I'm a jelly do-nut

I saw the “Do-re-mi train station” video. I started to cry uncontrollably. I am such a puss.

Lord I gots the vapours

I had a most unusual (for me) experience yesterday at work.
The track drapes in the front room were mussed and the folk asked me to try to fix that. So I got up and took a look, and determined that the hooks on two of the folds were out of the little plastic part of the track. Incidentally I absolutely HATE those kind of curtains. Why oh why do we need to make something as simple as a piece of fabric mechanical? You will never find those in any house I live in, ever!

Anyway, I had to go behind the curtains to try to fix that. That’s when I realized I was dizzy with the kind of dizziness one gets occasionally from standing up too fast. I was talking it through, that I felt dizzy, that I was going to wait a second, then I would reach up again, get dizzy again, all the while still talking about what I was experiencing.

Suddenly I heard a whooshing noise, then a loud a loud clunk, only realizing when my head started to hurt that it had been my head hitting the floor. I was really confused as to how the floor had reached up and smacked me in the head. I sat up and I seemed trapped in some weird cave of white light, white walls and white curtains. I was trying to fight my way out of miles of unending dusty curtains. I was quite disoriented.

I finally got disentangled. I could see the nice, normal, living room. But man did I feel surreal. Poor Mrs. Folk was pretty wigged out. She has pretty severe verbal difficulty due to Alzheimer's so she was having a lot of trouble expressing her discomfiture. Old Mr. Folk seemed to take it pretty philosophically however. Eventually we laughed and laughed, Mrs. Folk and I. Probably because it made her extremely nervous, and aside from the surreal feeling I continued to have for a couple hours, I was really terribly embarrassed. So what to do but laugh?.

I find it odd that embarrassment was the overweening sensation. How could one possibly find anything embarrassing about something as unexpected and uncontrolled as fainting? But that is exactly what I felt, kind of stupid, clumsy, and idiotic. Embarrassment, what a strange, social construct. In retrospect I realize that I spend an awful lot of time either feeling or reliving it. And I hear it’s even worse in some other cultures. I sure wish there was a pill for that.

The influence of confluence

Here’s two examples, one minor but interesting, the other terrific and fabulous.
Yesterday after posting my earworms, I was watching a western, there was a scene of a church raising and surprise, the congregation was singing “Shall We Gather At The River”. Mmmm hmmm.

The other needs a little background.
This year I sent out precisely twelve Xmas cards. I never, ever, send out Xmas cards. But I was given a packet of them as a gift, and on my way to throwing them in a drawer where they would have mouldered for twenty-five years I thought,
“ well that’s just stupid, I’ll just send them out and be done with it, besides they came in a kinda cool box I can use for some baked good Xmas gift.”
So I picked 12 people who either send me cards every year and I never reciprocate, or whom I don’t stay in touch with by mail because I have these really weird issues with mail. I can’t deal with it. I just hate it as much as phone. This sometimes bleeds through here as well, as you have probably noticed. I just have this periodic, temporary paralysis. (I don’t know the plural of paralysis).

Anyway, one of the people I sent one to is my old pal, oh, let’s call him, Quakey McAspen. I had given up on him well over ten years ago when it seemed apparent he had either decided he hated me, or his woman hated me and often that equals the same thing. Nonetheless I had a wish that somehow we could reconnect. He was such a completely quirky freak of nature. You just don’t meet those often and losing one is a real loss. I really missed him.

Last night, just as I was settling in to watch Coronation Street, the phone rang. I didn’t budge from the chair as everyone who knows me knows that you don’t call me between seven and seven thirty on a weeknight or between seven thirty and ten on a Sunday morning. I did, however, cock an ear at the machine. Lo and behold it is Quakey McAspen himself. I flew to the phone, we started yammering and the next thing I knew it was well over an hour later. We were finally wrapping up and making dinner plans when I said;
“so you saw in the card that I got a jenky little degree and...”
“Card? what card?”
“The Xmas card I sent you, isn’t that why you called?”
“You know Stella I have this weird thing about mail, I can’t deal with it, I never look at it, I never saw any Xmas card. I just missed you.”
Mmmm Hmmm.

Clap your hands if you believe

As I'm listening to the ubiquitous news about the latest plane crash, and everyone is going on about the ferries did this and the ferries did that, I'm hearing it like this:

“All of the fairies that are always on the Hudson were first to the rescue and the fairies did a tremendous job of saving the day.”

“Everybody got problems buddy, I got mine”

I woke up at about 4am (to pee I suppose). When I went back to bed I looked out the window and the whole sky was lit up in pale orange. I’m supposing it was the almost full moon through water vapour overcast. But it was simply divine. And eerie.
I really miss staying up all night and wish I still could. Much like when I was a toddler I resent having to sleep and try to do it as little as possible. I try to stick at no more than 7 hours. I prefer 6. It’s a conflict because I am so in love with my dreams. I dream lots and very vividly. It’s like surrealist movies all night every night. I spent the ages of 11 to 13 sleeping 14 hours a day because my dreams were so much more compelling than (alleged) reality.

I really miss being a creature of the night. Watching the sky revolve, the stars wheeling through their cycle, seeing moonrise and moonset. All the magical, slithery changes things undergo when shadow and light play over them. And those completely unexpected and rare events like purple rain or pale orange snow. That first tinge of dawn which relaxes the primitive watcher at the back of the brain. The gorgeous fears of the darkness. The idea that anything, anything at all could be out there just outside of your field of vision.
“I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear my trousers rolled”

Tis the season

For an awful lot of family friendly television. While I know this is a day late and a dollar short, as they rerun a bunch of “family classics”, here are my thoughts on one.
As much as I adore you Johnny Depp (and that is fairly embarrassing, as I don’t generally play the celebrity game), this time you fail. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory completely bites. Because I may love you, but you know who I love more? Both Roald Dahl and Gene Wilder.
And by the way,
There is no need to edit out the drug references from Willy Wonka, (Family Channel). I saw this, in the theater, at age 7 and did not jump from the mast of any tre jolie boats into a chocolate river and die because I thought I could fly.

AM earworms

Friday - The Zoom Theme Song
Saturday - Channel Z -The B-52’s
Sunday - Shambala - Three Dog Night
Monday - (e.g.) E.G.O. - The Grantchester Question

In case you’re not familiar with it, The Zoom Theme Song goes like this-

Come on and Zoom, Zoom, Zoom -a - Zoom
Come on and Zoom-a, Zoom-a, Zoom-a, Zoom
Everybody’s doin’ it everybody’s groovin’ it
Everybody’s having ball, ya’ll

Come on and Zoom, Zoom, Zoom -a - Zoom
Come on and Zoom-a, Zoom-a, Zoom-a, Zoom
Come on give it a try
We’re gonna show you just why
We’re - a - gonna teach you to fly, HIGH.

Come on and zo-oom
Come on and zoom, zoom
Come on and zo-oom
Come on and zoom, zoom

Between stuff like that, and Sid & Marty Krofft, and the Banana Splits, and all the other backwards trippingness that was piped into my brain between infant hood and 20, why was anyone surprised that I grew up to be a squid?

As well as, what is up with the Tree Dog Night potion of my brain suddenly becoming all active? That could have cheerfully just stayed dormant.....

Whoa Nelly

I am not afraid of porn. I’m not particularly interested in it either.
I just read a filthy, filthy, book. And not filthy in a good way like Nitro von Borax’s “Pigglyland”. My cup of tea is like, looking at pictures of emo boys kissing or reading some mild erotica. Nothing too taxing or graphic. Having read “The Happy Hooker” when I was 10, then having lived the life I have, I am just too jaded to be thrilled by the hardcore.
When I picked up this particular novel that came with a load of books primarily comprised of self-help, christian mysticism, get rich schemes, vitamin bibles, and computer language manuals from Oliver's fathers estate I expected the male version of a bodice buster. Perhaps I might have a mild frisson', eh?

It says on the back cover “Mother’s Three Daughters" is one of the most famous works of fiction of the early twentieth century, thought to be the work of French novelist Pierre Louys, (I can’t find the umlaut anywhere, it should be over the Y), the author of “Aphrodite”.
It goes on to summarize the plot and then quotes Wayland Young saying
“ A notable modern novel written out of a perverse compulsion.... This is one of the largest and most real presentations of the whore-charachter in European fiction.”
If only that had meant something to me at the time!

The cover art did nothing to warn me either. As usual you just can’t take the era out of the girl. The three models in the photo are so definitively from the late 60’s, early 70’s. No amount of faked up, turn of the century, chemises and pantaloons could ever convince anyone otherwise. As well as so clearly not being 10, 14 and 20 years old like the prostitutes in the story. Oh, did I not mention that two of the prostitutes were under 15? The most sadistic and jaded one being the 10 year old? Anne Rice’s weak attempts at a titillating baby vampiress has NOTHING on this.

I will never, ever, think of the victorians and post vicky’s the same way again. Corphragy, sadism, incest, anal, bestiality and really, really, naughty, potty mouths. This so totally explains why generations all around that era were so completely conflicted. And here I was wondering what the hell was going on with Japanese porn lately, what I thought was a “sudden and new” obsession with corphragy, it turns out is just another turn of the wheel.

I am way out of my league with this one, I think a couple months strict diet of children's books is needed to put my digestion back in order.

(Did I mention the male narrator is a royal asshole?)

AM Earworms

Hungry Freaks Daddy (again), & Willie The Pimp - Frank Zappa

What’s the dealio? Is it FZ’s birthday or something? Because he’s been “on the screen” quite a bit lately.

One of my life dreams had been to sing with/ for FZ. When he died, so did that. But then I had an actual dream very shortly after, I think within a few days of his death. He came to see me at the tattoo studio. And we had this great conversation, him sitting in the green chair next to the stereo, me cleaning the work station. We talked about art & music, life & death, you know, my favourite subjects (besides soup & psychology).

The thing about it was, that it was extremely realistic. Even down to the way he sat and that when I lit a cigarette he coughed and waved and bitched at me about it.
I could (almost) swear that it was, on some level, real. Like this was the way he finally found some time in his busy schedule to have a little time to visit with people who sincerely admired his life work.

I got three neckties & a glass of gin

Wow. Jandek last night. Wow. How excruciatingly hypo-tizing. Harpsichord, trumpet, dancer/howler and the man, the mystery man. Who has the blues real, real, bad.
Not for the faint hearted that.
I loved how the art school brats who all wanted to be seen at the scene fled in droves after each song. No really, about 30 or more people ran for their lives after each song ended. What were they expecting? If one had actually ever listened to any recording he has made, one would know exactly what to expect.

He looks like Boo Radley in a black cowboy hat. He squalls like a banshee (albeit a subdued one). And his playing is difficult to understand to put it mildly. I found that I had to really focus on the words and the trumpet player (rather Miles Davis-ish in terms of emotionality) to be able to hang. The fact that the dancer was built, I think helped many people remain seated.

I have to admit 2 hours of it was a real test. Not just for my brain and my emotions (he’s just a tince depressing), but for me bum. The seats. Yarg. I couldn’t get comfortable.

Jandek

I hope I don’t regret this but, there is a free concert with Jandek on the 17th @ 7:30 @ Lydia.
I hope this doesn’t create some kind of rush where I can’t get a seat.
All 3 of “the house of relaxing smokers” will be there. Possibly some Destruction's and Von Borax’s as well, if they can find a sitter for Boris and Natasha.

“Chills run up and down my spine”

O’ man! I am sitting here trying to write a ten page research paper on “Miracles, revelation and the nature of personal reality”, MLA style, for my Philosophy of Religion class.
I actually have had the TV off all day, as there was not one, single, thing worth turning it on for (since I missed Soul Train) today! So I thought I would run a little music on the iTunes since I’m working on the computer anyway. Well, the best thing on my iTunes right now is the Swim Club Radio comp I made for ya’ll. On it goes, and now I can’t concentrate on David Hume’s arguments “Against Miracles” for nothing!

I fricking love this comp!!!

I must think I’m a bloody genius. It makes the hair raise up on my arms to hear it, because every song on it, I love down to the very roots of my toenails.

So because I am being torturously slow with it anywise, because I’m trying to flippin’ graduate and maintain my GPA simultaneously here! I’m going to give you a couple of mischievous hints:
It starts with The Avengers Theme, it ends with Salt Of The Earth. The in-between is cuts from the likes of Nina Simone, X-ray Spex, Afrika Bambaata, John Lydon, Nilsson, The Vogues and Flirt.
Does that wet your whistle?

I need to give some serious time to the ones from you’all that are new to me as well... I can’t wait to really learn something new (as soon as I’m done learning all this other new stuff for grades.)

Edit: I had to switch to Chopin Nocturnes to be able to get any work done

Synchronous

“Having the same period and phase”
It’s odd. Repeatedly.
Just when things are bad, quite bad. And I’m angry, so angry. And depressed. An odd series of events frequently occurs. They don’t have to be big, just oddly arising out of the muck (like the spontaneously arising lotus) which, if I’m paying attention, remind me that this is how real magic works. In it’s time. For my ultimate benefit. And without force and manipulation. Not to buy me a cadillac, but to remind me that there is some method to this madness.

I could just as easily be insane

I just pulled the first all nighter of my college (alleged) career. I stayed up all night writing an eight and a half page paper comparing Aristotelean Virtue Ethics with Mahayana Buddhism. This while nursing a purely, delightful, kidney infection.

25 cigarettes, a cup of tea, a half a bar of Lindt chocolate with hazelnut creme, a wash basket full of specific and generalized super stress, a 101 fever and a quart or so of un-sweetened cranberry juice later, I feel positively Holmesian.

I have no idea what I wrote (and already electronically submitted). I could be scathingly brilliant, I could have gibbered like a blue monkey. And the best part is that, like Holmes, I will likely have a Dr.’s excuse at the end of it all, ready and waiting to whip it on out, if it all comes apart in my face.

God I wasted a lot of money on cocaine in my youth.