April 30, 2007

-image-weekend stuff ‘n’ thangs

MB: Now, shhh! It’s not often that I’m inspirational, so you’d better just drink it up!

SELF: Oh. You know I’m taking a big ol’ swiggy.

******

Listening to “She’s Like the Wind” on the 80’s radio station we had playing at Boheme:

MB: Is that Swayze?? (beat) Well … turn it UP, man!

******

Randomly picking on the amiable silence in the car …

“Man! We just don’t connect anymore! We used to be like this: (Hands flying toward each other, fingertips touching) Now were just: (Hands flying toward each other, missing wildly) It’s awful!! It’s like you’re Napolean and I’m — Juliet!”

Eye rolls from the driver’s seat.

“It’s like you’re Cookie Monster and I’m — ice cream!!”

Sighs …

“It’s like you’re Michael Jackson and I’m — a WOMAN!!”

“Oh, brother.”

We both start howling. We are sick.

******

I fell in love with someone else’s puppy. If all goes according to plan, I will be kidnapping her next weekend. Shhh.

Her name is Fern and she is an 8-week-old Chocolate Lab and Mastiff mix. She is fubsy and rolly, with extremely chocolate fur and green green eyes. Some undeserving Little Dude was her owner. He showed me how she already knew the commands to “Sit” and “Lie Down” and then I loved her even more, because she wasn’t just fubsy and rolly, she was a smartypants, too. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself shoving Little Dude over, really HARD, because he was wispy and maybe hungover, and grabbing what was rightfully mine: Fern.

FERN.

FERRRRNNNNN!

I love you, Fern!! Run away from that wispy Little Dude! Follow the secret trail of pig ears that leads to meeeeeee!!

******

Also: We saw a little kid getting spanked on the side of the road, old school. Dad had clearly pulled the car over — it was all catawumpus against the curb — taken the little cherub over his knee — this while Dad was standing with one leg braced against the car — and swatted the unruly peep hard on his naughty little bum. The boy’s legs were kicking wildly behind him and his face, turned toward us, was completely squinched in pain and protest.

I’m sorry.

But it was hilarious.

A half-block past the scene, we pulled a U-ey just to drive past it again.

It cannot be overstated: We are sick.

April 29, 2007

-image-meme with no name

From Sheila.

Name up to three characters . . . And I broke the rules, I see.

1. You wish were real so you could meet them:

Jean Valjean from Les Miserables — I fell in love with him when I was 14. Seriously. The first time I thought I was in love with a man in a book. And still, I LOVE him. I cannot even really talk about him coherently.

Mr. Rochester, from Jane Eyre — I love him, too, but … it’s complicated.

Sydney Carton, from Tale of Two Cities

Aslan from The Chronic – (WHAT?!) – cles of Narnia. I have wanted that for so very long. It’s almost a cliche, I suppose, but I don’t care.

Oh, that stupid mom from Deep End of the Ocean, a book I hated with a white-hot hate. What is her name?? I want her to be real so I can call her lots of names and kick her square in the arse. (Your missing kid is living DOWN THE STREET for, like, 10 years, and you don’t even know or notice and then he shows up on your doorstep all, hey, wanna buy some candy bars? — or whatever the heck that happenstance was??? I am not over it. I will never be over it.)

Sugar from The Crimson Petal and the White. The book-loving, novel-writing prostitute with brains and a terrible skin condition. Sounds enchanting, no? In my mind, I am always trying to cast this role for the movie. If there ever is one. So that if there IS one, I can feel righteously indignant and annoyed at how miscast the role of Sugar was. I like to plan my indignation in advance.

2. You would like to be:

Lucy from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. No, wait. Lucy from Prince Caspian. ‘Member how she is the only one who sees Aslan leading them through the hills and such? How no one believes her when she tells them it’s him? And ‘member how she’s rewarded for her faith, for seeing with eyes of faith, when Aslan appears at night on that circle of moonlit grass and she runs to him and embraces him and cannot get enough of what it feels like just to be with him?

Sighhh …

I want to know that, that feeling. Why the heck do you think I’m a Christian??? It’d better be just like that! And look at me, all growed up, threatening God.

Elizabeth from Pride and Prejudice.

Jo from Little Women. Duh.

Claudia in From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

3. Who scare you:

Okay. Honestly? When I was a kid, The Cat from The Cat in the Hat scared me. He still kinda creeps me out.

Those Ravers from The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. A fantasy series I read yearrrs ago. Those guys gave me nightmares. Why I’ve never read fantasy since.

Arty from Geek Love — Shiver. I couldn’t breathe right when he was around.

Javert from Les Miserables. He chilled me. Mostly because you want to think you’re Jean Valjean. But you’re not; you’re really Javert.

April 26, 2007

-image-there are …. developments

Well, I knew it would happen, I just didn’t think it would be so soon.

I have become a conjoined twin.

The reflection in the steam pitcher doesn’t lie. I got a gander at myself this morning after making Big Norm’s latte and that’s when it became clear. My newly conjoined status. My looming head head. You know, I think it was nice that Norm didn’t comment about it. That all he said was, “Oh, such nice foam!” That he didn’t inquire about the identical human head growing upside down on top of my regular head. He’s a sensitive guy, that Big Norm.

MB, however, started immediately snapping pictures, all proud and excited about the latest addition to the family. Someone else to talk to! Maybe someone better! Just someone who speaks English, for Lord’s sake! Stuff like that.

Unfortunately, I did not share his elation. Neither did my head head. See how glum we are upon learning of the other’s existence? Right after this shot, I downed, like, 137 Ibuprofen.

conjoined2.jpg

A few frames later, though, with a little encouraging patter from MB like look at you! so much taller! and hey! no more bad hair days, and well, men won’t stare at your boobs now we lightened up a bit, embracing our cross-eyed double-headed future together.

conjoinedt1.jpg

Now, let’s not get ugly here. Keep your jealousy to yourselves, please.

-image-from russia with love

A squat little white-haired man came into Boheme today. Well, no, actually; he didn’t come into Boheme. He just lingered in the doorway, turning his torso this way and that, unwilling to commit to staying or leaving.

MB was with me and greeted the man, all smiles, nicey-nice, inviting him in. Instead, the man just opened his yap into a giant black O, flopped his arms about wildly and started ranting words that I think were mostly Russian. Sounds spilled out occasionally that seemed sorta like English. Mostly, though, it was all just very raging and Siberian and LOUD.

Poor MB just stood there, staring, trying to make sense of what the man was saying, just assuming there was sense in it, which is why he’s such a good person. I, on the other hand, hunkered uselessly behind the espresso machine, absorbing this whole theatre and laughing, which is why I’m really not.

Next, in a tone so polite, so solicitous, that I nearly peed my pants, MB offered a translation to our chubby Boris, “So you want some coffee; is that it?”

Boris stopped, processed, then:

“NO! NO! BAD CAFE! NO CAFE! AMERICA BAD CAFE! RUSSIA NO CAFE!”

All riiighty. So no coffee, then.

“Would you like some tea instead?”

“NO! SLBOBO VISHNINOVA!! (or something like that) NO TEA! STOMACH!! RAJNAVOICEK RAGNARAD!!”

Okaaaay, dude. Calm thyself.

I stood up to take a peek. He pointed at me.

“DIS YOUR VIFE??”

“Yes,” replied MB.

“GUD. GUD. AMERICA, MAN VERK, WOMAN VERK. RUSSIA, NO ONE VERK!! POISHYBLENKO NUVAKOVNIK!”

“Okay.”

“CHUCHNOBLADA YAGUDIN POTEMKIN!!”

“Okay. Well, thanks for coming in.”

“AMERICA BAD!! RUSSIA BAD!! SHALIMOVA POPSYPUNIK!!”

“Great! Have a good day!”

And off he went, floppy-armed ranting his way down the street.

-image-I loves me my roger!

Roger Ebert — my favorite movie critic of all time — made his first public appearance since cancer surgery. SO glad just to actually SEE him. I didn’t know, though, that he’d had part of his jaw removed and was unable to talk. I read he’s having more surgery to enable him to speak again.

Roger! Please get better soon! I know you’re still writing, reviewing, thank God, but I’m not ready yet for a world without your voice. I just love to hear you TALK about movies, hear the passion, hear just how darn smart you are about the whole topic.

I will happily procure you a voice box donor from any number of Boheme customers. Email me!

And, please, get better!

April 25, 2007

-image-list

I stumbled across these words and phrases scratched as a weird list in my notebook, waiting, I guess, to be fleshed into something else. I just kind of free associated when I wrote them, as I remember. Anyway, I decided to post them as-is.

ice packs
neck
back
everywhere
healing magnets
masking tape
egg crate mattress
flopped on floor
wigs too blonde
bottles of pills
growing
growing
your glowing pain
red
yellow
constant
stained stale air
red planet
don’t breathe
burnt orange and
hot
beggared light of life

April 24, 2007

-image-“scribbling and bibbling”

American Idol Scribblings:

Simon Cowell is not wearing a tight black T-shirt? A white shirt unbuttoned a bit to show chest hair? And his arm casually draped around Poorla’s chair? So …. so … what … what does this mean?

LaKisha — Why so angrrrry all the time? Ugh. Don’t like you. Booo-bye.

Blake — Your eyes are dead. Like a shark’s. Deaddeaddead.

Nosferatu — You continue to horrify. Back to zombie town, please. Booo-bye.

Melinda — Watch out for Jordin. She could snatch this out from under you.

Yoyoyo! I worked very hard on this post. Show it some love, dawg. I did my thang.

April 23, 2007

-image-potty mouth

I got the idea for the questionnaire below when the girl in the restroom stall next to me was jabbering loudly on her cell phone — in the moment. The tinkly little moment. Over the sound of the tinkly little moment. This seemed kinda … weird to me. I felt weird. I lost my concentration. I fretted and continue to fret: I mean, is that what people do now? Am I behind on yet another 21st century development? I don’t have cable. I don’t play video games. I only recently got a cell phone. And I don’t even know how to access my voice mail, so I certainly lack the requisite preparedness to use the stupid cell phone whilst indisposed. But now that I have a cell phone, is this expected of me? De rigeur? I’m confused. And frankly, scared.

So I have to know. I must know many things about your personal p*otty stuff that you don’t want to share. Too bad. Grow up. This is serious p*otty.

Sooo … Ready? Here we go.

Tracey’s Serious P*otty Survey:

1) So DO you talk on your cell phone whist indisposed in a public restroom? Not before, not after. In flagrante delicto.

2) In an empty public restroom, do you take the first available stall/urinal or make sure there’s space between you and any potential restroom interloper?

3) T/F: Automatic flushing toilets are scary.

4) Tell me the truth: I worry that the sensor thingie on those automatic flushing toilets is really a camera taking secret pictures of me.

5) Women: Sit or Hover? Well, men you can answer this too. Don’t be shy or anything.

6) T/F: Tissue paper seat covers don’t protect you from anything.

7) Women: Wait to start your process until someone flushes, giving you “cover”?

8) Talk to strangers in the restroom?

9) Talk to strangers in the restroom whilst indisposed?

10) There is no toilet paper. So I use__________________.

11) Is it just me, or do those tissue paper seat covers NEVER flush properly?

12) There is no soap. So I_____________________________.

13) Women, T/F: I have used the men’s room when the wait for the ladies’ room was too long.

14) Women: Are you familiar with p*ee cakes? If yes, please describe one without help from a man.

15) Men: Are you supposed to aim at the p*ee cake or ignore it? Please enlighten.

16) T/F: If the counter is wet, I always wipe it up.

17) T/F: I won’t use a toilet if the toilet is clean, but the toilet seat cover tissue is floating shredded in the bowl.

18) I will hold it in altogether if the person coming out of the stall looks even slightly mangy or feral. (Good to see I have not editorialized with this questionnaire)

19) I prefer:

A) The old-style faucets that I turn on/off.
B) The new-fangled motion detector dealios.

20) Moms, I will take into the ladies’ room with me:

A) My daughter
B) My son
C) Both

21) Dads, I will take into the men’s room with me:

A) My daughter
B) My son
C) Both

22) Women: Adjust your makeup in the mirror?

23) Men: Adjust your makeup in the mirror?

24) T/F: I touch the door knob with my bare hand when leaving the restroom.

25) If F, what do you use to open the door?

Thank you for taking Tracey’s Serious P*otty Survey!
.

April 22, 2007

-image-seattle photo nostalgia

Gasworks Park, Seattle, near my good ol’ alma mater. One of the places where I spent quality liplock time with Fiance #1, McMoony, the dumb glue-faced boy I thought I loved.

One night, I tiptoed back into my dorm after an entirely adequate pawing in the back seat of his vintage Mustang parked under the lights at Gasworks. Stopping off in the bathroom, I glimpsed myself in the mirror and gasped: There was literally a ring, a red swollen ring, circling ’round my stupid little lips, a lingering love contusion from McMoony, I guess, that made me look like I’d spent the whole night sucking a Mason jar to my face. He was not long on technique or artistry, that McMoony, but his car was really cool.

Which has nothing to do with this picture for you, I suppose. But it did make me think of that and what a lucky girl I am now.

Look at the whole War of the Worlds menace of this photo. I love it.

Ah, the thrill of the urgent makeout session in the face of crushing alien invasion.

gasworks.jpg

April 21, 2007

-image-kukla, fran, and — huh??

DUDE: Hi, my name is Don? I’m from the San Diego Puppet Insurgency?

SELF: (What?)

DUDE: And, uhm, we’re all so pissed off about what happened between Starbucks and Diedrich’s and we’d like to do a street theatre about it?

SELF: (What??)

DUDE: Like, the idea — well, it’s my wife’s idea, really — is that we’d have, like, these babushka dolls — you know the kind where they keep getting smaller? — and then, well, one would be Starbucks and then the little ones would be … uhm … uhm, well Diedrich’s, I think — no, maybe they’re more Starbucks and —

SELF: (What???)

DUDE: — and, then we’d open them up and stuff, see? And, uhm … yeah. So, whaddya think?

SELF: (Seriously. WHAT???)

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