the sloppy copy

Not sure anyone else can make that phrase seem so… whimsical.

“F**k you” / Cee-Lo Green (2010)

First, thank you to Carynn for inspiring me to write about how awesome Valentine’s Day really is.

Of all of the Valentine’s Days I’ve had in my entire life, I picked yesterday to realize how much I truly love the day. I mean, I can understand the argument that it’s an overcommercialized, made-up holiday, but seriously: who doesn’t like receiving gifts? Or giving them, for that matter?

I’m not just talking expensive jewelry or roses or candy (though, hey, I’ve never complained about receiving any of these things…except the “expensive” jewelry part because I’m not that’s ever happened) – it’s truly the thought that counts. I know, I know. Cliche alert. Even just having someone tell me (without prompting) “Happy Valentine’s Day!” warms my heart.

What a mush-ball I am.

Anyway, just wanted to share stories about two of my most memorable Valentine’s Days (V-Day, for short. Man, that word takes forever to type!):

Basketball and candy:
When I was younger, my parents (Dad, mostly) made a big deal out of V-Day. My mom and I always got flowers or candy or some little trinket, and my brother got something as well. I always looked forward to the day.
One year, when I was still in grade school (my best guest is sixth grade), Dad presented Brother and I with the most super-awesome gifts we’d ever received (or so we thought). After we got home from school, buzzed on all the candy we’d gotten and hyper from carefully reading through and arranging all of our classroom valentines, we opened our cards from Dad – I mean, Mom and Dad – and oh-so-helpfully agreed to “taste test” from the box of chocolates that Mom had received. A great, happy day already. But what was this?

Took me forever to find it on Google, but this is my Brother's hat! So gaudy. So awesome.

Presents? Boo-ya! And not just any presents: these were the Granddaddies of Them All… we were each presented with a hat. Not just any hat, mind you: these were brand-spanking new baseball caps, each bearing one of the logos of upcoming NBA expansion teams. My brother’s Vancouver Grizzlies hat and my Toronto Raptors lid were, in retrospect, the gaudiest things anyone has ever worn on their heads, but to us they were the shit. Were we huge NBA fans? Not particularly, but these were brand new teams and for some reason, this made them Extremely Novel to us, and my Dad just understood that.

Did the awesomeness end there? Oh, no, it didn’t. After marvelling over our treasures, we loaded up into the car and went to see a local college basketball game. Oh, girl: talk about excitement. Candy and cards and hats and popcorn and soda and seeing the closest thing we had to pro basketball in one day? Priceless.

Mystery man:

Imagine walking down the sidewalk (at left) next to this creepy, old concrete building and hearing running footsteps behind you. Don't tell me your hand wouldn't be on your Mace.

Fast forward many years: I am in graduate school, leaving my assistantship to walk across campus to my internship. It’s probably around 5:00 or so, and things are pretty deserted. I pass by a stand selling single roses as a fundraiser for some school club. As I spy the table, I think to myself “Why not?” and get some money out to buy myself a rose. As I approach, I hear the sales-kid talking; he’s telling another guy who slightly beat me to the table that this is the last rose. The guy buying the last rose, sees me, and says “Oh, I’m so sorry!” “No problem,” I answer, because I am in a good mood (surely I had ingested some Valentine’s candy already). I put my money away and continue my walk across campus.

As I walk (remember, campus is very quiet this time of day), I hear running footsteps behind me. I walk quicker, because it doesn’t sound like the rhythmic just-going-for-a-run kind of steps. As they get closer, I turn around, ready to deliver a swift crotch-kick to the person who so obviously wants to attack me in broad daylight.

But it’s the guy! The guy who bought the last rose! “Here,” he says, handing it to me.

Oh my gosh! What do I say? I spit out some “thank you so much! thank you! oh my gosh!” kind of sentences, and he turns and walks the other way. I am on Cloud Nineteen, once again a big ball of mush and love.

What a fucking awesome day that was.

THIS IS MY SONG FOR THE WEEKEND.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTT2LEyjdC4

“Some Beach” / Blake Shelton (2004)

Oh, so I took a super exclusive text to be on Jeopardy! tonight. It was freakin’ awesome.

What are you looking at, you smug bah-stad?

And when I say “awesome” I mean “freakin’ hard.” I mean, seriously? I’m expected to remember who George Wallace is? (For the record “Gary Sinise played him in the movie” is probably not an acceptable response).

Anyway, watch for me on television in the next week or so. Or so. Or so.

HOW HAS THIS NOT BEEN A SONG OF THE DAY YET? I AM SO SORRY.
You should probably listen twice, just to make up for it.

“Black Betty” / Ram Jam (1977)

So stinkin’ catchy.

“Darling Do Not Fear” / Brett Dennen (2006)

Today I:
a) Bought polka-dotted galoshes.
b) Bought sock monkey slippers.
c) Bought a barrette for my hair that I think was only intended for use by children under the age of seven.
d) Went to a drive-through car wash and marvelled at the wipey-thingies gently washing the snow-gunk off the car.

I’m a grown-ass woman, yes. But what the heck does that even mean? Am I too old for polka-dotted galoshes? I certainly hope not. Do I look silly with sock monkeys on my feet? It does not matter, because I do not care.

My wish for humanity is this: May you never be too old to appreciate the wonder of the car wash.

Sing it, Gary.

“New Orleans” / Gary “U.S.” Bonds (1962)

My brother and I have to go to Dallas, so we look up flights online. The flight we need is sold out, but what’s this small print at the bottom of the page?

For free, we can ride outside the plane.

Brother and I look at each other: “Sure, why not?” we say.

Arrive at the airport, and Pilot or Flight Attendant directs us where to sit: at the back of the aircraft, there’s a little tail-fin-sticky-up-thing with sort-of-flat-ish space on either side. No restraints, belts or harnesses. Just a slick little patch of metal. This is where we will be.

Brother and I hop on up and sit down. Part of the landing gear is underneath us, giving us a place to rest our feet. So far, so good.

The plane starts to taxi down the runway. Faster. Faster. Faster… and then: We’re up.

Approximately 24″ in to the air, we panic. What the fuck were we thinking?!

A rough sketch depicting a) our seating arrangements and b) our unbridled terror

We wrap our arms around the tail-fin-thing, holding onto each other for dear life. Higher and higher we go, until…

Up goes the landing gear, and suddenly, our feet are dangling free.

For those of you who are just the least bit afraid of heights, imagine that rush of panic you feel when you get too close to the edge of those random cut-out atrium overlook things in the shopping mall and (if you’re particularly bold) slightly lean over. Multiply that feeling times six thousand, and you will experience what I felt I was experiencing in this dream.

So here we are, holding on for dear life. Nothing – NOTHING – is keeping us tethered to the aircraft in any way.

Ho – lee shit.

Just when we think things cannot possibly get any worse, I drop my coffee mug.
Julie, where’d you get a coffee mug?
Don’t worry about it.

I also drop my blankie – the same blanket I’ve had since I was about 3 years old.
Julie, why the fuck did you have your blankie?
I SAID don’t worry about it.

As I look down to watch coffee cup y Blankie fall back to Earth (yes, I could see the entire Earth. Apparently we hitched a ride on the space shuttle?) the unthinkable happens…

My glasses fall off my face.

A new rush of panic ensues, because my backup pair of glasses –
Seriously – a backup pair of glasses? What the hell?
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.

– my backup pair of glasses do not fit my noggin properly and I must LET GO OF ONE OF MY BROTHER’S HANDS TO HOLD THEM IN PLACE ON MY HEAD

Oh, the humanity.

So there we are, both of my brother’s hands clasped tightly on my arm as I hold my hand up to my back up glasses. We seem to be flying higher and higher and higher into the atmosphere when suddenly, we hear a voice: it is the captain speaking, and he is starting our descent into Dallas. Apparently this aircraft is equipped with outside speakers for those wanting to fly for free (Note: we were the only ones flying in this fashion on this particular flight).

We land without incident, joyously hop off the back of the plane once we’ve stopped, and rush to meet our parents, who are camped out (literally: camp chairs, coolers, tents, etc;) with a hoard of other people at the edge of the tarmac.

“How was your flight? Was it scary?” asks Mom, who is aware, yet unconcerned, that her only two children were willing to risk their lives just to save money.
“It was horrible! We’re never doing that again! I lost my glasses! And my coffee cup!” is my reply.
“Oh, I have plenty of coffee cups at home,” she says, ever comforting.

And then I woke up.

Wait for the lyrics… Oh just kidding. There aren’t any.

“Loud Pipes” / Ratatat (2006)