The Beatles featured pretty heavily in my young life. Both my parents were into music. I was allowed to stay up past my bedtime when Yellow Submarine was shown on the Channel 56 8 o'clock movie.
honestly? psychedelic art gave me agita as a young girl.
I think I was in my twenties before I discovered that the voices in the movie were NOT John, Paul, George, and Ringo.
So is it any wonder then, that I spent the first decade of my life convinced that this singer was Paul McCartey:
And this song was sung by John Lennon:
I think this is the first time I have ever seen Jeff Lynne's eyes!
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
It's my blog and I'll anthropomorphize if I want to...
A moth followed me into the house the other day. I tried catching it, but it was flying pretty high. I figured one of the cats would soon make quick work of it. Ringo seemed like he wanted to take a shot. Ever since he and his mom Pippin took down that mouse a few months ago, he's been raring for another hunt:
He's hungry like the wolf....
I forgot about the moth until the next morning, when I was startled by the dark blotch on the shower wall.
I'm not the type of person who gets freaked out by bugs - and even when I do freak out, I collect myself enough to try to capture them and set them free, rather than smooshing them (except mosquitoes. no mercy for mosquitoes). But showering and moth rescue are not really compatible activities. And honestly, the thing was so quiet and unobtrusive, I'd forget about it by the time my shower was finished. Besides, I don't have quite as much reason to despise moths as some people.
Yesterday was day three of the moth hiding out in the bathroom. It was fluttering around the shower caddy, perhaps trying to glean sustenance from the bottles of shampoo and conditioner. I took pity on it, and knew I had to set it free.
Moths have always struck me as rather forlorn creatures. Always fluttering around lights they mistake for the moon. Plus their clumsy flight patterns remind me of all the flying dreams I've ever had - the epic struggle to achieve liftoff, the herculean effort to stay airborne... Not to mention, unless you're a Luna moth, people don't really care. It's all about the pretty butterflies. *ahem* Not that I'm bitter.
So, time to set this one free.
He's hungry like the wolf....
I forgot about the moth until the next morning, when I was startled by the dark blotch on the shower wall.
I'm not the type of person who gets freaked out by bugs - and even when I do freak out, I collect myself enough to try to capture them and set them free, rather than smooshing them (except mosquitoes. no mercy for mosquitoes). But showering and moth rescue are not really compatible activities. And honestly, the thing was so quiet and unobtrusive, I'd forget about it by the time my shower was finished. Besides, I don't have quite as much reason to despise moths as some people.
Yesterday was day three of the moth hiding out in the bathroom. It was fluttering around the shower caddy, perhaps trying to glean sustenance from the bottles of shampoo and conditioner. I took pity on it, and knew I had to set it free.
Moths have always struck me as rather forlorn creatures. Always fluttering around lights they mistake for the moon. Plus their clumsy flight patterns remind me of all the flying dreams I've ever had - the epic struggle to achieve liftoff, the herculean effort to stay airborne... Not to mention, unless you're a Luna moth, people don't really care. It's all about the pretty butterflies. *ahem* Not that I'm bitter.
So, time to set this one free.
i close my eyes and hold my hands and walk up to a broken heart...
My favorite Miracle Legion song, and I never even knew there was a video.
I taped a copy of Me and Mr. Ray from my friend Delene at UMass (where is Delene and her roommate Leah now?). I listened to it a lot that heartbroken semester. I don't even remember what was on the other side of the tape. I would just rewind to the beginning.
I remember seeing Miracle Legion at the Hatch. My ex came up for the long weekend with his new girlfriend in tow, plus some other friends. I was trying to be all mature and cool about it, but I was pretty miserable. We were tripping madly. I was mesmerized by the music. And Mark's hair.
Mark lost his wife last year. I can't even imagine that heartbreak. Now he's raising their twin daughters alone. Some amazing musicians have put together a tribute CD for Mark. It's called Ciao My Shining Star. Henning, tell the nice people how to get their copy.
I taped a copy of Me and Mr. Ray from my friend Delene at UMass (where is Delene and her roommate Leah now?). I listened to it a lot that heartbroken semester. I don't even remember what was on the other side of the tape. I would just rewind to the beginning.
I remember seeing Miracle Legion at the Hatch. My ex came up for the long weekend with his new girlfriend in tow, plus some other friends. I was trying to be all mature and cool about it, but I was pretty miserable. We were tripping madly. I was mesmerized by the music. And Mark's hair.
Mark lost his wife last year. I can't even imagine that heartbreak. Now he's raising their twin daughters alone. Some amazing musicians have put together a tribute CD for Mark. It's called Ciao My Shining Star. Henning, tell the nice people how to get their copy.
Monday, September 14, 2009
It's a feeling, a heartbeat...
Dirty Dancing was voted the "Official Class Movie" of my graduating class in 1988. Which pretty much set the stamp on my refusal to see it. I mean, the "Official Class Song" was Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again," and besides being bitter that my suggestion of Talking Heads "Road to Nowhere" was not chosen, I couldn't stand Whitesnake. I figured the film tastes of my fellow classmates were probably the same. Besides, at that point, if you'd asked me, I would have told you my favorite movie was Terry Gilliam's Brazil (actually, if you ask me now, I'll tell you the same thing).
In the summer of '89, I was home from my first year at UMass Amherst, working by day as a chambermaid at a hotel in my hometown of Plymouth, and nursing a seriously broken heart. I went home sick from work one day, ostensibly from heat exhaustion; though I imagine low blood sugar from a lack of appetite coupled with a hangover from crying into my rum and coke the night before contributed to my lowly state. I was crumpled on my mom's couch, watching the end of some movie on HBO, and didn't even have the energy to turn the channel when Dirty Dancing started a few minutes later.
I don't know if it was my weakened state, but I was. sucked. in. I suddenly understood the appeal of Patrick Swayze. The soundtrack included old rock n roll songs I dug, not just the schmaltzy hit. I totally teared up when Baby did the lift. It felt good to step out of my smart girl role and just enjoy some dancing for a change...
RIP Patrick. I'll never be sorry.
In the summer of '89, I was home from my first year at UMass Amherst, working by day as a chambermaid at a hotel in my hometown of Plymouth, and nursing a seriously broken heart. I went home sick from work one day, ostensibly from heat exhaustion; though I imagine low blood sugar from a lack of appetite coupled with a hangover from crying into my rum and coke the night before contributed to my lowly state. I was crumpled on my mom's couch, watching the end of some movie on HBO, and didn't even have the energy to turn the channel when Dirty Dancing started a few minutes later.
I don't know if it was my weakened state, but I was. sucked. in. I suddenly understood the appeal of Patrick Swayze. The soundtrack included old rock n roll songs I dug, not just the schmaltzy hit. I totally teared up when Baby did the lift. It felt good to step out of my smart girl role and just enjoy some dancing for a change...
RIP Patrick. I'll never be sorry.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Ugh, a running playlist...
I did not have a great run this morning. Which sucks, as I'm running a 5K in a couple of weeks. I'm going to blame the wine I drank last night, and a less-than-ideal night's sleep. Oh, and the heat. Sure. Why not? The real culprit is my slackiness now that the YMCA is closed due to the fire. *sigh*
It started out great...cued up on the Mp3 player was one of my favorite steady pace songs:
...followed by another one that makes me feel like running strong...
I was running on the Manhan Trail, which begins just down the street from my house.
It's the cool and shady end, and I started with a good strong pace. For me. Which is pretty slow by most standards. But I was thinking about the race and how this would be a good pace if I could keep it up. At the 1 mile mark I was feeling good and figured I'd make it a longer run. Maybe 40 minutes, 45.
I ran past Wilton Brook, which is pretty low and stinky due to the dredging of Nashawannuck Pond. Ew.
After being in the sun for a bit, my pace slowed. My legs started feeling a bit heavy. Vampire Weekend helped a little:
I gave it a valiant effort with another favorite pace song:
I tried landing my left foot on the handclaps. It was hard work. I couldn't keep moving at that pace. I had to slow to a walk. Stupid wine. Stupid sun. I hadn't even made it 30 minutes.
I trudged back to the water fountain at the fire/police station. As I approached, another favorite running tune came up, and I knew I had to at least try to run the last leg home. After a few slurps of water, anyway:
There's an unshaded rise - not even a hill - before the last cool, shady leg of the run. I wasn't sure I could even make it to that section. And then this song (which I thought I'd swapped out of the playlist for a rest) came up. Good thing, too.
I wouldn't call it a strong finish, but I finished, trying to dodge the ubiquitous slugs on the path. Because that's what I need - guilt for slug-killing on top of the sluggish self-esteem.
I can't wait for the Y to reopen.
It started out great...cued up on the Mp3 player was one of my favorite steady pace songs:
...followed by another one that makes me feel like running strong...
I was running on the Manhan Trail, which begins just down the street from my house.
It's the cool and shady end, and I started with a good strong pace. For me. Which is pretty slow by most standards. But I was thinking about the race and how this would be a good pace if I could keep it up. At the 1 mile mark I was feeling good and figured I'd make it a longer run. Maybe 40 minutes, 45.
I ran past Wilton Brook, which is pretty low and stinky due to the dredging of Nashawannuck Pond. Ew.
After being in the sun for a bit, my pace slowed. My legs started feeling a bit heavy. Vampire Weekend helped a little:
I gave it a valiant effort with another favorite pace song:
I tried landing my left foot on the handclaps. It was hard work. I couldn't keep moving at that pace. I had to slow to a walk. Stupid wine. Stupid sun. I hadn't even made it 30 minutes.
I trudged back to the water fountain at the fire/police station. As I approached, another favorite running tune came up, and I knew I had to at least try to run the last leg home. After a few slurps of water, anyway:
There's an unshaded rise - not even a hill - before the last cool, shady leg of the run. I wasn't sure I could even make it to that section. And then this song (which I thought I'd swapped out of the playlist for a rest) came up. Good thing, too.
I wouldn't call it a strong finish, but I finished, trying to dodge the ubiquitous slugs on the path. Because that's what I need - guilt for slug-killing on top of the sluggish self-esteem.
I can't wait for the Y to reopen.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The days are lit like everyone....
September 1991. It's one of those early autumn mornings ripe with promise. Fierce blue sky, just a hint of coolness in the air. I'm on the Northampton/UMass shuttle, heading for my first class. I like taking the bus. I tell people it gives me a chance to catch up on my reading, but usually I just put on my headphones and sink into the music while I watch the scenery pass by.
On this morning I'm listening to Surfer Rosa. This copy belongs to my boyfriend. It had been eaten by an old tape deck, but he managed to salvage it. Took the shell of the cassette apart and rewound the tape. It sounded fine - the crumpling had happened at the very beginning of a side, with the clear header tape. I'd had the tape in since I left the house to walk to the bus stop, and side two was just finishing. I hear the crinkle of the crumpled header tape, the whir of the auto-reverse kicking in...
We're in Hadley, the intersection of Routes 9 and 47. The Farmer's Museum and the town hall next to it are scalding white against the blue sky. There's the hiss of the tape. I feel the drums kick in, and the bass....and suddenly the bus feels like a roller coaster, and we have climbed to the top of the hill, and I can see for miles. I want to scream with the rush of joy, of adrenaline...
I will never forget how happy I feel to be alive at this moment.
I didn't get to see the Pixies before they broke up. There was a show in Boston that I heard about, but I was a poor student trying to support myself on the meager wages of my record store job. I did get to work a They Might Be Giants show at Smith, and Frank Black was the opener. My friend was doing the catering. He let me help him so I could get in for free.
I met the Johns for the first time. I was surprised and a little sad by their standoffishness (but found out the reason for it years later, which will have to wait for another blog post). Meanwhile, Frank Black was the warmest, sweetest guy - which I didn't expect from someone so screamy. He told us how he'd recently become a bit of a wine connoisseur, and had just come back from France, where he'd consumed lots of amazing wine. He produced a bottle, and proceeded to pour glasses for the hospitality staff. It was superb. I loved him. When the show started I went upstairs and danced my ass off during his set.
September 2005. I'm living in Charlottesville, Virginia, the midday host of a radio station I love. But I miss Nothampton. I miss being able to walk to venues where the bands I love are playing. Most of my favorite shows are a two-hour drive to DC. And then comes word that the Pixies are playing the Charlottesville Pavilion. It's a ten minute drive from my house.
I run into some friends on the way in. We get down just close enough to the edge of the stage. The band takes the stage. I feel the drums kick in, and the bass....and I burst into tears.
I had not forgotten how happy I was to be alive at that moment. I screamed my voice raw, and even with earplugs my hearing was muffled the next day. I figured that was it - I'd finally gotten to see one of the bands that made me so. happy. And that was it. That would be my Pixies experience...
September 2009. And then....this.
My friends got tickets this morning.
Ooo ooo...
On this morning I'm listening to Surfer Rosa. This copy belongs to my boyfriend. It had been eaten by an old tape deck, but he managed to salvage it. Took the shell of the cassette apart and rewound the tape. It sounded fine - the crumpling had happened at the very beginning of a side, with the clear header tape. I'd had the tape in since I left the house to walk to the bus stop, and side two was just finishing. I hear the crinkle of the crumpled header tape, the whir of the auto-reverse kicking in...
We're in Hadley, the intersection of Routes 9 and 47. The Farmer's Museum and the town hall next to it are scalding white against the blue sky. There's the hiss of the tape. I feel the drums kick in, and the bass....and suddenly the bus feels like a roller coaster, and we have climbed to the top of the hill, and I can see for miles. I want to scream with the rush of joy, of adrenaline...
I will never forget how happy I feel to be alive at this moment.
I didn't get to see the Pixies before they broke up. There was a show in Boston that I heard about, but I was a poor student trying to support myself on the meager wages of my record store job. I did get to work a They Might Be Giants show at Smith, and Frank Black was the opener. My friend was doing the catering. He let me help him so I could get in for free.
I met the Johns for the first time. I was surprised and a little sad by their standoffishness (but found out the reason for it years later, which will have to wait for another blog post). Meanwhile, Frank Black was the warmest, sweetest guy - which I didn't expect from someone so screamy. He told us how he'd recently become a bit of a wine connoisseur, and had just come back from France, where he'd consumed lots of amazing wine. He produced a bottle, and proceeded to pour glasses for the hospitality staff. It was superb. I loved him. When the show started I went upstairs and danced my ass off during his set.
September 2005. I'm living in Charlottesville, Virginia, the midday host of a radio station I love. But I miss Nothampton. I miss being able to walk to venues where the bands I love are playing. Most of my favorite shows are a two-hour drive to DC. And then comes word that the Pixies are playing the Charlottesville Pavilion. It's a ten minute drive from my house.
I run into some friends on the way in. We get down just close enough to the edge of the stage. The band takes the stage. I feel the drums kick in, and the bass....and I burst into tears.
I had not forgotten how happy I was to be alive at that moment. I screamed my voice raw, and even with earplugs my hearing was muffled the next day. I figured that was it - I'd finally gotten to see one of the bands that made me so. happy. And that was it. That would be my Pixies experience...
September 2009. And then....this.
My friends got tickets this morning.
Ooo ooo...
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Long as I Can See the Light
I got Josh this orchid for his birthday in 2007. We were still in Charlottesville, almost exactly a month before we moved up here. There was a woman who sold orchids at the Saturday morning Farmers Market. I let him pick out the one he liked the best.
Josh is good with plants. I am not. If it's not pestering me to feed it, I'll forget about it. Josh has forbid me from doing anything with the plants since I killed a jade plant. I do, however, love having plants around. I love how it makes our house look all jungle-y.
I love flowers, and I always admire people who have vibrant gardens. I just don't have the vision. Well, certainly not the foresight to turn tiny little brown seeds and bulbs into blankets of color.
I just stumble around, shoulders hunched, muttering to myself about all the work I need to get done...
...my breath coming through clenched teeth as I try not to slip on the icy sidewalks, vision dulled by winter's monochrome and snow glare....
...until a tiny spark ignites...
...lighting my path to Spring.
Josh is good with plants. I am not. If it's not pestering me to feed it, I'll forget about it. Josh has forbid me from doing anything with the plants since I killed a jade plant. I do, however, love having plants around. I love how it makes our house look all jungle-y.
I love flowers, and I always admire people who have vibrant gardens. I just don't have the vision. Well, certainly not the foresight to turn tiny little brown seeds and bulbs into blankets of color.
I just stumble around, shoulders hunched, muttering to myself about all the work I need to get done...
...my breath coming through clenched teeth as I try not to slip on the icy sidewalks, vision dulled by winter's monochrome and snow glare....
...until a tiny spark ignites...
...lighting my path to Spring.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Some local economic stimulus action...
...my people call it "Saturday."
"Hey! The sun's out! The temperature consists of more than one digit! Let's walk into town!"
We missed out on getting to the bank in time, because I am full of fail. But we did finally get to check out the used bookstore we pass every day. We could have easily walked out with much more than we did, but I reminded myself of a magical place called "the library." Still, I like to support local bookstores.
Then it was time for lunch. Our goal for several weeks has been to try this new Mexican place. The inside was cheery...
...and I could have stayed for hours, reading my book...
...and drinking tamarind soda...
(which, much like Ikea cola, didn't taste at all how I expected; but, unlike Ikea cola, it was a pleasant surprise.)
How was the food? Not bad. Josh liked his burrito. It's pretty authentic for New England. I wish the tacos had used shredded chicken, instead of chunks. And I'm wishing I'd been a little more adventurous and tried something different, instead of sticking to my usual tacos.
Not this adventurous, though. 'Cuz yeah...that's on the menu.
"Hey! The sun's out! The temperature consists of more than one digit! Let's walk into town!"
We missed out on getting to the bank in time, because I am full of fail. But we did finally get to check out the used bookstore we pass every day. We could have easily walked out with much more than we did, but I reminded myself of a magical place called "the library." Still, I like to support local bookstores.
Then it was time for lunch. Our goal for several weeks has been to try this new Mexican place. The inside was cheery...
...and I could have stayed for hours, reading my book...
...and drinking tamarind soda...
(which, much like Ikea cola, didn't taste at all how I expected; but, unlike Ikea cola, it was a pleasant surprise.)
How was the food? Not bad. Josh liked his burrito. It's pretty authentic for New England. I wish the tacos had used shredded chicken, instead of chunks. And I'm wishing I'd been a little more adventurous and tried something different, instead of sticking to my usual tacos.
Not this adventurous, though. 'Cuz yeah...that's on the menu.
Still a little high on Inauguration fumes...
I didn't go to DC, like Tom and Tina, or GL and Bill - who, incidentally, has a really excellent rationale for why it was important for him to go to DC for the Inauguration, which he lays out in this recent broadcast:
Nor did I take the day to celebrate with Katy, Traci, and Eleanor (which would have been my preference).
Instead, I had to work.
Luckily for me, work involves celebrating the Inauguration with a live broadcast at the Academy of Music, where hundreds of my fellow citizens and community members gathered to watch this historic event on a big screen:
Thankfully, our coverage ended before I got all unprofessional and unobjective.
It was a joy to share it with friends.
Nor did I take the day to celebrate with Katy, Traci, and Eleanor (which would have been my preference).
Instead, I had to work.
Luckily for me, work involves celebrating the Inauguration with a live broadcast at the Academy of Music, where hundreds of my fellow citizens and community members gathered to watch this historic event on a big screen:
Thankfully, our coverage ended before I got all unprofessional and unobjective.
It was a joy to share it with friends.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Washington, Washington!
I stumbled across this years ago, while working at my former station. I have this vivid memory of everyone crammed into my office to watch it. It was especially amusing because my friend and former colleague Ronda Chollock (who is bad about updating her MySpace page) was actually working at the Washington Papers at the time.
Yesterday, I stumbled across it again, and had many of my River compadres huddled at a computer to watch.
WARNING! Not safe for uptight work environments, or children. Especially British children. And you'll be singing it for days. Consider yourself warned.
Yesterday, I stumbled across it again, and had many of my River compadres huddled at a computer to watch.
WARNING! Not safe for uptight work environments, or children. Especially British children. And you'll be singing it for days. Consider yourself warned.
Cure for the Common Cold
*sigh*
How cold is it?
The normally skittish Sherbert has become a lap cat again:
Chloe is pretending she is a tropical cat:
They say the key to surviving winter in the northern climes is to get out there and enjoy it, with fun winter activities like skiing, snowshoeing, sledding...
...or shovelling.
Doesn't he look excited?
But sometimes, the best cure is to leave winter behind for a while, and remind yourself of what's on the other side of that long cold stretch of season. Some folks do this by taking vacations in warmer climes. Those of us with less time and/or money...
(or an inability to fly)
...have another option:
It is truly one of my favorite places in town, especially this time of year.
Like Chloe, you can surround yourself with greenery and pretend it's Spring:
But it's not just the riot of color...it's the sounds of running water - and the resulting humidity in the air. I love the orchid room, with it's pond filled with koi - and Mr. Frog. Every time I go, I make sure to locate Mr. Frog.
Here he is!
The orchids take my breath away:
I also suffer from orchid envy. Here's ours:
Bloom, damn you! Bloom!
The scent in the air is amazing. One room had this incredible spicy smell that I wanted to bottle and bring back to my house.
I love the concept of trees INSIDE spaces. TREES! INSIDE! Wacky!
And jungles! Again, inside!!!!
Did I mention I'm a sucker for waterfalls?
And so we emerged rejuvenated and fortified with a healthy dose of spring to get us through the next few months.
*sigh* Maybe once-a-week doses are in order....
How cold is it?
The normally skittish Sherbert has become a lap cat again:
Chloe is pretending she is a tropical cat:
They say the key to surviving winter in the northern climes is to get out there and enjoy it, with fun winter activities like skiing, snowshoeing, sledding...
...or shovelling.
Doesn't he look excited?
But sometimes, the best cure is to leave winter behind for a while, and remind yourself of what's on the other side of that long cold stretch of season. Some folks do this by taking vacations in warmer climes. Those of us with less time and/or money...
(or an inability to fly)
...have another option:
It is truly one of my favorite places in town, especially this time of year.
Like Chloe, you can surround yourself with greenery and pretend it's Spring:
But it's not just the riot of color...it's the sounds of running water - and the resulting humidity in the air. I love the orchid room, with it's pond filled with koi - and Mr. Frog. Every time I go, I make sure to locate Mr. Frog.
Here he is!
The orchids take my breath away:
I also suffer from orchid envy. Here's ours:
Bloom, damn you! Bloom!
The scent in the air is amazing. One room had this incredible spicy smell that I wanted to bottle and bring back to my house.
I love the concept of trees INSIDE spaces. TREES! INSIDE! Wacky!
And jungles! Again, inside!!!!
Did I mention I'm a sucker for waterfalls?
And so we emerged rejuvenated and fortified with a healthy dose of spring to get us through the next few months.
*sigh* Maybe once-a-week doses are in order....
Friday, January 16, 2009
"Hello, my name is Jaz....
...and I am a cheap date who gets looped on a glass and a half of pinot noir. And flan. Yes, I am drunk on flan. Happy Birthday to me."
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Game Night, or My Tribe is Hilarious
It was SUPPOSED to be UberGeeky Game Night, in which we played Dungeons and Dragons. But our Dungeonmaster canceled, which is just as well, as I hadn't yet made it out to buy those special dice. Plus, I was wicked cranky from work, and dubious about the restorative powers of battling orcs. However, GL was nearly inconsolable: she had claimed the week before that UberGeeky Game Night was the most exciting thing about the new year. I am recording that statement here so I can call it up on a computer screen on June 14th, 2009.
Anyway, it was clear that the tribe would not be denied games, so a regular old game night was declared.
With snacks.
There were amazing caramels from Cornucopia, yummy cheesy chips made by Katy, some kind of organic cheese doodles (?), and Chocolate Newman-O's:
Oh, and conversation hearts. Which according to Katy should not be bought until February. Because these ones apparently weren't ripe yet. At least, the purple ones weren't:
There were many surprises in the evening's refreshments, including a particular beverage purchased from an unusual place: Ikea. This sparked a volley of wisecracks:
"Ikea root beer? Is it going to fall apart in two years?"
"It comes with allen wrenches."
"The root beer is strong until it gets moved. It will have to stay with the apartment."
Traci and Katy claimed it had been displayed under a sign marked "Root Beer." We called on local root beer expert Bill Scher to test the beverage:
"That is not root beer."
"Maybe it's furniture polish."
"The root beer is ... surprising..."
"The surprise comes later."
"No, the surprise is pretty much immediate."
We settled on Lingonberry cola.
"Lingonberry cola is made from people!"
"Norwegian people!"
The second most amusing/perplexing thing about Ikea cola, besides the taste, is the label:
Gnomes? Really? I guess this is the closest we get to D&D tonight.
At any rate, we settled on a nice relaxing game of Apples to Apples.
I had the choir boys card. Why are choir boys wicked, you ask? Well, they shamelessly seduced all those poor Catholic priests, is all.
Yes, I said it. And so ensued a night of ridiculous, inappropriate, and utterly hilarious wisecracking. For instance, I bet you did not know the ways that Keanu Reeves could be considered "comfortable:"
"Why is Keanu Reeves comfortable? Well, he's very soft, and he makes you feel smart, and he generates body heat..."
"...Yes, so if you are cold you can split him open with your light saber and crawl inside."
"Plus, you could knit a warm cozy hat with Keanu's soft hair."
Or that Dr. Seuss might be considered by some to be distinguished. Other poo-poo this notion, based purely on geography:
"Dr. Seuss is distinguished?!"
"He's a doctor!"
"Pffft! Yeah, from Springfield! I'M a doctor in Springfield!"
Things took a turn for the racy:
"I think I'll grow a pencil mustache tomorrow and just keep it for the day."
"You could totally make a porno in a day."
"I have an idea for a new game!"
"Okay, apparently now we're playing Seven Minutes in Heaven."
"Except our version would be Seven Minutes in the Cold Vestibule."
Coming (sorry) soon to a porno shelf near you.
I came close to passing out from laughter-induced oxygen deprivation. Which was the perfect antidote for a cranky day.
Anyway, it was clear that the tribe would not be denied games, so a regular old game night was declared.
With snacks.
There were amazing caramels from Cornucopia, yummy cheesy chips made by Katy, some kind of organic cheese doodles (?), and Chocolate Newman-O's:
Oh, and conversation hearts. Which according to Katy should not be bought until February. Because these ones apparently weren't ripe yet. At least, the purple ones weren't:
There were many surprises in the evening's refreshments, including a particular beverage purchased from an unusual place: Ikea. This sparked a volley of wisecracks:
"Ikea root beer? Is it going to fall apart in two years?"
"It comes with allen wrenches."
"The root beer is strong until it gets moved. It will have to stay with the apartment."
Traci and Katy claimed it had been displayed under a sign marked "Root Beer." We called on local root beer expert Bill Scher to test the beverage:
"That is not root beer."
"Maybe it's furniture polish."
"The root beer is ... surprising..."
"The surprise comes later."
"No, the surprise is pretty much immediate."
We settled on Lingonberry cola.
"Lingonberry cola is made from people!"
"Norwegian people!"
The second most amusing/perplexing thing about Ikea cola, besides the taste, is the label:
Gnomes? Really? I guess this is the closest we get to D&D tonight.
At any rate, we settled on a nice relaxing game of Apples to Apples.
I had the choir boys card. Why are choir boys wicked, you ask? Well, they shamelessly seduced all those poor Catholic priests, is all.
Yes, I said it. And so ensued a night of ridiculous, inappropriate, and utterly hilarious wisecracking. For instance, I bet you did not know the ways that Keanu Reeves could be considered "comfortable:"
"Why is Keanu Reeves comfortable? Well, he's very soft, and he makes you feel smart, and he generates body heat..."
"...Yes, so if you are cold you can split him open with your light saber and crawl inside."
"Plus, you could knit a warm cozy hat with Keanu's soft hair."
Or that Dr. Seuss might be considered by some to be distinguished. Other poo-poo this notion, based purely on geography:
"Dr. Seuss is distinguished?!"
"He's a doctor!"
"Pffft! Yeah, from Springfield! I'M a doctor in Springfield!"
Things took a turn for the racy:
"I think I'll grow a pencil mustache tomorrow and just keep it for the day."
"You could totally make a porno in a day."
"I have an idea for a new game!"
"Okay, apparently now we're playing Seven Minutes in Heaven."
"Except our version would be Seven Minutes in the Cold Vestibule."
Coming (sorry) soon to a porno shelf near you.
I came close to passing out from laughter-induced oxygen deprivation. Which was the perfect antidote for a cranky day.
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