Hello, summer! Hey-ya, sunshine! Long time no see.
Summery stuff ascending…meanwhile, some inoculation against next winter’s grays:
Sleater-Kinney performing “Jumpers” on the Letterman show in 2005
Maybe I will buy an artificial sun and stare at it.
Or maybe I will blare Sleater-Kinney. I will sing along. I will not get depressed.
These celebrations are dedicated to my sister, who’s overworked and underpaid and a hell of a lot more graceful about it than I could ever be. I would love nothing more than to invite her over tonight to relax by the fire and ease the stress of her seven-day workweek.
The celebrations reach back to lucky Friday the 13th, when Scott and I saw The Host at the Darkside. (more…)
Well, this video pretty much sums up my weekend.
Friday evening Scott and I headed to the Coliseum and watched my alma domina whomp my alma matertera in the first home meet of the gymnastics season.
Then last night we hunkered down at home to watch the musical-cum-action-flick-cum-marionette-spectacle that is Team America: World Police. Scott had seen it at the cinema back in the fall of 2004 and recommended I catch it right away, since many of the political jokes and plot points would soon be dated. I managed to miss it anyway, but luckily Bush was reelected, and this delightful puppetry parody of the Bruckheimer/Bay bombasticistical brand of filmmaking remained relevant long enough for me to enjoy it on DVD. My favorite song is probably “Montage,” but it’s that catchy main theme that’s stuck in my head.
To unstick it, I’ll revisit last weekend’s theme, “White & Nerdy,” and maybe kick Scott’s butt in a game of Ping-Pong, sip some earl, pimp out my Facebook profile, make a homepage for my dogs, assemble a bowling team…
Holy cannoli, bat-folks! It’s snowing! Big chunky flakies piling up in the garden. It almost never snows in the valley!
Wow. Okay, so I’m going to put the tea on; You all enjoy “Abominable Snowman in the Market,” a ditty to celebrate the snow (while subtly protesting the excesses of icky holiday consumerism!) Hooray!
Alas, the silly torture tactics of the Spanish Inquisition, with their soft cushions and comfy chair, have prompted me to contemplate the very real torture perpetrated by my government and now shamefully condoned by Congress. Makes me wonder how Monty Python would’ve handled the “war on terror.” (Um, maybe like so!)
Along with her Thanksgiving wishes, my aunt sent me to this impressive coalition of religious groups protesting this madness. I’m gradually reading through their resources.
Which isn’t at all easy. Escapism comes more naturally; I’m more likely to run off with the Flying Circus than confront the problem directly or seriously. Rather than study it deeply, I’m inclined to feel it with my gut. And my gut tends to get excited about brilliantly subversive works of street art, like those iPod torture posters or Banksy’s recent Disneyland coup. Ah, the comfort of satire and secondary sources.
Check out Banksy’s video of the installation and marvel at how he penetrates a space infused, for me, with fond childhood memories – the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad – and plants such a dissonant token there. Brilliant.
Today I’d like to share my favorite semaphore art encountered recently and thereby take a stand against anti-semiotism!
November
Has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November’s cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You’re my firing squad
November
“This is a song with a lot of weather in it, and I don’t know about you, but I’m a sucker for weather.” -Tom Waits, November 2004 (listen from 04:55)
So! Moving right along.
Yesterday was cold and dry, and I tried to spend the daylight hours outside. Scott and I headed downtown to the last outdoor farmers market of the season. I bought a pair of poblano peppers because they’re so damn cute and quite tasty in quesadillas. At one of the apple stands, Scott picked out a bunch of Stayman Winesaps and Mutsus, and I cleaned up on pippins. Time again to try my hand at dumplings.
Back home we turned the dogs out to romp and rummage and turned our attentions to the garden. During the week some mad winds had blown the tin roof off our little porch shelter thing and stripped the remaining foliage off our two maples. So while Scott hit the roofs, collecting and stowing the tin sheets and scooping out the gutters on the house, I raked the maple leaves into a gorgeous pile by our new compost bin behind the greenhouse. (Okay, okay. It’s not as idyllic as it sounds or appears. That photo shows the garden in summer before we bought it. The greenhouse currently sits empty, as we haven’t actually moved in to it yet, and the plants are rather soggy and brown these days. But I’m really proud of our leaf pile.)
Gordon snacked on some gutter gunk before I chased him inside. Maddy obsessed over cat tracks in the bushes until I chased her inside too. She smelled, quite pleasantly, of mint and rosemary!
I took a break from raking and climbed up the rickety ladder, stretched out on my back on top of our house, spied into the neighbors’ gardens, felt a little lighter.
Speaking of leotards and Friday night entertainment, allow me to take you back to last month, when the NCAA Women’s Gymnastics Championships came to town. (more…)
Let me tell ya, I am one lucky sulky girl to have Scott refuse my Friday-night-gotta-work-Saturday-too-depressed-for-fun blues and drag me out to the show. Sexiest date ever! And the evening’s entertainment and celebration went a long way to distract me from agonizing over the next morning’s executive meeting. Mil gracias to the lovely Stacy and Stacey for the VIP tickets and seats near the catwalk!
(This week’s posts are brought to you by the letter G, as in Guts! Glamour! Gender?)
We were all about the wholesome Sunday morning entertainment here, at least until Greasy Kid Stuff on the radio somehow slid into Tone Loc and Eazy-E on the tape deck. Next thing you know, the honkies have invaded Compton.
(If Tipper Gore were here, she’d slap a parental advisory sticker on the following links, kids.) Nina Gordon does N.W.A., and The Gourds are sippin’ on Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice.”
All the honkies in the house, say, “Hey!” And then go outside and play.
