timberland men s shoes and i’ve grown
Since high school, I been fascinated by Gwar, affectionately known to me in less sober days as “the band with the monsters”. For some reason, I can never remember their name Gwar always escapes me. This may have something to do with the fact that I never actually heard their music or seen their show, but music is not important when you look like a dark overlord. When I first met the Beagle, we talked a lot about music, and I admitted my draw to Gwar except that I kept calling them “Thor”. Now Beagle is extremely musically inclined and when he admitted that he had never heard of “Thor” I was shocked. When I finally described them as “the band with the monsters” he set me straight. To this day I have to think really hard to remember not to say Thor when the opportunity arises.
This story reminds me of another scary band. I was about four or five when Kiss was super big. I seriously thought they were from outer space. The idea that these grown men were sporting major makeup didn make any sense to me. They were monsters! And people loved them! One of them even looked like a beat up feline. My fascination/fear grew, and I begged my Dad to find a picture of them. He picked up some heavy metal mag, and I remember pouring over it, thinking, “aren monsters bad did they come from another planet who taught them how to play instruments why are they angry why do they wear spikes I became so entralled that I freaked myself out, giving myself monster band nightmares for years to come.
Sunshine delays: Last night in class we started reading the Bible, beginning with Genesis. No, this isn some holy roller reading group I part of, it actually an academic setting, and we looking at the Bible as a “text” and “literature”. We got through exactly 3 chapters of Genesis, and debated the question, “If God created light, and seperated it from darkness on the first day, what was the source of light, if the sun wasn created until the fourth day Another good one was, “If God is all powerful, why did he have to rest on the seventh day Why would a god have to take a nap Ten years of Catholic school couldn answer these questions.
Flashdance fashion police: Call me crazy but I think that legwarmers are making a comeback. I saw a girl sporting a fetching pair last week and they looked really cute, with the right shoes. (Not those.)
In other news, the kitch is in. Mission accomplished on the homefront tip and my fears of exploding tempers went unfounded. Not to get too dorky but new kitchen cabinets are uber super. And I joined the manual labor force by laying the stick on stone tiles! I so happy I think I take another two Alleve. Meep!
Kitsch, weekend: In the never ending effort to upgrade our pathetic kitchen, we bringing in some help. My Dad, whom I will call Bark (as in than bite and a play on his actual name) is flying in this evening to help us install the new cabinets and countertop. Bark is my 6 hulk of a dad. “Big guy” and “trained killer” are common nicknames. He used to tell my boyfriends that he could rip telephone books in half “and I not talking down the seam either.” There is some trepidation about his visit, as his temper and my kitchen hellmouth might be a bad mix. However, I think he mellowed out in the past couple of years. For example, Bark and I strapped a UHaul trailer onto his truck last year, loaded it with furniture and drove it from Philly. When we arrived in Chicago, the trailer had unhinged itself from the truck. So when the Beagle and Rich stepped into the UHaul, it tipped over, scraping and puncturing the flip down door of his beloved F150. Twice. And he didn flip out. Two martinis later we laughed about it, happy that it hadn come undone on Lake Shore Drive. If you want to say something witty or anecdotal, jump on in.
Jettison: “I think you and I will take to our graves the incomplete feeling that comes with a lack of clairvoyance.” Somehow I knew he was going to say that. Very true, old friend.
Hoot rhymes with: ahh, January in Chicago. This weekend provided a brief weather oasis as temperatures soared to 60 degrees. Perfect scooter riding weather. On Saturday, I picked up my friend Boots and we cruised around the neighborhood. Then on Sunday, H. and I ventured up to Devon Avenue, home to many sari stores. I bought cool fabric for patterned pillow making and we saw “In the Bedroom” later in the afternoon. When the movie ended, it was time to go home as temperatures had fallen and my mittens seemed less wind resistant (see above.)
Enter dorkus: the story of my first kitchen remodel. Admittedly, I completely geek out about home repair, but I can help it. It so much fun. The Beagle and I are re doing our el yucko kitchen, which is utterly gross and nasty. We already knocked down a wall (very messy, not recommended) and I painted the ceiling. Soon we tear out the cabinets and replace the countertop. This morning our new counter arrived, and it looks super. Makes me want to shout from my windowless cubbyhole how nifty Home Depot can be.
Hold it right there: Last night I ate at Subway before class. After I ordered my 6 inch Italian from the Subworker, my mind began to wander. So when asked if I wanted mayonnaise,
it took a second for me to respond. That hesitation provided a glimpse into the dark world of sandwich making. The Subworker took my “umm” for affirmation and began to squirt mayo on my dinner. Finally I squeaked out that I didn want mayo, with enough disgust in my voice to show him that any mayo at all would be unacceptable.
What happened next shocked and appalled me. With his knife, he removed the condiment from my pepperoni and scraped it into the container of tuna fish! This globule of white goop teetered on the edge of the tuna container before listlessly falling into the fishy abyss. The confidence that open air food preparation hopes to instill vanished with it.
Rock and roll, in a bun: Brownie lover Ange is going to see Le Tigre at this coolie venue in Le Brooklyn. Which is home to another witness of the Brownie Last Stand, Amy. Hi Amy! Anyway, I fell in love with the logo on top of the Polish National Home site (rock and roll! dancing! kielbasa!) and Ange promised to get me a shirt if they have one. Thanks, GC!
Oh, have you placed yourself on my guestmap yet If not, check it below. And if you do, try not to overlap with someone else who lives in your part of the world, because only one will be readable.
Wednesday, January 16, 2002
Baak. Baak:PBS rocks and I tell you why. Last night I caught “The Natural History of the Chicken”, a semi documentary about chix and the even stranger birds that care so much about them.
Also, I just installed a guestmap, so maybe you can fill it out Meep.
In this new Richard Gere movie somebody or some thing always knows what you are doing. Oooh, scary. in a phone booth when the phone rings. The voice identifies what he has in his hand chapstick! Aaaah! Talk about frightening product placement. So my sister of course finds this extremely humorous and now calls saying such things as “Vaseline Intensive Care” and “Bonnie Bell LipSmacker” in her best gravely voice.
In honor of that here is a shorter film, a scarier incantation and much better imagery than lip balm.
What the hell are gold lavaliers, anyway That was the question I asked back in middle school, when I was addicted to those Sweet Valley High books. Remember them The good sister/bad sister wreak havoc on their sleepy California town. These terrible teen soap operas made me wish I was an evil twin. Well, it looks like they made the books into an annoying show a while back, and now they in college! Wow! It only been like, umm, 15 years. Then again, I guess the series “Sweet Valley 30 year old slackers” didn make the cut.
Nightmare after Christmas, part one: Travels home went as expected. Instead of getting angry at each other, we instead yelled obscenities over Stacy idea of “wedding”. That aside, I got my first ever bridal magazine. It important to read up on the etiquette of fish bowl centerpieces and divorced parent invitation wordings. Is the cynicism dripping I sorry. It the vogue way to deal with stress.
However, I did learn about the phenomenon of the “Bridezilla”. Apparently, Modern Bride writes, it the monster created while planning your uber ivory shindig. Well, I met Bridezilla match: it . . . Motherzilla of the Bride!! Unfortunately for me, it me own mum! I will recount some of the ho ho ho funny events that led to my monster mom unmasking.
One. Classic passive aggressive. “I only going to say this once,” Momzilla began. [This could mean a)I actually going to repeat this many times, many different ways or b)I say it once but inject it with so much guilt that you hear it repeatedly in your head.] Ok. “I really wish you get married in a church.”
Two. Veils. I don want to wear one. Momzilla reaction: “What do you mean you think veils are Limo. I am so not a limousine girl. But somehow transportation popped up. Me: “Limos are a waste of money.” Momzilla: “Rrrrwwwaaaahhhhh!!!! You will be getting a limo.” She sounded like she was talking through a voice modulator.
Granted, these are little things. And,
from my bridal research, I learned that picking your battles is necessary. So, if the mum really wants to pay for that stretch transportation nightmare, maybe I let her. Or maybe I keep up the constant questioning of these silly traditions just to hear that voice again.