite little music making contraption on shuffle and will share with you the song and back-story of the first five tunes.
I will not cheat, even if "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" by WHAM! comes up (That was just an example, it's not as if I would have that song.)
Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo, think about responding with your first five!
1. "Shut Up and Sleep With Me," courtesy of the log-lost Swede (I don't know who this song is by.)
This song is one of the few remnants left of life with the Swedes (see post "Wery, Wery Big Sad," for background). It is one of those songs with a pulsing club beat and lots of synthesized vocals. A female sings, "You are young, you're free, why don't you sleep with me?" in a hearty vibrato over the top of every 8 bars.
I work out to this song now, but we used to dance around the kitchen (licking Tequila Rose shots from our lips) with this song blaring from Mama Swede's laptop, which was packed full of bizzaro Euro music selections.
2. "Beyond the Horizon," Bob Dylan, Modern Times
Oh man, this song is a Sunday drive through the farmlands of Southern MN. Convertible - red, top - down. Modern Times is one of the best albums I've ever heard. I will be listening to it when I'm in my rocking chair days.
My Dad hooked me up with this album during his visit to PA over Thanksgiving, and I haven't stoped listening to it since.
Quack and I danced to this song in our dining room while we were setting up our first Christmas tree together this last Dec. "Beyond the horizon, behind the sun, at the end of the rainbow, life has only begun."
3. "Spring Summer Feeling," Jill Scott, Beautifully Human.
Jill Scott is one of my favorite female vocalists. She is a modern woman with an old soul. Always a romantic, she laces her tracks with bird chirps, giggles, studio chatter and vocal warm-ups. In this song, she puts poetry to music, cataloging all of the surface items that don't "groove her" in a relationship ("It takes more than diamonds to woo me, it takes more than money to groove me, it takes more.") The stuff of any importance gives her a "spring, summer" feeling.
One silly Jill Scott memory: I'm standing up in front of a music master class in college, during the one week I thought I'd slap a music minor on the ol' degree, and I had to introduce myself. You said your name, and the CD that was in your CD player at the moment. For me, it was "Jill Scott, Who is Jill Scott?" (her first album) and a girl I really admired and thought was a super hip chick in the department cheered. I beamed.
4. "Bodhisattva Vow," The Beastie Boys, Ill Communication
I guess I don't have any specific memories connected to this song exactly. However, I think a Beastie's reference presents itself at our home on a daily basis. "Phone is ringing, Oh my God." or "Oh my God that's the funky shit!" Just last night, Quack and I were in the Subi-roo rapping as many words as we could to "Get It Together." On a side note, I love "The White Rapper Show," on VH1. "Woo woot!"
Also, very good music to workout to. ("Because ya can't, ya won't, and ya don't stop!)
5. "Banana Pancakes," Jack Johnson, In Between Dreams
This sweet little ditty has multiple memories. The primary one is of my brother in general (who by the way I don't have a code name for - any suggestions?) He introduced me to JJ back when Brushfire Fairytales came out.
One morning when the whole family was back together at mom and dad's house (from college, careers, traveling etc.) my bro put this song on and cooked really yummy banana pancakes for everyone. I remember him singing at the kitchen island while he smooshed banana into the batter. My mom was giddy.... I guess I was too.
Presently, this is a favorite weekend breakfast song for Quack and I. There is this part in the song where JJ sings, "makin' banana pancakes," in a very bouncy, percussive voice. Quack says this is what I sound like when I'm talking lovingly to someone, or some dog , as is the case with me. I guess it's my "Roo Voice."
This is not an original idea, but a fun one. I have put my favorite little music making contraption on shuffle and will share with you the song and back-story of the first five tunes.
I will not cheat, even if "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" by WHAM! comes up (That was just an example, it's not as if I would have that song.)
Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo, think about responding with your first five!
1. "Shut Up and Sleep With Me," courtesy of the log-lost Swede (I don't know who this song is by.)
This song is one of the few remnants left of life with the Swedes (see post "Wery, Wery Big Sad," for background). It is one of those songs with a pulsing club beat and lots of synthesized vocals. A female sings, "You are young, you're free, why don't you sleep with me?" in a hearty vibrato over the top of every 8 bars.
I work out to this song now, but we used to dance around the kitchen (licking Tequila Rose shots from our lips) with this song blaring from Mama Swede's laptop, which was packed full of bizzaro Euro music selections.
2. "Beyond the Horizon," Bob Dylan, Modern Times
Oh man, this song is a Sunday drive through the farmlands of Southern MN. Convertible - red, top - down. Modern Times is one of the best albums I've ever heard. I will be listening to it when I'm in my rocking chair days.
My Dad hooked me up with this album during his visit to PA over Thanksgiving, and I haven't stoped listening to it since.
Quack and I danced to this song in our dining room while we were setting up our first Christmas tree together this last Dec. "Beyond the horizon, behind the sun, at the end of the rainbow, life has only begun."
3. "Spring Summer Feeling," Jill Scott, Beautifully Human.
Jill Scott is one of my favorite female vocalists. She is a modern woman with an old soul. Always a romantic, she laces her tracks with bird chirps, giggles, studio chatter and vocal warm-ups. In this song, she puts poetry to music, cataloging all of the surface items that don't "groove her" in a relationship ("It takes more than diamonds to woo me, it takes more than money to groove me, it takes more.") The stuff of any importance gives her a "spring, summer" feeling.
One silly Jill Scott memory: I'm standing up in front of a music master class in college, during the one week I thought I'd slap a music minor on the ol' degree, and I had to introduce myself. You said your name, and the CD that was in your CD player at the moment. For me, it was "Jill Scott, Who is Jill Scott?" (her first album) and a girl I really admired and thought was a super hip chick in the department cheered. I beamed.
4. "Bodhisattva Vow," The Beastie Boys, Ill Communication
I guess I don't have any specific memories connected to this song exactly. However, I think a Beastie's reference presents itself at our home on a daily basis. "Phone is ringing, Oh my God." or "Oh my God that's the funky shit!" Just last night, Quack and I were in the Subi-roo rapping as many words as we could to "Get It Together." On a side note, I love "The White Rapper Show," on VH1. "Woo woot!"
Also, very good music to workout to. ("Because ya can't, ya won't, and ya don't stop!)
5. "Banana Pancakes," Jack Johnson, In Between Dreams
This sweet little ditty has multiple memories. The primary one is of my brother in general (who by the way I don't have a code name for - any suggestions?) He introduced me to JJ back when Brushfire Fairytales came out.
One morning when the whole family was back together at mom and dad's house (from college, careers, traveling etc.) my bro put this song on and cooked really yummy banana pancakes for everyone. I remember him singing at the kitchen island while he smooshed banana into the batter. My mom was giddy.... I guess I was too.
Presently, this is a favorite weekend breakfast song for Quack and I. There is this part in the song where JJ sings, "makin' banana pancakes," in a very bouncy, percussive voice. Quack says this is what I sound like when I'm talking lovingly to someone, or some dog , as is the case with me. I guess it's my "Roo Voice."
I miss Caribou Coffee...but not this much
Jerry Cran and his wife Bev fight the wind and blowing snow as they cross Railroad St. on their way to Caribou Coffee in Canal Park this morning. (SAM COOK/NEWS TRIBUNE)
Looks like the Internet is the only point of access to the world for many of you Mid-Westerners today (and tomorrow if the snow keeps it up.)
Tell me, are cooped up with your favorite wool socks on? Did put a little Bailey's in your morning coffee? Are your dogs going outside for you? Is your car covered or uncovered? Did you try to get to work/school today? How many episodes of "I Love NY" have you watched?
Or in the case of CW and CJ are you busting through drifts whilst attached to your XC skies and dog? Anybody go sledding down the middle of an unplowed Avenue?
No matter what your idea of good blizzarding is, I hope you are all safe my white-washed loved ones!
Jerry Cran and his wife Bev fight the wind and blowing snow as they cross Railroad St. on their way to Caribou Coffee in Canal Park this morning. (SAM COOK/NEWS TRIBUNE)
Looks like the Internet is the only point of access to the world for many of you Mid-Westerners today (and tomorrow if the snow keeps it up.)
Tell me, are cooped up with your favorite wool socks on? Did put a little Bailey's in your morning coffee? Are your dogs going outside for you? Is your car covered or uncovered? Did you try to get to work/school today? How many episodes of "I Love NY" have you watched?
Or in the case of CW and CJ are you busting through drifts whilst attached to your XC skies and dog? Anybody go sledding down the middle of an unplowed Avenue?
No matter what your idea of good blizzarding is, I hope you are all safe my white-washed loved ones!
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Where you been Roonie?
I am not a daily blogger. I'm not even a weekly blogger. I am a purpose driven blogger, and for the last three weeks, the only purpose in my life has been an extremely ambitious project chronicling homelessness in the community I write for.
It has turned out to be a much bigger project than I anticipated, though I should've known the topic would not, could not, be wrapped up all tidy like in a couple of stories.
It has consumed me. I stopped eating right, grooming right, looking right, acting right. I spent more time in the homeless shelter than in the arms of Quack and when I was in the arms of Quack I probably was too foul smelling and acting for there to be much more closeness.
So my apologies for the lack of Rooing.
However, today is a new day. The copy is in (all 350 inches of it!) and the editor just sent me a note that said "excellent series." It will run at the end of the week, over the course of three days, and I will set up a link when that day arrives.
Until then, I've been keeping a list of bloggable bits and I will soon get on with it.
I am not a daily blogger. I'm not even a weekly blogger. I am a purpose driven blogger, and for the last three weeks, the only purpose in my life has been an extremely ambitious project chronicling homelessness in the community I write for.
It has turned out to be a much bigger project than I anticipated, though I should've known the topic would not, could not, be wrapped up all tidy like in a couple of stories.
It has consumed me. I stopped eating right, grooming right, looking right, acting right. I spent more time in the homeless shelter than in the arms of Quack and when I was in the arms of Quack I probably was too foul smelling and acting for there to be much more closeness.
So my apologies for the lack of Rooing.
However, today is a new day. The copy is in (all 350 inches of it!) and the editor just sent me a note that said "excellent series." It will run at the end of the week, over the course of three days, and I will set up a link when that day arrives.
Until then, I've been keeping a list of bloggable bits and I will soon get on with it.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Why I'm uncomfortable in "My Space"
I'm just learning how to get down on this Myspace gig. I'm not entirely sure how all the functions work.
For example, if I send someone a message, is that gonna go up on their page for all to see? Also, is there a private way to send my email address to someone? I guess I prefer to communicate "the good old fashioned way" - email.
I get a little nervous when I get a new message b/c you never really know who it's gonna be from... is it an ex-boy friend? is it your best friend? Or worse, do you even remember who this person is?
I have run into this last problem a number of times... either I have a shitty memory, or a lot of people know me without me knowing them.
On the flip side, there is the possibility of receiving a message from a long-loster who you truly love and miss horribly! The pain of opening a "friend request" which contains a message and picture of someone you never get to see can be bittersweet and heart wrenching. I liked the numbness of my out-of-sight, out-of-mind lifestyle before all this connecting crap!
Once you make these connections, you have to be real with yourself about all the friendships you are neglecting. I guess MS is a tool with which to bridge the gap, but the truth is, we all just snoop around each other's pages, get an idea for how we think the friend is doing, and maybe leave a little note.
I guess these observations are just part of the cyber-settling MS requires....
I'm just learning how to get down on this Myspace gig. I'm not entirely sure how all the functions work.
For example, if I send someone a message, is that gonna go up on their page for all to see? Also, is there a private way to send my email address to someone? I guess I prefer to communicate "the good old fashioned way" - email.
I get a little nervous when I get a new message b/c you never really know who it's gonna be from... is it an ex-boy friend? is it your best friend? Or worse, do you even remember who this person is?
I have run into this last problem a number of times... either I have a shitty memory, or a lot of people know me without me knowing them.
On the flip side, there is the possibility of receiving a message from a long-loster who you truly love and miss horribly! The pain of opening a "friend request" which contains a message and picture of someone you never get to see can be bittersweet and heart wrenching. I liked the numbness of my out-of-sight, out-of-mind lifestyle before all this connecting crap!
Once you make these connections, you have to be real with yourself about all the friendships you are neglecting. I guess MS is a tool with which to bridge the gap, but the truth is, we all just snoop around each other's pages, get an idea for how we think the friend is doing, and maybe leave a little note.
I guess these observations are just part of the cyber-settling MS requires....
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
WHO ARE YOU!?!?
OK, so I have this new program which allows me to see where people are reading Oh Roo! from, what ISP they are using and what their social security numbers are (alright, maybe not that much.)
What it doesn't clarify is your damn name!!!
It appears there are about 50 of you a day who peek into Oh Roo.
Why don't cha post a comment?
You can use a code name if you'd like, or give me a little hint to see if I can guess who you are. Or just comment anonymously so I know what you're thinkin' about.
For those who don't know me personally, but still read, how did you stumble upon The Roo?
And to those who leave comments on a regular basis.... you are my favies! Thank you ;-)
OK, so I have this new program which allows me to see where people are reading Oh Roo! from, what ISP they are using and what their social security numbers are (alright, maybe not that much.)
What it doesn't clarify is your damn name!!!
It appears there are about 50 of you a day who peek into Oh Roo.
Why don't cha post a comment?
You can use a code name if you'd like, or give me a little hint to see if I can guess who you are. Or just comment anonymously so I know what you're thinkin' about.
For those who don't know me personally, but still read, how did you stumble upon The Roo?
And to those who leave comments on a regular basis.... you are my favies! Thank you ;-)
Monday, January 29, 2007
I'm Still Standing
A little update from the previous post's saga:
The Landlady is out of town (gone to Europe for a whole actually) and with her, seemed to go the drama.
Basking, basking.... if only for a few short weeks.
***
In much healthier news;
Quack and I are into our third week of "Mission Mini-er Butts and Gutts"
Between the two of us, we are down about 16 lbs. Not gonna say who's lost what, or where, but the total poundage lost sounds a lot more dramatic, don't cha think?
With this mission has come the influx of fruits and veggies and the introduction of one of the greatest services of my adult life.
An organic delivery service which drops off a mixed-bag of whatever green goodness is hot that week!
This is great for a million reasons. To name a few:
Now that we're livin' in the city, we have to shop at the city grocer's. It sucks.
Evidently, the local chain out here thinks the people in the city deserve poor produce. For example, week one of "MMBNG" we stopped by the city store to get raspberries. They looked good enough, but it's a damn good thing I didn't dump those suckas on my Kashi b/c even though the berries you could see looked OK, every single interior berry was a hot moldy mess! The very nature of the raspberry made it even worse - little red pockets filled with black shmutz. Blech.
I must say this experience was the catalyst for the veggie box.
Another good reason for the box includes the consumption of F&V's I wouldn't usually pick out - and with that - the drive to find and try cool new recipes! We've munched on assorted veggie soup, acorn squash, yams, nectarines and anything else you can schmear peanut butter or hummus on.
Only one criticism of the service - they don't send a bonus roll of toilet paper with each order. They should consider this b/c we are blowin' through the stuff!
I remedy this by taking some time in the bathroom while I'm at work... I think it's funny that they are paying me to poodle.
A little update from the previous post's saga:
The Landlady is out of town (gone to Europe for a whole actually) and with her, seemed to go the drama.
Basking, basking.... if only for a few short weeks.
***
In much healthier news;
Quack and I are into our third week of "Mission Mini-er Butts and Gutts"
Between the two of us, we are down about 16 lbs. Not gonna say who's lost what, or where, but the total poundage lost sounds a lot more dramatic, don't cha think?
With this mission has come the influx of fruits and veggies and the introduction of one of the greatest services of my adult life.
An organic delivery service which drops off a mixed-bag of whatever green goodness is hot that week!
This is great for a million reasons. To name a few:
Now that we're livin' in the city, we have to shop at the city grocer's. It sucks.
Evidently, the local chain out here thinks the people in the city deserve poor produce. For example, week one of "MMBNG" we stopped by the city store to get raspberries. They looked good enough, but it's a damn good thing I didn't dump those suckas on my Kashi b/c even though the berries you could see looked OK, every single interior berry was a hot moldy mess! The very nature of the raspberry made it even worse - little red pockets filled with black shmutz. Blech.
I must say this experience was the catalyst for the veggie box.
Another good reason for the box includes the consumption of F&V's I wouldn't usually pick out - and with that - the drive to find and try cool new recipes! We've munched on assorted veggie soup, acorn squash, yams, nectarines and anything else you can schmear peanut butter or hummus on.
Only one criticism of the service - they don't send a bonus roll of toilet paper with each order. They should consider this b/c we are blowin' through the stuff!
I remedy this by taking some time in the bathroom while I'm at work... I think it's funny that they are paying me to poodle.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Desperate Houserenters
Act One; Scene One -
The scene opens on a pleasant block in Historic Hoodville, PA.
Large shade trees line the block, providing perfect cover for those strolling along the way, and for those running from the cops.
The homes have flags flying out front, and hung in windows, and painted on cars and wadded in heaps in backyards.
It's Saturday, the sleepy kind where folks stay in their jammies past noon and keep the coffee pot on all day long.
Just after 2 p.m., when it's time to put on a baseball cap and make a Target run...
"Pop... pop, pop, pop, pop!" Shots ring out.
Veteran neighbors peek out the window to see if they can i.d. anyone. Others, like the Midwestern transplants, hit the ground and army crawl to the basement.
Close scene.
Act One; Scene 2 -
Scene opens on empty aforementioned street. No one is hurt, the hoodlums have fled, the neighbors are crawling up from their basements (some of them anyways) and the police are on the scene.
Police: "Who do you know, what did you see, where did they go..."
Neighbors (collectively): "Uhhhhh?"
With the exception of one wacky landlady.
Landlady: (screaming into the street at no one in particular) "I have surveillance cameras on my home! You can't get away with this on my block! I'm going to find out who did this and report you to police!"
Close scene.
Act One; Scene 3 -
Scene opens as landlady sits at her day job desk.
Phone rings.
Caller: "I have checks to cash with you." (Code language for I'm going to snuff you out if you rat on me to the cops.)
Landlady: "Uhhhhh...? "
Finally silenced, the landlady goes into immediate hiding, leaving her tenants to fend for themselves.
Close scene.
Act Two:
(This act will simply be told by the narrator to speed up the story.)
Narrator: While the landlady is in hiding, she stands up her tenants for a meeting regarding the sale of the buildings they are living in. One day later, the heat to the building is turned off b/c the landlady has failed to fill the tanks with oil. This comes just in time for the first real cold snap during the peculiarly warm winter.
The landlady is unreachable, as she is still in hiding, and the tenant are being frozen out. The one year old child who lives with her rents in the upper is taken somewhere warm and the other tenants are so cold they go to the gym just to get their blood pumping again.
Despite the cold, and the drama, and the lack of communications, Landlady sends a Realtor and possible buyers to look over the house (the tenants have yet to be formally told the house is actually up for sale).
Moments away from the tenants contacting the Attorney General's Office, The landlady's oil company and handyman magically appear, and the heat is turned back on.
The tenants are pissed - and in so many words, they let The landlady know.
Now Landlady is pissed.
Everyone is pissed.
Close scene.
Act 3; Scene One -
It's 1 a.m. the day after the pissy conversation. The neighborhood is finally quiet and the heat is back on.
The tenants have relaxed and they are all cozying into their beds for some zzz's.
The female Midwesterner is still awake, but barely. As she drifts off to sleep, she thinks she smells something.
She sits up in bed and sniffs the air.
Girl: "Is that smoke?"
Girl brushes off the scent as sleep deprivation and goes back to bed.
Moments, seconds, later-
The sounds of sirens accompanied by their flashers fill the sleeping homes. Girl shakes her partner awake and the Midwesterners look out the window to see the landlady's home veiled by plumes of smoke.
Everyone gets out, and the landlady and her bed buddy are not staying at the house (they are STILL in hiding).
The firefighters rescue the people in the other apartments and the animals and then set out to demolish the fire, and everything it's touching.
The newly renovated home is pick-axed into an oblivion so they can soak the burning material and all of the landlady's thing quickly turn into items that smell like, or resemble, dried beef.
The neighbors all come out into the street, in various stages of undress. One is wearing a blanket, others have hastily thrown on soggy slippers instead of shoes.
They stand in the rain for hours, trying to stay up long enough for the landlady to show, but as 4 a.m. rolls around, they slowly shuffle back to their homes and the firefighters pack up their hoses and leave the home in a smokey, sloppy, ashy mess.
Landlady never shows.
Close scene.
Act 3; Scene 2:
Pretty much unwritten as all the events prior have yet to be resolved or communicated about. The landlady has made a few brief appearances over at the fire house, but none at the tenants homes (which are still for sale as a sign appeared in the lawn this morning.)The fire was called "electrical." The neighbors are whispering "arson."
The rest, is still unwritten.
Act One; Scene One -
The scene opens on a pleasant block in Historic Hoodville, PA.
Large shade trees line the block, providing perfect cover for those strolling along the way, and for those running from the cops.
The homes have flags flying out front, and hung in windows, and painted on cars and wadded in heaps in backyards.
It's Saturday, the sleepy kind where folks stay in their jammies past noon and keep the coffee pot on all day long.
Just after 2 p.m., when it's time to put on a baseball cap and make a Target run...
"Pop... pop, pop, pop, pop!" Shots ring out.
Veteran neighbors peek out the window to see if they can i.d. anyone. Others, like the Midwestern transplants, hit the ground and army crawl to the basement.
Close scene.
Act One; Scene 2 -
Scene opens on empty aforementioned street. No one is hurt, the hoodlums have fled, the neighbors are crawling up from their basements (some of them anyways) and the police are on the scene.
Police: "Who do you know, what did you see, where did they go..."
Neighbors (collectively): "Uhhhhh?"
With the exception of one wacky landlady.
Landlady: (screaming into the street at no one in particular) "I have surveillance cameras on my home! You can't get away with this on my block! I'm going to find out who did this and report you to police!"
Close scene.
Act One; Scene 3 -
Scene opens as landlady sits at her day job desk.
Phone rings.
Caller: "I have checks to cash with you." (Code language for I'm going to snuff you out if you rat on me to the cops.)
Landlady: "Uhhhhh...? "
Finally silenced, the landlady goes into immediate hiding, leaving her tenants to fend for themselves.
Close scene.
Act Two:
(This act will simply be told by the narrator to speed up the story.)
Narrator: While the landlady is in hiding, she stands up her tenants for a meeting regarding the sale of the buildings they are living in. One day later, the heat to the building is turned off b/c the landlady has failed to fill the tanks with oil. This comes just in time for the first real cold snap during the peculiarly warm winter.
The landlady is unreachable, as she is still in hiding, and the tenant are being frozen out. The one year old child who lives with her rents in the upper is taken somewhere warm and the other tenants are so cold they go to the gym just to get their blood pumping again.
Despite the cold, and the drama, and the lack of communications, Landlady sends a Realtor and possible buyers to look over the house (the tenants have yet to be formally told the house is actually up for sale).
Moments away from the tenants contacting the Attorney General's Office, The landlady's oil company and handyman magically appear, and the heat is turned back on.
The tenants are pissed - and in so many words, they let The landlady know.
Now Landlady is pissed.
Everyone is pissed.
Close scene.
Act 3; Scene One -
It's 1 a.m. the day after the pissy conversation. The neighborhood is finally quiet and the heat is back on.
The tenants have relaxed and they are all cozying into their beds for some zzz's.
The female Midwesterner is still awake, but barely. As she drifts off to sleep, she thinks she smells something.
She sits up in bed and sniffs the air.
Girl: "Is that smoke?"
Girl brushes off the scent as sleep deprivation and goes back to bed.
Moments, seconds, later-
The sounds of sirens accompanied by their flashers fill the sleeping homes. Girl shakes her partner awake and the Midwesterners look out the window to see the landlady's home veiled by plumes of smoke.
Everyone gets out, and the landlady and her bed buddy are not staying at the house (they are STILL in hiding).
The firefighters rescue the people in the other apartments and the animals and then set out to demolish the fire, and everything it's touching.
The newly renovated home is pick-axed into an oblivion so they can soak the burning material and all of the landlady's thing quickly turn into items that smell like, or resemble, dried beef.
The neighbors all come out into the street, in various stages of undress. One is wearing a blanket, others have hastily thrown on soggy slippers instead of shoes.
They stand in the rain for hours, trying to stay up long enough for the landlady to show, but as 4 a.m. rolls around, they slowly shuffle back to their homes and the firefighters pack up their hoses and leave the home in a smokey, sloppy, ashy mess.
Landlady never shows.
Close scene.
Act 3; Scene 2:
Pretty much unwritten as all the events prior have yet to be resolved or communicated about. The landlady has made a few brief appearances over at the fire house, but none at the tenants homes (which are still for sale as a sign appeared in the lawn this morning.)The fire was called "electrical." The neighbors are whispering "arson."
The rest, is still unwritten.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
"Do you want a hug?"
I really showed T-bag and Mattingly my true colors this weekend.
The full spectrum of snuggly brown to ragin' red! Booze'll do that to ya.
Since the whole scene replays in my mind much like dial-up Internet, so I'll describe some of the more amusing snippets... in no particular order with some details missing.
The band "Sugar Pop Lolli-Dopes" or something campy and crappy name like that, was comprised of several members, none of which I can recall, except for the lead/backup singer who was clad in a cinched up tank, miniskirt and furry boots (resembling the cottony version of Zena Warrior Princess. ) If you ask me, she was nothing more than a glorified microphone stand.
Joan Jett you ask? Oh, you better believe "I Love Rock and Roll" was her opening number.
Mattingly and I, who fancy ourselves decent vocalists, critiqued her performance down to the very last hair toss....
"Nice Set," I said to the bouncy microphone stand when we were in the bathroom.
Just call me Catty McCattersons.
Somehow, I ended up back at our neighborhood cabana bar.
When Mattingly and I walked in, we were the only two people in the bar, next to the bartender who was washing bottles, and the bouncer, who was eating hot wings like it was his job.
The good thing about this was that both the men's and women's bathrooms were open (singles stalls, yo!)
Um, fellas? What's the deal with those pink stink-disks? I can't believe urine actually smells worse than those things.
5 mins. later - 50 people are in the bar, Wh-what?
Later, T-bag and I dancing cheek-to-cheek to a Stevie Wonder joint, with our butts pushed out behind us like old folks.... we thought this was HI-larious.
Some jolly, drunk, gap-toothed Velcro-inclined lad renamed the Irish Car Bomb for T-bag after demonstrating his gulping abilities. Holding a cashed ICB -shot glass nested in a pint glass- high above his head this guy proclaims:
"When you hear this sound (rattling the glasses - clankity, clank, clank, clank) you know you just had a T-bag!"
Last call.... large Latino fellow (We'll call him Jose Cuervo here) tells everyone to get the hells out!
T-bag: "Jose Cuervo, I know who you are. You're the baddest M.F'er in the city."
JC: (in a 'I'm about to kill someone tone') "Who's calling me by my government name?"
T-bag : "Gulp..... It's me, T-bag, you know, from little league baseball?"
Jose drops to his knees with glee and greets T-bag with kisses.
Whew. Rumble averted.
Final scene of the night includes some sort of an afterbar party at our apartment... someone gets tossed through a wall (this may be a bit of an exaggeration) and Flee looses her mind.
Mattingly: "Do you want a hug?"
Flee: "No. What I want is for all of you to get the *effinhymer* out of my house."
Close Scene.
______
You'll be happy to know this final tantrum only brought us closer. Our heads were pounding the next day, but it's hard to say if it was from the booze or the laughing fit we had recounting the "final scene."
I really showed T-bag and Mattingly my true colors this weekend.
The full spectrum of snuggly brown to ragin' red! Booze'll do that to ya.
Since the whole scene replays in my mind much like dial-up Internet, so I'll describe some of the more amusing snippets... in no particular order with some details missing.
The band "Sugar Pop Lolli-Dopes" or something campy and crappy name like that, was comprised of several members, none of which I can recall, except for the lead/backup singer who was clad in a cinched up tank, miniskirt and furry boots (resembling the cottony version of Zena Warrior Princess. ) If you ask me, she was nothing more than a glorified microphone stand.
Joan Jett you ask? Oh, you better believe "I Love Rock and Roll" was her opening number.
Mattingly and I, who fancy ourselves decent vocalists, critiqued her performance down to the very last hair toss....
"Nice Set," I said to the bouncy microphone stand when we were in the bathroom.
Just call me Catty McCattersons.
Somehow, I ended up back at our neighborhood cabana bar.
When Mattingly and I walked in, we were the only two people in the bar, next to the bartender who was washing bottles, and the bouncer, who was eating hot wings like it was his job.
The good thing about this was that both the men's and women's bathrooms were open (singles stalls, yo!)
Um, fellas? What's the deal with those pink stink-disks? I can't believe urine actually smells worse than those things.
5 mins. later - 50 people are in the bar, Wh-what?
Later, T-bag and I dancing cheek-to-cheek to a Stevie Wonder joint, with our butts pushed out behind us like old folks.... we thought this was HI-larious.
Some jolly, drunk, gap-toothed Velcro-inclined lad renamed the Irish Car Bomb for T-bag after demonstrating his gulping abilities. Holding a cashed ICB -shot glass nested in a pint glass- high above his head this guy proclaims:
"When you hear this sound (rattling the glasses - clankity, clank, clank, clank) you know you just had a T-bag!"
Last call.... large Latino fellow (We'll call him Jose Cuervo here) tells everyone to get the hells out!
T-bag: "Jose Cuervo, I know who you are. You're the baddest M.F'er in the city."
JC: (in a 'I'm about to kill someone tone') "Who's calling me by my government name?"
T-bag : "Gulp..... It's me, T-bag, you know, from little league baseball?"
Jose drops to his knees with glee and greets T-bag with kisses.
Whew. Rumble averted.
Final scene of the night includes some sort of an afterbar party at our apartment... someone gets tossed through a wall (this may be a bit of an exaggeration) and Flee looses her mind.
Mattingly: "Do you want a hug?"
Flee: "No. What I want is for all of you to get the *effinhymer* out of my house."
Close Scene.
______
You'll be happy to know this final tantrum only brought us closer. Our heads were pounding the next day, but it's hard to say if it was from the booze or the laughing fit we had recounting the "final scene."
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
What a long sick trip it's been...
Well, I'm back from hell! And when I say hell I don't mean the trip back to MN, but the trip into the cough syrup induced coma I've been swimming around in for the last three days.
The trip to MN was the business.... I felt like a true jet setter, zipping around that frosty state (from Winona to Duluth and everything in between) to see my peeps!
I think I managed to see everyone I had planned on seeing (except for one friendly lady who was tanning her hide in Fla.)
There were many bevies paired with quick pleasantries and then I was off again! One encounter was so quick it was no more than a hug, kiss and ciao! (Mmmmwa D-town Divo!)
With all that hugging and carrying on, I was bound to contract some sort of sickness or another. I felt it coming on the day after we got back (a Thurs.) But did that stop me from celebrating our return with T-bag and Mattingly? Oh hell no!
Over the course of Sat. night, the Irish Car Bombs we were drinking managed their way into my lungs of all places, and come Sunday morning, I was a gurgling mess.
Fast forward through three days of restless sleep, interrupted by rattling lungs and mucus the consistency of chicken dumpling soup. (Shit! I just grossed myself out on that one!)
RICOOOOOLA Bitches! I'm back :-)
Well, I'm back from hell! And when I say hell I don't mean the trip back to MN, but the trip into the cough syrup induced coma I've been swimming around in for the last three days.
The trip to MN was the business.... I felt like a true jet setter, zipping around that frosty state (from Winona to Duluth and everything in between) to see my peeps!
I think I managed to see everyone I had planned on seeing (except for one friendly lady who was tanning her hide in Fla.)
There were many bevies paired with quick pleasantries and then I was off again! One encounter was so quick it was no more than a hug, kiss and ciao! (Mmmmwa D-town Divo!)
With all that hugging and carrying on, I was bound to contract some sort of sickness or another. I felt it coming on the day after we got back (a Thurs.) But did that stop me from celebrating our return with T-bag and Mattingly? Oh hell no!
Over the course of Sat. night, the Irish Car Bombs we were drinking managed their way into my lungs of all places, and come Sunday morning, I was a gurgling mess.
Fast forward through three days of restless sleep, interrupted by rattling lungs and mucus the consistency of chicken dumpling soup. (Shit! I just grossed myself out on that one!)
RICOOOOOLA Bitches! I'm back :-)
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
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