A Moment of Silence

So I'm back in Pullman. I was so close to just keep on heading north to Canada and forget the whole "finishing the degree" thing. Getting an education are overrated. I don't need no more learnin'.

But, alas, I'm back.

When I feel up to it, I will recap my Vegas adventure. Right now, I'm just far too depressed over the recent trend of great American entertainers kicking off. Both Pat Morita and Stan Berenstain died. And don't pretend you don't know who they are. We all read Berenstain Bears. And we all have a favorite. Mine might be The Berenstain Bears and the Truth. Good lesson. I helped write that book. And directed the short film based on it. And lying feels so good, you know it's right. And we all know that Happy Days jumped the shark when Al (the fat guy with the big nose) replaced Morita.

So let's all bow our heads and lift a silent "Wax on. Wax off." to the heavens, where God has two new angels/entertainers.

Who invented this?

So at the store today, I saw an eyelash curler. Normal, yes?

A heated eyelash curler!

What? Oh, yes.

I also saw a sign today at the local high school, where a friend of mine is a teacher--just so you wouldn't think I was all creepy and just hung out at high schools--that was great. And it made me want a camera phone more than ever. Anyways, the sign said "A relationship isn't built in the back seat of a car, but the front seat of respect." Loved it. Even though it goes against everything I was taught, and practiced, in high school. Um . . . I mean . . . uh . . . vacations are all fun and stuff.

My OCD is in Full Bloom (or: Why Lists are Fun)

And here they are, things I love followed by things I don’t love (and, in some instances, hate with an unwarranted passion).

1. Elvis (Derh. Too obvious? Suck it up, it’s my site.)
2. People who get my obscure references.
3. When I get other people’s obscure references.
4. Davy Jones’ appearance on The Brady Bunch.
5. Christmas songs. Sung by Neil Diamond.
6. Foot massages.
7. “Duke of Earl”
8. Setting your alarm and then deciding to sleep in.
9. Being bored and getting an unexpected phone call from a friend.
10. Pumpkin cheesecake.
11. Forgetting something was on sale until you are paying.
12. Figuring out your shirt is buttoned up wrong before anybody else does.
13. Sneezing. When I’m not near other people.
14. Disco music in inappropriate places (Chinese restaurants, medical supply stores where there are old men and women all gimped out with their walkers, etc.).
15. Birthdays. But especially mine.
16. Crunchy leaves in early October.
17. Putting my winter coat away for the year.
18. Adrenaline rushes after a good, long jog.
19. Skipping a good, long jog to eat ice cream while watching a Quantum Leap marathon.
20. Quantum Leap.
21. Fortune cookies dipped in hot tea.
22. Algebra. Seriously.
23. Having my nephews/nieces tell me I’m the cool aunt.
24. Watching their parents roll their eyes when that particular statement is uttered.
25. Sitting all the way through the credits at the movie theatre to see outtakes of Denzel Washington utter naughty words when he forgets a line.
26. Not needing a calculator to do basic math. It happens sometimes.
27. Having my checkbook balance perfectly.
28. Well-timed sarcasm.
29. When people make A Christmas Story reference.
30. Rainy days when I have nothing planned but reading fiction.
31. The squeaky noise my cat makes when I pick her up and she’s just waking.
32. Catching people, who think they are all alone, singing aloud to Irene Cara’s “Flashdance.”
33. Doubling a cookie recipe, eating the grand majority of the dough, and then lying to people about why there aren’t more cookies.
34. Dr. Cox.
35. Finishing work early.
36. Watching kids standing in line to see Santa Claus at the local mall. But not in a creepy way.
37. Sharing a private joke with someone in front of others.
38. A Very Brady Christmas.
39. Finding old pictures from childhood.
40. Lilies.
41. Pumpkin cheesecake (yes, I realize it’s on here twice. It’s good.)
42. Even numbers.
43. Finding a good new fiction book.
44. Going to the library.
45. Home. Made. Rolls.
46. Singing “Flashdance” in the privacy of my car and knowing I will not get caught by others.
47. ’58 Corvettes.
48. A really, really good margarita or a just pretty good margarita with really, really good nachos.
49. People who sing along to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” with utter abandon.
50. Elvis (It’s still my site and I can still do whatever I want).

Things I dislike

1. Men with manicures.
2. The word “metrosexual”
3. People who are consistently late.
4. Ducks.
5. Birds.
6. Anything bigger than my fist that can fly.
7. Anyone whose favorite movie is Pretty Woman.
8. Dog hair on my black pants.
9. The bumper sticker “Mean People Suck.”
10. Getting shots.
11. Ketchup packets.
12. Areas in the country that don’t have fry sauce.
13. People who tell me I have an accent.
14. People who pronounce Washington “Warsh-ington” and Boise “Boy-ze”
15. Money Tree commercials.
16. Snakes.
17. People who keep snakes as pets.
18. Christmas lights left up year-round.
19. Overly-PC people.
20. When I forget to take a fresh towel into the bathroom for my shower.
21. Brown carpet.
22. Vegans.
23. People who try to make me feel guilty for eating meat.
24. Forgetting to record debits in my checkbook.
25. When I’m the only one laughing at a joke.
26. Welcome mats with something other than “Welcome” on them.
27. When I say something offensive and realize it half a second too late.
28. People who claim they love, love, love It’s a Wonderful Life.
29. It’s a Wonderful Life.
30. Twins with rhyming names.
31. The smell of mildew.
32. When other people eat my pumpkin cheesecake.
33. Flat pillows.
34. Losing at “Candyland” to my niece and then watching her do a victory dance.
35. Feeling bummed that I lost at “Candyland.”
36. Forgetting to forward my home phone.
37. Public restrooms.
38. Parallel parking.
39. Not being able to swear in front of my dad, even when I’ve stubbed my toe and it hurts like a mother.
40. Going to the mechanic.
41. Getting the bill from the mechanic.
42. People who weigh their food in public when they’re on diets.
43. My inability to remember phone numbers.
44. My ability to remember senseless trivia.
45. Emoticons.
46. Meg Ryan.
47. Running into a wall because I’m talking to someone and not paying attention.
48. Getting confused with someone who looks nothing like me.
49. Getting ink on my clothing.
50. People who mock Elvis. He’s called The King for a reason.

Killing time

Apparently there is much more time in a day in Pocatello than there is anywhere else. I did stuff all day today and still had time to think about fifty things I love and fifty things not so much (see above post). Before you get that information, though, a brief recap of Gate City madness.

Yesterday was all-exciting as I did homework all day. Not to gloat or anything, but now I’m done with all of it. All. Of. It. For all of break. No school-related thinking until next Tuesday. Insert my evil laughter here.

Today, I went to the ISU campus to stroll around. I always forget that when I, as a student, am on break from my school, that other schools are probably on break, too. ISU was empty. Except for me. And some professors who don’t like their home lives. That’s my guess, at least. So it was kind of boring.

Next, I went downtown to see if there were any new stores or restaurants. There were. I didn’t go into them, since those types of places charge money. For stuff. For stuff I might want. So I just kept a-walking. Until I saw my favorite book store, so I had to go in there. I talked to the owner, and I might have a job for this summer. More on that when I know more on that. And it isn’t a job in the store. Nor is it some kind of paid-escort-type-of-job. But if I was going to do that, would I be honest here? Probably not. But if I show up with lots of new clothes—and I haven’t sold my dog for extra cash—then you can draw your own conclusions.

It’s a history-related job, for the record.

Anyways, my favorite book store is semi-expensive for new books (but I did get some used ones) so I went to another chain book store. By the way, I highly recommend that everyone go read Jill Solomon’s Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants. Laugh out loud fun. And my new favorite word is "ladyflower." Uh, yeah. Use it in a sentence. I already have. Five times. Once in front of my dad.

At this bookstore, I ran into someone I had gone to high school with. He just moved back here after living in Boise for the last seven years. We reminisced about growing up in Idaho, made some Napoleon Dynamite references, and made plans for coffee tomorrow. Going to coffee in Pocatello is great fun, since only three people here drink coffee. And I’m only here for a few more days, so I guess the clientele will shrink back down to two as of Friday.

Let’s see, then I went to see my brother, sister-in-law, and nephews again. Cute as they are—the nephews here, but the two adults are ok, too—they are really boring (again, the nephews). Seriously, they don’t do a thing. And I can only stare at them for so long.

So I went back to my dad’s house, thinking that more of my friends should have stayed in Pocatello after graduating. Self. Ish. And then I decided to type up my lists. I opted to put them in a separate post, because I can, and because this post was long enough.

Damn, I’m ready for Vegas.

Livin' large, southeastern Idaho-style!

Why on earth, with over 5 ka-billion channels to choose from, am I currently watching "Chicago" on Bravo? Apparently they are having a weekend-long marathon. And I'm still watching it. And maybe singing along with it.

Also, I keep seeing ads for the movie version of "Rent" and while I might want to see that, those ads are horrible. They flash words or phrases from reviews to try to sell you on the movie, like "Mesmerizing!" and "Moving" and "Astounding" and the like. Look closely next time you see that ad: most of the reviews are from the same guy. Paul Fischer. Was he the only guy who saw it? Or liked it?

Anyways, so I spent my day in typical Pocatello fashion and I'm loving being on a break. First, I slept in. The sheer beauty of that staggers me. Next, my dad took me to breakfast at my favorite breakfast place here: Butterburr's. Seriously, if you're ever in Pocatello (and why wouldn't you be?) go there. Homemade cinnamon twists. I didn't actually taste them today, though, as I was just shoveling food into my mouth. My dad was oh-so-proud.

Alright, I'll talk about my other Pocatello adventures later. I'm living it up too much right now to waste time on that. I might be watching SNL. My favorite line so far: in the president's press conference skit, Bush was making an analogy between his situation with being attacked by the Democrats for the *war* and being a project manager on the Apprentice. He then went on to talk about how smart the Democrats think they are, saying (and here's my favorite line), "If they're so smart, why'd they listen to me in the first place?" I think that might be the first time this show has made me laugh out loud since the Merv the Perv skit.

Back to Pocatello fun, fun, fun!

9 hours in a car produces weird thoughts

Well here I am in Pocatello. Jealous? Probably.

It was quite the day, with a bunch of driving and singing alone in my car. I have an amazing voice, if I do say so myself. And I do. Often. Somehow, however, it just loses a little something if others are present. Rest assured, though, that in the privacy of my car or my shower, no one can belt out "These Boots are Made for Walking" like yours truly.

Uh, so yeah. My trip so far.

Before I begin, though, I should discuss an event fromt the other day. The other night I had a little *accident* at my house while doing some repairs. I’m not going into details—mainly to protect my own innocence—but I’ll just say that I was fixing a chair and suddenly I was bleeding. Not copious amounts, but enough to perhaps validate a trip to the hospital. I got a ride from my neighbor, who was extremely sweet about the whole thing instead of laughing in my face, which she should have been. I deserved it.

So we get there, and I tell the nurse (after she makes me lie down, since apparently I looked “green” and “about to pass out.” In her professional opinion, at least.) that I’m not fond of blood and I don’t handle shots well. She nods, signifying to me that she understood. But apparently she went and told the doctor that I love, love, love shots since I ended up having to get two. Inside the wound. Hurt like a mother. I also got three stitches, but really I’m more proud that I took my shots like a big girl. Of course, I made my neighbor hold my hand. And there might have been some slight swearing under the breath.

That is not a weird fear, just to let you know. Being afraid of shots, that is. I know someone who's afraid of midgets. Wait, that’s me. Ok, so I know someone else who’s afraid of rabbits. Uh . . . that might be me, too. Damn, maybe other people are right. Maybe there is something wrong with me.

But I digress.

Ok, so here are some highlights from my drive. First, I drove through Montana and saw—and this is my favorite part of the drive, by the way, every time—the big billboard advertising for Montana’s world-famous Rocky Mountain Oysters and their Testical Festival. I love Montana. Next, I was passing some guy in a Geo Metro, while I was in the right lane. Which I thought was weird, but then I saw why he was driving slowly in the passing lane. As I pass him, his girlfriend pops up in her seat. Well, to be more exact, I guess she popped up from his seat. Guess what she was doing? Hmm. And then, and I swear to God, she wiped her mouth.

Seriously almost wrecked my car because I was laughing so hard. Good for him. Yet another reason to love Big Sky Country.

Oh, that reminds me, I saw three Hummers while driving to Pocatello today. The vehicles. Perverts.

I also saw a car with Hawaiian plates. Driving in Montana. I don’t know why that struck me as so funny. Probably because I was hearing the Dead Milkmen in my head saying, “My parents drove my new car up from the Bahamas.”

So I got to Pocatello and got to meet my two newest little nephews, who are not quite a month old. I doubt my brother and sister-in-law were overwhelming pleased with me when the first thing I did, as I was holding little Mitch, was announce my rules for the nephews. Rule one: no throwing up, even a little, on Auntie. Rule two: no drooling on Auntie. Rule three: no crying while Auntie is holding you. I must say that both the boys were fairly obedient. Drew drooled a bit on me, but luckily I had a burping cloth (ew) to protect me.

And they were cute enough. I guess we’ll see how I feel after spending more time with them. If they stop obeying the rules, all best are off, though.

Right now, I'm watching "My Fair Brady." Chris Knight is a whore. But I might still love him. Aach. He just proposed to what's-her-name. And he actually said, "Looks like you bagged your Brady." Her reply: "No, I bagged my Knight in shining armor."

And that's day one from my vacation.

My tribute to the Go-Gos

Not really a tribute, so much, as my own little personal celebration that I am officially on vacation. It's all I really wanted.

No school or work (besides some homework that I plan on making my 12 year-old nephew do for me, because my professors won't notice) for exactly 12 days. Twelve blessed days, to be exact. So I'm heading off to Pocatello tomorrow and I thought I'd better post in case a) my superior driving skills live up to their reputation and I die in a horrible car wreck somewhere in Montana or b) I hook up with some rich guy while I'm in Vegas and choose to forget about all the little people.

Because, yes, Pocatello just isn't wild enough to satisfy me, so after spending Thanksgiving with my family, I'm heading further south. To gamble. To drink. To see Sir Paul McCartney. To golf at night. To wear short sleeved shirts. To go to the Elvis museum (oh yes). To enjoy time off.

I'll probably be posting from my dad's house just, since I might (might) be a tad bit bored back in Idaho. And who knows what kind of crazy things will happen to me there. Or what kind of morons I will run into. Stay tuned.

He fu*!?#$*ing jumped?!?

Je. Zus.

This is why I no longer live in southeastern Idaho/northern Utah:

Man Jumped From Truck Following Argument
November 12th, 2005 @ 9:21pm
(KSL News) Police now say an argument caused a 21-year-old man to jump from a moving truck in South Jordan.
Tyler Poulson was riding with his brothers last night when he became offended by one of them using profanity. Poulson, who recently returned from an LDS mission, threatened to get out of the truck if he continued.
One of the men, not thinking he would, told Poulson to.
Earlier police said the car was going about 35 miles an hour when Poulson opened the door and jumped. He was pronounced dead on scene.


This is a real news story, and South Jordan is in Utah. Yes, yes, sad that a 21 year-old died, but you have got to freakin' be kidding me. Someone drops the f-bomb and you jump out of a MOVING VEHICLE? Always thinking.

In case you're thinking I made this up (ahem, Cynthia, this means you. Told you so about Colfax.), here are two sites that cover the story: site one and site two.

Oh, that Hayley Mills

I can't believe I forgot to post these links. Apparently a post-production company had a contest to see how new editing on an old movie trailer could change the feel of the movie.

The winner recut The Shining as the feel good movie of the year. I'm still at a loss as to how this qualifies as winning first place, since this is always a fun family favorite, but whatever.
http://www.tatteredcoat.com/archives/2005/09/28/the-shining-redux/

The third-place winner changed the original Parent Trap into a lesbian-coming-of-age film.
http://www.moondogedit.com/pages/pl_theapparenttrap.html

What was it originally?

God bless Mother Nature

Question: What do you get when you mix grad students, loud disco music, and lots of alcohol?
Answer: A group sing-a-long to "It's Raining Men." And a few hangovers, I'm guessing.

As the designated driver for Friday night's get-together, I wouldn't know about that last part. But I saw an incredible number of empty wine bottles. And a lot of blackmailing material. And you all know who you are.

Seriously, though, it was a great party (and hosted by a professor, no less) and it was about that time in the semester when we all desperately needed it. I have absolutely NO motivation right now to do anything work or school related. I can't retain a shred of information from any of the books I supposedly read this weekend, yet I could remember all the words to "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the party. At least I didn't head bang to it (hmmm, who could I be talking about here?).

Friday night's party was just what I needed to get me through my last week at school before vacation. Later this week I will be heading off to Pocatello, and who knows what kind of wild and crazy things can happen there? Pocatello is known for its underground culture, legalized prostitution, and lax rules regarding drinking and driving. Wait. That's not right. It's known for . . . lots of other fun stuff. And stuff. But I will be spending time with my family, meeting my two newest nephews who were born last month, catching up on sleep, and reliving fond memories with my *Aunt* Toni. Oh, and enjoying my dad's 500 billion different cable channels on his big screen TV.

And let me quickly add in a bit about the food at the party. Maryanne brought my F-A-V-O-R-I-T-E dessert ever: pumpkin cheesecake. But then she got all possessive when I simply moved it to a more appropriate place. She thought I was hiding it, so I wouldn't have to share, but really I just didn't want it to sit out in the open where it could have, uh, gotten knocked over during a particularly rambunctious rendition of "Macho Man." I was just protecting it so everyone could enjoy it. It's not my fault if some people didn't find it; and for those of you who did, I saw how many pieces you took of my dessert. I mean, uh, I hope you enjoyed it. Selfish bastards.

On a totally unrelated note, I think Maryanne is the prettiest person ever. And smart. Prettiest and smartest. And I expect absolutely nothing back from her, even though I just paid her those compliments. However, if she felt moved to, I don't know, make me some cheesecake, I wouldn't say no.

That would be rude.

Pictures to follow from the party.

Oh my

So one of my friends sent me this link to what apparently will be my Christmas present this year. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but why on earth would I want this toy, when I can watch my dog hump my cat whenever I want?

And I don't want to.

Too often.

Gimped out in Pullman

As an added bonus to the last post and discussions of people who can't talk, I have one additional story. It involves someone's foot, his mouth, and me doubled over laughing.

I hurt my ankle/foot earlier this week and have been using a cane to get around. For the record, I am not a member of AARP. My cane is a leftover reminder of my accident last spring. As it turns out, it was a pretty good investment. Plus, it is SEX-AY!!! Ow! Nothing like seeing a younger person all gimped out with a cane.

Anyways, so the people I work with find it hysterical that I have a cane. And they mock me. And there is a special place in hell just for them. So I'm in the main office talking, and one of the *professors* in my department comes in (a term I clearly use loosely. Uh, the professor part. Not comes in. I would hate to think what "comes in" could be used loosely as.) and just says, "Hey gimpy." He leaves the office, not noticing the look of anger/confusion on the face of some random undergrad standing next to me. This guy had just had surgery and had one of those surgical boots on. And, of course, he assumed that he was the one being addressed as gimpy.

I loved it.

Phonetics are phun

These are things that I think only happen to me. (Well, that’s not exactly true. One of my friends and I have what we call our “Larry David” contest to see who can either attract the most bizarre-o people to them or have just some weird experiences. We tie. A lot.) Anyways, you know how sometimes you start to say a word, change your mind in the middle of the word to say something else, and come up with a non-word? Like, if you’re trying to say “good morning” and then switch it to “hello,” you say something like “goo-low.”

Yeah, so I’m hoping you’re still following along.

Well, a while ago I was reading a book while I was walking in the library. First mistake: I should know better than try to walk and do something else. Always ends badly. Ok, so I’m walking and looking down. I start to go through a doorway and bump into someone else. I start to say “Excuse me,” but he’s already saying that. Not wanting to look stupid—mistake two: why would I bother with this thought-process, since I should know how it’s going to end up anyways—I decide to say “Sorry.” Sounds normal, yes? To your average person, this would have worked well.

Unfortunately, the Larry David-syndrome kicked in. I combined the two phrases. When I say “excuse me” I typically drop the e, and just say, “’cuse me.” My Idaho accent at its finest. So this was down to “’cu” and then I tossed an absent-minded “sorry” onto that. The result was something that sounded like “Scar-y.” Not “scary”, mind you, but “scar” plus an “ee” sound at the end. Still no problem, right? Well, then I looked up and saw the person I just uttered this “scar-y” word to. And guess what he had on his cheek? A huge (seriously, like a two-inch) scar. So my verbal mistake has just made me look like a class-action, well, you know. As one of my friends would say, a See You In Toledo.

It makes me feel better, though, knowing that other people also have word problems. In this light, I just want to share some lyrics from the upcoming album from Mr. Britney Spears, or Kevin Federline:

"Back then, they called me K-Fed, but now you can call me Daddy instead."

"Go ahead and say whatcha wanna/I'm gonna sell about two mil, oh, then I'm a goner/I know you all wish you was in my position/Cause I keep gettin' in situations that you wish you was in, cousin/Steppin' in this game and y'all ain't got a clue/Getting anxious? Go take a peep/ I'm starrin' in your magazines now every day and week/But maybe baby you can wait and see/ Until then all these Pavarottis followin' me."

Pavarottis? Pavarottis! Are we all picturing a big fat Italian guy chasing him around, singing opera? Do you think that this mental genius perhaps meant paparazzi? Well I'm seeing why Ms. White Trash would have fallen head-over-heels for this winner. Class-y.

How to traumatize your child in three easy steps

Last week I sent a Halloween picture to one of my friends to make his work day just that much brighter. This wasn’t a celebrity Halloween picture with Paris Hilton all whore-d out, either. Nope, it was a childhood picture of me on Halloween circa long ass time ago.

After leaving me a long voice mail, punctuated with loud laughter and a mocking tone, my friend proceeded to tell me how much he enjoyed the picture. Something I’m sure I won’t regret sending him, because I’m sure he would never use it for evil purposes. Oh, I suppose I should mention that I was dressed as The INCREDIBLE Hulk in said picture. And that I was a fragile little girl of four, who spent most of that Halloween night crying because I wanted to be something, you know, less man-ish. And less dorky. My mom was w-e-i-r-d for coming up with this costume, and a bit sadistic for making me wear it.

But it made me think of my other Halloween costumes over the years and how the weird factor never really went away. Sigh. What I will do for free candy. Anyways, I decided I should type up a list of the bizarre-o costumes I have worn.

Age 2: I was a mouse. Sounds cute, yes? My mom decided that my brother, sister, and I should have a theme going on and we all were mice. Cuter now, yes? My sister had a grey snowsuit, so my mom just put some mice ears on her (not real ones. Derh. Those would be too small.) and painted her face. Unfortunately, I did not own a grey snow suit, so my mom improvised and I just had to wear some overalls. I don’t really see too many mice wearing flowery overalls, but oh well. My mom was happy.

Age 3: A gypsy. I was a gypsy! I had a long, curly wig and I was a gypsy. At the age of 3! I don’t know why this freaks me out a bit, but it does.

Age 4: This was the infamous Incredible Hulk year. If I’m in a generous mood someday, I might post that picture.

Age 5: My father took pity on me that year after the debacle the year before, and I got to be something normal. I was a witch.

Age 6: A fairy. Like as in Cinderella had a fairy godmother, not as in a man who owns an “Orleans” album. And only one person is going to get that joke. And yes, one person, I do know that you are straight.

Age 7: Bumble-bee. Awww. Cute, cute, cute. A little bee.

Age 8: Fairy again. My family was not well-off and my mom was all about the recycled costume.

Age 9: Bee. Again. Not so cute this time around.

Age 10: I was a pig. Besides me gorging myself on Milky Ways and Lemonheads, I mean I was dressed as a pig. Thought of that costume all by myself.

After that it becomes a blur, suggesting that perhaps I stopped dressing up for a while. I know that I went as my father one year when I was in high school. This is what happens when you don’t plan ahead, and your friends come (in costume) to pick you up and you don’t want to look a moron or a party-pooper at the Halloween party by not dressing up, so you quickly raid your father’s closet, and spend the rest of the night explaining to everyone what your costume is and ignoring the “God, you’re a moron,” looks, while promising yourself to never be so unprepared again. Happens to the best of us. I also got lazy for many a’ year in a row and went as a fifties girl. Generic, yes? A few years ago, I was Annette Funicello (from the Mouseketeer years, not the Frankie and Annette years) and last year I went as Devil in a Blue Dress. All sorts of clever, aren’t I?

And thus ends my Halloween summary.

I was sweated on by the Beach Boys. What did you do this weekend?

Ok, so I just reread that subject line and it is misleading on two accounts. First, I didn't really get sweated on by the Beach Boys. So I guess it was less "misleading" than it was a "big fat lie." Second, it sounds much dirtier than I had originally intended it. But I'm leaving it.

The subject line does refer to the fact that I went to a Beach Boys concert this weekend! Ow! (Read that last word in a rock-concert-y way)

Here are my disclaimers before I proceed to describe said concert:

A) First, I realize that Mike Love and Bruce Johnston do not the Beach Boys make.
B) I am on Brian Wilson's side in the Mike v. Brian fight. Learn more about that here. My father and sister (whom I went to the concert with) take Mike Love's side. But they are wrong. Sigh.
C) Elvis would kick Mike Love's ass in a fight. Ok, that has nothing to do with anything, but we all know that it is true.

Ok, back to the concert. With all of my disclaimers aside, this concert was Awe. Some. I cannot believe how much I enjoyed it. I'm a huge Beach Boys fan, something I credit to my former dj and current Mike Love impersonator father, and I grew up listening to their music. They were the first concert I ever went to (good Lord, over 15 years ago) and I enjoyed them more this time. Probably because the seats were 8 rows back. I was t-h-i-s close to the pseudo-Beach Boys! Ow!

Highly recommend seeing these guys in concert. They're no Scot Bruce, but still.

One odd thing I noticed about the concert. Wait, two. Two odd things. First, instead of people holding up lighters, they held up their glowing cell phone faces. Seriously. It was the gayest thing I think I have yet to see in person. Second, Mike Love, while not looking like my father, does bear a striking resemblance to my Uncle Lon. I'm going to search for pictures later. It was semi-creepy, especially since the, uh, ahem, slightly older Mike Love kept flirting with some sorority girls. And he dedicated their "most patriotic" song to all women in uniform. Cheerleading uniforms. The song was "Be True to Your School." And he used the word "inculcate." Do we think he knew what it meant?

Ok, that's enough on the concert. When my father's illegally taken pictures are developed, I will see about posting them. My sister also taped one of their songs. Shame on both of them--the cop and the law student. You might be wondering why I didn't take pictures. I was far too busy rockin' out!!! Ow!!!

And that's the gayest thing I've ever written.

More random thoughts

Ok, first, I had the strangest dream last night. My brother and his wife had twin sons last week. That part is real. In my dream, they decided that I should babysit the boys for a few days whilst they went on vacation. I, in turn, dropped the kids off at my friend Maryanne's house so she could watch them. When I went back to pick them up a few hours later, Maryanne was all excited because she had taught one of them how to talk. They are 9 days old, by the way. She had taught him how to say, "I'm thirsty. Bring me my damn coffee." I was stunned by his intellect! What do we think that dream means?

Ok, second, I think my cat may be half-blind. Not that her eyesight is just half there, but that she is blind in her right eye. I was looking at her last night, and I’m pretty sure I’m right.

First, she kept running into my furniture. Now while this may be an attempt to get away from my dog’s “loving interactions,” I’m pretty sure it was because she couldn’t see. Next, she was sitting on my lap and her left eye was looking right at me and rightie was gazing off to the other side. It was almost like she had a glass eye. Which she doesn’t.

I don’t think.

I mean, sometimes I go out of town and leave my cat in the care of others so I guess I don’t know for 100% certain. What if she was running around outside and had some kind of accident, and her real eye was replaced by a fake one, and my friend/cat-sitter was too embarrassed to tell me, so I was just left in the dark?

Or maybe my cat just has a lazy eye. Does this happen to animals, as well as people? And can it just suddenly happen to animals? I’m pretty sure I would have noticed earlier if she had this issue. I’ve had her for over seven years.

I’m pretty sure she’s just going blind. I think I’ll get her a patch. Then at least one of my animals will look tough, since when winter hits I have to strap my dog into a sweater that reads, “I’m a Big Dog!” just to keep her warm. I guess I don’t have to put her into such a gay sweater, but it’s more fun for me that way, because I imagine all the other dogs mock her for it. And I have to find ways to amuse myself.

Wow. That was quite the incoherent rambling.

Interesting side-note from last night's birthday dinner: We were discussing an author/historian who is coming to give a lecture and someone said they heard he was a real ass. Someone else said that they were going to try to meet him because, and I swear to God this is a real quote, "I want to see an asshole in action." This is why we are to think before we speak.

Need an engagement ring? Go to a stock-car race.

Ok, so I'm giving a lecture today on the 1950s, so I decided to listen to some 50s music this morning to get me kind of in the mood. And not that kind of in the mood. That is reserved for a different lecture. Uh. . . I mean. . . I'm moving on. I decided that perhaps there was more fifties music than just Elvis, so I put on a record that had a collection of hits.

Can we all just agree that "Tell Laura I Love Her" is a stupid song? And why were such a disproportionate amount of songs from that decade about kids dying in car wrecks? Was it that large of a problem in our society? Tell Laura I love her, indeed.

But I must say that I love "Lightnin' Strikes" especially when he sings up in his high, girly voice. And I love the line, "Nature's takin' over my one-track mind." Ah, to be young and constricted by society in the fifties.