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Wednesday, November 11, 2009

gripes stripes

I remember 8th grade vocabulary learning. It was very, what's the word I'm thinking of.....helpful. Very helpful for learning words. Seriously, dumb joke above aside, learning new words is good times.
I remember learning the word querulous. The definition - given to fault finding and complaining. I remember thinking it might be hard to think of a good use for that word - hard to fit naturally in a sentence.

Today I have been nothing but querulous.

In 8th grade, i couldn't even think of a situation in which that word would be useful, much less a person I knew who I would qualify as querulous, other than several sitcom characters. And here I am embodying it - all day, all night.

Does anyone else sometimes think the bits on the Daily Show might have a whiff of the classist about them? Not all the time. Just sometimes. Like primarily when they visit the South.
Which I find funnyish because Stephen Colbert cites the cultural stereotype of Southern accents being equated with stupidity as the reason he does not have a Southern accent. I know, he has his own show now.

Anyway...
Can I take a moment to communicate my support for the idea of Pirate Radio? And I do not mean the story of the about to be released radio station on a boat to cut through censorship inspired by true events Focus Features film with Philip Seymor Hoffman and many pleasurable British actors that seems to be getting a lot of advertising time on the forms of media i consume in a given day. I mean actual radio stations run by pirates. WKRRRRRRP? npRRRRRRR? If I could get Steve Innskeep to remain calm while describing a pirate takeover of his work station, I'd like it. Or a Fresh Air segment wherein pirates describe salty sea air, or actually read news items and conduct interviews, I'd like it. Like, a pirate saying, in all seriousness and with full NPR decorum, "And now we turn to our Washington correspaawwwndent, Nina Totenberg, for more on the story, yarr." I would listen. I would friggin' pledge during the pledge drives if NPR were to be taken over by pirates during those pledge drives. Hey! Marketing idea! Get pirates to demand ransom for the safe return of public radio. I gurantee you'd get more funding than you do promising a 1% discount at specific chiropractors' offices in the city, or tickets to some indie rock shows. I'd also enjoy a pirate deejay discussing his favorite deep cuts. Would that be on flesh? Or on records? Only the pirate could tell. And I would listen. I can't even choose the format I'd like best for these deejays! Most! Let's say that. All pirate or partial pirate, I am pretty sure I'd add that channel to my presets. In my carrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!



Sunday, November 8, 2009

To Continue - the Shift

When I was young and my heart was an open book, I used to say live and let live. And occasionally I would write something.

There is a crusty residue in the crockpot that is surely of my own making. I have left this in the sink without soaking. A mess.

I would say that, lately, shiftless would be an apt descriptor for me. But tonight at least, I will be using the shift key. Words will be capitalized. The story, long-neglected, will be continued – as promised in the June 25th crockpot installment.

To truly get to the heart of the matter, we must visit the 25th installment of the crockpot, and then the 46th, where Prince leveled a challenge to Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson by means of sequins, purple, Easter eggs, and a hologram.

It is Easter Eve in the mansion of Sir Paul McCartney. Paul has just returned from a covert Cadbury mission to buy MJ surprise Easter candy to find Michael at the kitchen table, holding the more covert work of Prince in his hands. The hologram inside the Easter eggs in question has revealed that the next day, Easter, will be the day when Prince, per the specifications of his Jeopardy! victory against Sir Paul, will challenge Paul to a game of his choosing. Paul takes the news fairly well, coping by means of bacon. For his part, Michael is excited, as a visit from Prince may mean he will get to spend time with Bruce, the surgeon keyboardist from Prince’s Revolution. Paul, having finished his lentils with bacon unsatisfied, has just asked his chef for a BLT. Michael, who is dyeing several free-range Easter eggs, asks to join in the meal.


MJ: Paul, can I have a BLT too?

Paul: Certainly, Michael. I love BLTs. Why wouldn’t you feel the same?

MJ: I want to love you – BLT – bacon lettuce thing! HEeeee heee!

Paul: You said it.

MJ: Paul, are you nervous about tomorrow? What do you think Prince is going to make you play? Lead guitar?


Paul: Hm. I’m a little nervous, yes, primarily because I have no idea what Prince has up his sleeve. There’s a lot of room in those ruffles. I just hope it’s not a contact sport. Prince is fast. And surprisingly strong for his size. I wouldn’t be surprised if “Raspberry Beret” was actually an ode to his drill sergeant. Ha ha!

MJ: You mean like your Sergeant Pepper song? Hey, is Sergeant Pepper related to Dr. Pepper? Do those two guys know each other?

Paul: (sighing) Of course, Michael. But Dr. Pepper is a woman! Don’t forget women can be doctors too.

MJ: Right! And egg donors! And Diana Rosses!

Paul: Right. Hey, lemme dunk one of those eggs. It is almost Easter after all.

MJ: You are the egg man!

Paul: (touched) Very good, Michael! Very good..

MJ: So what are you going to do to get ready for the game? Do you want to practice with a game of Battleship? Or Chutes and Ladders? Or Beatles Rock Band?

Paul: No, thanks. Heather and Yoko get all the money from that anyway. I think I’ll just live and let dye. Now eat your sandwich, Michael.

MJ: Ba-con! Sha’mon!

Paul and Michael contentedly eat their sandwiches, worry-free for the moment, as Easter promises new beginnings, miracles of the impossible for believers of all kinds, and, quite possibly, chocolate. The mansion hums quietly – a fire crackles, spoons clink gently against china as they turn eggs upside down in bowls of dye – the eggs turning submarine yellow, apple green, and Beat It t-shirt turquoise. Outside a breeze blows. Clouds from the west move too quickly to be explained by nature alone. Somewhere in the distance, a dove cries.