Tommorrow’s my birthday. And I’m turning 31. And I don’t care about age where it relates to anyone else, but still I feel old. Then again, when I turned twenty I cried, because I’d missed my chance to be a child prodigy. I’m just an odd bird, I guess. Anyway, cheer me up and send me some damned birthday wishes if you’re up to it. I know it’s shameless, but I’ll take what I can get right now. In exchange for which I shall treat you all to a deluxed sized post. And if you’re feeling generous, you could always get me this…
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This is me grating on your conscience…
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Kurt Vonnegut is alive and well and wanting to comment on the criminality of the war in Iraq.
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Quote of the Week:
Bookslut columnist Adrienne Martini describing the increasing commonality of works of “speculative fiction” ie. works that fail to fit neatly into one genre or the other, but rather to ethe line between “literature” and the realms of horror,fantasy, science fiction,etc.
“Velvet Goldmine” also being the film that finally prompted my husband to beg me not to “bring home any more gay heroin movies, please.”
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Apparently, Friday Five has bitten the dust once and for all. Archives and all.
Damn.
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My baby was born to dance:
She has does the twist and tosses her head like a little punkette and has disco moves, etc,etc.
It all depends on the music. Also, she loves seventies folk rock for some reason: Don Maclean, The Eagles, even the friggn Ozark Mountain Daredevils as well as female vocalists of the Tori and Thea Gilmore variety, and Celtic Music in general (The Pogueier the better). Right now, though, we’re listening to Modern Rock Classics on AccuRadio.com and she’s kind of swaying and peacedancing down the hallway to the Soup Dragons. That’s my girl. Now the song has changed and it’s (gasp) Echo and The Bunnymen’s “The Killing Moon.” If there were a baby equivalent of a lighter held aloft at a rock concert, she would be waving one right now. This one may well be getting guitar lessons someday (when sh’es a rock star someday, her tech savant big sister can design her website.) My girls rock, it is an unmitigated fact.
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Took the baby to breakfast today and engaged in a bit of people watching (translation:benevolent eavesdropping.)
Amongs me was a table of long out of touch relatives regathering after a funeral, relating how the event had brought a long lost sibling back into the fold and celebrating the pragmatism of the departed family matriarch as well as anecdotes about her attorney husband’s penchant for long, drawn out, heated debates about politics and religion, as well as the splendor of their old, big house, full of passageways where grandchildren could hide indefinitely. Then the conversation abruptly changed to how Dick Clark seemed rather rude when a friend met him in person. At which point I sequed to the conversation at the next table, a mother and her three daughters and baby grandchild gathered to greet one of the sisters who was visiting from out of down. The out of town daughter was complaining about how her mother in law had micromanaged her visit within an inch of its life, and apologizing that she wouldn’t see more of her sisters while here. Then my attention was drawn to a hostess whispering to a waiter “I can’t wait on that table, I know that girl from high school…”
Much more entertaining than morning television, and in the meantime, my little girl devoured a blueberry muffin,colored a wee masterpiece on her children’s menu, and flirted with a nearby toddler of indeterminate gender who had a striped shirt and a miniature afro and one of the ten most gorgeous smiles I’ve ever seen on an infant.
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I’m a geek beyond reckoning:
I still love the song “Pretty In Pink” by the Psychedelic Furs.
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Went to Cost Plus today and was shocked at the prices, but then realized my mental price list for the place was set in stone somewhere circa 1996, and I am shocked whenver I come in. Relatively speaking, most of their stuff is still an amazingly good deal. Bought instant espresso and sandalwood soap, and some weird little Hello Kitty biscuit sticks that you dip in strawberry frosting for the girls. They taste like sweet pretzels. Restrained myself from the beer aisle and the candy aisle and the spices aisle. I should get an award or something.
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Time to actually play with my wee girl before I have to pick up her sister from school and now that the Wiggles are over. Likely this post will grow longer as the day progresses…
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Peace,
Corbid the no longer Precocious
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