|Return of the Friday Randoms
||[Oct. 14th, 2011|05:17 pm]
Not behind a cut because it's after 5pm on a Friday and I just don't CARE. |
Okay, time to knock off for the day. I haven’t had but a small break all day and right now my head is pounding. Plus, I just sent an e-mail in which I described a colleague as a “go-go guy” and what I MEANT to write was go-to. Sigh.
Thursday night was our first Scary Perry planning meeting. If by planning you mean mostly drinking wine and shooting the breeze. But also, since we have a lot of new people on the street, how much candy to buy, quick easy props, how to light them, scheduling a bamboo cutting, arriving at luminary quantities, proper storage of fog machines and oh, yeah, explaining to one neighbor that the couple I just assigned to be in charge of the potluck was my ex-husband. And his wife, who used to be known as his mistress, back when I was married to him and when she lived in this new neighbor’s house. The rest of the explanation took more wine.
As Dinty often says “My life is not like other people’s lives.”
Dear colleagues: For the love of all that’s holy, eat your expletive breakfast at home. OR eat something other than microwaved eggs. Or, microwave them in the downstairs kitchen. A microwaved egg is horrible for me to contemplate anyway, but that’s my personal thing and I expect to suffer for it. But when you microwave an egg in the kitchen right off our lobby, let me tell you, when you step off the elevator, it’s as Satan has ripped a big one in our lobby. I mean, our customers and clients are walking into a big giant personal stank. C’mon, it’s GROSS.
Here: my love of words. I’m reading Kraken by China Mieville. Who doesn’t love a book ostensibly about a giant squid? Especially when the giant squid turns out to be a god. He writes this:
“What happens when you die?” Billy said. “If you was good, maybe you come back in a god’s skin.” A chromatophore, a gushing colour cell. So Krakens show emotion by the flexing of their devout dead.
If I met that paragraph in a bar, I’d totally take it home. Scientifically accurate, theologically complex, and well, you had me at “the flexing of their devout dead”, which is delicious.
For someone who can actually clap off beat without having to think about it – there is a tiny place where I can think just enough about a beat and I’m THERE. Until I think just a little TOO much and then it’s as if whatever body part was keeping the beat was thrown off by the attention – yet, I am still in love with the cadence of words. Cadence AND clever?
If I met this paragraph in a bar, I’d take it home, marry it and bear its children:
Among five score pachyderm
each canopied and passengered
sit the duke and the duchess' luscious young girls
within sight of the baroness
seething spite for this lithe largesse
by her side sits the baron
her barrenness barbs her
It’s from the Decemberist’s song The Infanta, which I have played nearly a million times over the past several weeks. Sure, sure, I’m a WHORE for clever lyrics. But it’s as if I just can’t get enough of this song. Yesterday I was talking to someone about another song I love and how I’m a whore
(Look, for the record, there are three things. Two are mentioned here and the other one is Hops, as in beer. Just three. That’s not so bad…right?)
for galloping fiddles. Or banjos.
(Which doesn’t make me a LYING whore, since fiddles and banjos in this context count as the same thing. It’s like the express line at the supermarket, where buying two cases of Diet Dew only counts as one item, really.)
And that’s when it hit me. The cadence in The Infanta. Why my thigh muscles twitch when I listen to it.