the sloppy copy

(originally written 11.15.09)
I was tired this morning. Real tired. I worked late last night, came home, popped two Advil PMs to settle my achy legs (why is it that just standing and walking for six hours is more tiresome than, say, running? I should have paid more attention in physiology), and proceeded to watch TV with my eyes closed. When I woke up this morning at 8:30 still exhausted, I remembered that I usually only take one Advil PM and thus, I still felt like I my brain was wading through pudding.

Anyway, fast-forward to about 11:30, and I’m still dead on my feet. PJs still on, I crawl back into bed and turn on the television. Football, football, Degrassi, quilting show, football, and… then… I stumbled onto this.

Go ahead, click on the link. I’ll be here.












So? What did you think?
Yeah, that’s what I thought. I was sucked in, too.

I’d not heard of Rogue Wave before watching this, and have not been converted into an avid fan since, but as I became enveloped in their story I became aware of other things – things completely unrelated to D-Tour, but still somehow neurally entangled in my brain.

Many, many years ago, I envisioned a documentary about a nearby town and its struggle to keep open a profitable factory. This town won that particular war, only to lose a bigger one later. The story unfolded so gracefully before me that I couldn’t imagine not documenting it. But I was “just” a high school student with a “lack” of resources, and the idea eventually faded away.

Until yesterday, when it popped up again in my conscious mind.

I first heard this song in Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown (and subsequently always mashed it up with “It’s Been a Long, Long Time,” as it’s heard in the movie).

Ahem. Anyway, here’s today’s SOTD:
“Sentimental Journey” / Doris Day

And, for those in need of full context…
A clip from one of my favoritest movies everrrr

Dear Michael Ian Black,
Just wanted to say thanks, bud, for writing such a stellar work of nonsense punctuated by ingenious bursts of inanity, topped by a heaping helping of oh-holy-shit-my-sides-hurt-from-laughing-so-hard-no-really-I-can’t-breathe-I-think-I’m-dying-please-call-9-1–…

I bought this book used, for about what it cost to print it, so I know you probably made no money off of my purchase, but don’t mistake my cheapness for a lack of enthusiasm for your written word.

In fact, I purchased the book in September, and finished reading it about a week later. I’m just now getting around to writing a review because it [the book, not the month of September, though it had its share of highlights as well] was just so flippin’ fantastic that my brain experienced multiple Literary Orgasms [the attending physician in the ER called it brain damage caused by prolonged use of PCP — details, details!] and am just now recovering! [at a top-tier neurological rehabilitation facility].

My point is, when I wasn’t tweaked out on sherm, I found your work to be just exceptional. And inspirational! When I’m released from prison [I should be transferred from the rehab hospital in about 4-6 weeks] [and also, that playground I plowed into with my car while flying high on angel dust was NOT THERE the day before, Isweartogod!] I plan to get me a van, customized to your exact specifications [even the fudge drawer!] and park in the CostCo parking lot [they tell me my license has been revoked] and just wait for the hotties to roll my way.

Thanks in advance for helping me to score some intense back-seat lovemaking.

yours truly,
julie

p.s. You don’t know a place near Rochester where one could purchase a little supergrass, do you? Just kidding, just kidding. But no. Really. Anywhere?

“It’s my birthday next Tuesday,” Dad said last week.
“No it’s not,” said my Mom – indignant and confused.
“The Marine Corps birthday! November 10, 1775!” he explained.

And she knew, and I knew, that Tuesday would be his birthday. Because the day that one joins the armed forces – isn’t that the day you start over, become someone else – someone new?

Happy Birthday, United States Marine Corps.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the Shores of Tripoli;
We fight our country’s battles
In the air, on land and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
of United States Marine.

Our flag’s unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in ev’ry clime and place
Where we could take a gun;
In the snow of far-off Northern lands
And in sunny tropic scenes;
You will find us always on the job–
The United States Marines.
Here’s health to you and to our Corps
Which we are proud to serve
In many a strife we’ve fought for life
And never lost our nerve;
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven’s scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines.

I lingered in the Beer Aisle of my local chain grocery store this afternoon, seeking something delicious and interesting to hone the Beer Palate I’m trying to develop. As I mulled over 6-packs of local microbrews and offerings of larger, full-fledged breweries, I passed a couple filling their cart (“buggy” for my Southern readers), half-dozen by half-dozen. Their conversation went something like this:

Woman: How about Red Stripe? Who likes Red Stripe?
Man: Oh, Sam’ll drink Red Stripe.
W: Get some Bud Light for Terri.
M: Yeah, good idea. Who likes Blue Moon? Is that Steve?
W: Yeah, Steve drinks Blue Moon. I think Pam likes Corona. Or is it Corona Light?
M: I think she likes just regular Corona.
W: Oh–yes, you’re right. Jen likes Corona Light.
M: Good call. How about Leinenkugel’s? Didn’t Mike like Leinenkugel’s?

It continued like this awhile longer; by the time I walked away with my Schlafly Sampler, quite the selection was clinking away in their cart.

Perhaps this couple was throwing a party, or maybe just restocking a beer fridge so as to have a generous selection always waiting for their friends. Either way, the entire exchange struck me as just plain awesome. I hope to one day be able to stock my home with all of my friends’ favorite beverages-alcoholic or otherwise. To me, that’s just the epitome of welcoming and hospitality.

My house wasn’t really like that when I was growing up, but when I struck out on my own, I quickly realized that one of my most favoritest feelings in the whole wide world was having friends over, especially just to drop by and hang out. I hope to have “that” place again – where people feel welcome making themselves at home, where a cold beer with their name on it is always waiting for them.

Basically, I dream of having the apartment version of Cheers.

If I had to list the top ten things that I dislike about wearing glasses, well, I probably wouldn’t. But if I had to, it would probably look something like this:

Glasses are an indicator of poor eyesight, and if that poor eyesight comes in the form of nearsightedness (as it does for the majority of people, I think), it means having to bring things closer to your face to see them properly. Sometimes those things do not smell good.

They (they who?) say that when one sense is diminished, others become more acute as a sort of Sensory Compensation Plan. For me, this means I have a pretty keen sense of smell. I’m able to distinguish the composition and origination of a variety of scents. Strong smells smell even stronger to me.

[Side note: I very nearly passed out this afternoon while checking to see if I had, indeed, removed all of the clear polish from my fingernails. I’ll also add that I was using 100% acetone as remover.]

When one wears glasses, they are sometimes required to take them off to facilitate access to one’s own eyes, i.e. in the administration of eye drops or application of makeup. Cruelly enough, both of these activities have better outcomes when performed with initial precision – a precision that is best achieved through the aid of clear vision. Still don’t get my point? Allow me to illustrate: I cannot put drops in my eyes without wasting at least 3 or 4 drops to other parts of my face (or running down my cheek). I also must lean very closely to the mirror when applying makeup (I’ve been known to leave mascara-marks in my wake). Even then, to try anything other than my normal beauty routine generally yields something I like to refer to as The Buck-Fifty-Hooker Look.

I will count that point as two.

While on the topic of beauty and fashion, let me add that I long for the day when the Dwayne Wayne-style clip-on sunglasses come back in style – not because I don’t want to look silly if I were to go out in public sporting a pair, but because they don’t freaking sell them anywhere anymore.

Also, prescription sunglasses are expensive. Also-also, I don’t do enough work in the jungle to warrant a pair of Transitions Lenses (even though I will always – for no discernible reason – associate them with your everyday pothead and not the exotic-animal photographers in their commercials).

What number am I up to now? Seven? Twelve?

I think that you get my drift: there’s more than one downer in the life of your average Full-Time Glasses Wearer. Even though some of us may end up going to work with Mimi Bobeck eyeshadow from time to time, or be forced to occasionally drive with one hand shading our forehead as if we are Michael rowing our boat to shore (Land-ho!), we at least have one thing going for us:

We don’t have to stick our fingers in our own eyes every day. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

So if my cousin has a baby, how is that baby related to me? In my head, I call them “nieces” and “nephews,” though I know that’s not accurate. Out loud, I say “my cousins’ kids” so that others don’t think that my 20-year-old brother is a baby daddy.

Are they second cousins? Cousins once removed?

I don’t actually care. All I know is that they are adorable, and I have another one as of late last night/ early this morning. Her name is Gianna, Gia for short, and I cannot wait to meet her.

I’ve listened to this song at least a hundred times (or more) but I realized today that I’d never looked up the lyrics. Sometimes when this happens I experience some sort of religious epiphany: Oh my god, it’s like this person watched me and then wrote this song. This was not one of those cases, but it’s still a good song, regardless.

“Evaporated” / Ben Folds Five
(Whatever and Ever Amen, 1997)
What I’ve kept with me
and what I’ve thrown away
don’t know where the hell I’ve ended up
on this glary, random day
Were the things I really cared about
just left along the way
for being too pent up and proud

woke up way too late
feeling hung over and old
and the sun was shining bright
and I walked barefoot
down the road
started thinking about
my old man
it seems that all men
wanna get into a car and go
anywhere

CHORUS
here I stand – sad and free
I can’t cry and I can’t see
what I’ve done
God. . .what have I done

don’t you know I’m numb, man
no I can’t feel a thing at all
’cause it’s all smiles and business
these days
and I’m indifferent to the loss
I’ve faith that there’s a soul somewhere
who’s leading me around
I wonder if she knows
which way is down. . . [on demo: which way is up and which is down. . .]

CHORUS

I poured my heart out
I poured my heart out
it evaporated. . .see?

Blind man on a canyon’s edge
of a panoramic scene
or maybe I’m a kite
that’s flying high and random
dangling a string
Or slumped over in a vacant room
head on a stranger’s knee
I’m sure back home
they think I’ve lost my mind.