I just wanted to explain why you haven’t seen a blog post from me in a few days. Our basset hound, Teddy, has been very sick since about Friday, but he’s doing much better now, thanks to some Cipro. I don’t know how it happened, but he developed a UTI, and we’re currently treating him for that. He stopped eating, he stopped doing much of anything aside from laying around like a lump (which he normally does anyway, but at least when he’s healthy he wags his tail and whatnot), and when we took him to the vet, he promptly peed all over the floor — and it was bloody. So, she figured out right away what the problem was. As I said, he’s doing much better now, he’s eating, he’s pooping/peeing normally, he has his normal level of energy back…it’s good to see.
Now, on to the prompt for today. I can’t say I hate the color pink, as I’m wearing a baby pink tank top right now (I’m going for a walk as soon as I finish typing this post.), because when it’s hot, light colors are better, but I don’t have much in the color in my closet. Pink, as a rule, doesn’t look that great on me. Some items in certain shades look alright, but anything in the red family tends to make me look weird. I don’t know what it is. My sister can pull off any shade of pink really well. Needless to say, I’m jealous.
Putting lemon juice on steamed broccoli and cauliflower is delicious, FYI.
Bitterness is something I have to work on suppressing, nearly every day. There are a lot of things I’m angry about re: my life and how it turned out, and I’ve had more than a few days where I could just punch a wall over it. I don’t though, because I can’t afford to repair the wall…or my broken hand. At nearly 35, I’m not where I thought I’d be when I was 18. I didn’t think I’d be single, unemployed, and living with my parents. I wouldn’t mind still living with my parents if I was at least working and contributing to the household. As for still being single…I’ve long ago resigned myself to being the useful spinster in the family, kind of like Lady Edith Crawley (until she became the Marchioness of Hexham) on Downton Abbey. I don’t have any out-of-wedlock children like she did, however. I can’t even take care of myself, much less a spawnling. My sister has the kind of life I wish I had, what with her job, her boyfriend, and her apartment she lives in with said boyfriend, to say nothing of the more gregarious, fun personality that affords her a social life I’ve never had, but it’s been a slog to remind myself that I’m not her, and I’m never going to be her.
I used to give Taylor Swift a hard time because I found her a bit twee for my tastes, but her most recent album, 1989, isn’t entirely awful. There’s still a bit too much pop on it for what I enjoy listening to, but some of it is quite brilliant, and my opinions about her music aside, I’ve always thought she was great at writing lyrics, of crafting a story. You can easily picture what she’s singing about, which if you put aside your dislike for the music, actually makes the songs enjoyable. So, a semi-convert has been made out of me. I wouldn’t go see her live or anything, that’s too much money to spend on only a few songs I’m sure to enjoy, but I wouldn’t hesitate buying a few songs on iTunes. That huge, rambling lead in to today’s Musical Interlude Friday was for a reason, so I present to you one of those aforementioned songs from 1989 that I think is quite good. Enjoy!
It’s like Billy Joel said — only the good die young.
I can hardly believe it’s been five years. I became a huge Beastie Boys fan waaaaaaaaaay back in the early 1990s when I saw one of their music videos on MTV. I was decidedly much younger than their core audience (I was born in 1982), but that didn’t matter much to me. I thought they were great, and I still do. They definitely stand out in my music library, as I don’t have anything else that remotely sounds like them, but I like that they found a way into this Frank Sinatra, Pink Floyd, jazz music loving heart of mine. I remember not believing he was actually dead; I came home from work that evening and went to Twitter, as I always do, and saw a lot of Beastie Boys-related stuff trending. I didn’t think much of it until I clicked on “Paul’s Boutique” and saw tweet after tweet from people expressing a mixture of condolences and shock that Adam Yauch (MCA if you’re nasty) had died. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I knew he was sick, but I didn’t think it had reached that point. Apparently the night the Beastie Boys were inducted into the RRHoF, he had to enter hospice care, which is basically making you comfortable until the end comes, because there’s nothing more that can be done.
RIP Adam — you are well and truly missed.
Hehe, like I watch TV on TV anymore. I don’t even own a TV. Thank you, Internet.
I hate not being in control of whatever situation I’m in. I don’t know why or when it started, but I get incredibly uncomfortable when I have to leave things up to someone else. I suppose it’s linked to how much I dislike working in groups. I always do better when I’m by myself because that way, I’m solely responsible for the output. If it sucks or looks bad, it’s on me. When you’re in a group, you personally may do a great job, but if other people drop the ball, and the whole project fails, you get swept along with it, even though you weren’t why it failed. It also extends to the way I look or how I act. I don’t like looking stupid or looking foolish, so I avoid doing things that will make that happen, like karaoke, dancing, or acting. I understand that those are all fun things, and enjoy watching other people do them, but I can’t stand the idea of people laughing at me, particularly when I’m not doing something intentionally comical.
Are any of you like this as well? Do you remember when you first noticed it about yourself? Have you ever tried to change it, and if so, were you successful?
If you’d have told me 10 years ago that the pompous, orange asshole hosting The Apprentice was going to one day occupy the White House (I use occupy because I feel our country has been taken hostage.), I’d have laughed in your face and called you a complete nut job. I’m still not entirely sure how that happened, aside from 62 million people suddenly suffering profound head trauma, all at the same time. Oh, and to the 92 million Americans that didn’t vote, thanks a lot a lot, assholes. Thanks a whole hell of a lot. It’s not like you have to live here and suffer the consequences, right? Oh wait, you do, only you’re selfish fucks who don’t give a shit. Got it.
Don’t these bundles of yarn resemble scoops of ice cream…if you have visual impairment issues?
I’ve always wanted to learn how to crochet, but since artistic competence skipped a generation, I suck at anything that remotely resembles art. I can’t draw, I can’t paint, I can’t play any musical instruments, I can’t even embroider. I taught myself how to sew enough that I could reattach buttons or hem trousers or repair rips/holes in clothing, but that’s about it. My mom used to make pillows for my sister and I when we were little, and she’d embroider these beautiful cases for us — mine was pink and purple, hers was orange and yellow. My dad can draw wonderfully. Me…I can’t do shit. I’d be jealous if it wasn’t fruitless. I’ve tried over the years to get the hang of crochet especially, because I’d love to knit myself a big blanket, but every time I try, I fail, and then get depressed. Maybe one day. Maybe.
I love Folk music. I can thank my dad for getting me into it because I hadn’t known much about it before. For today’s Musical Interlude Friday, I thought I’d combine two greats of the Folk era — Bob Dylan and Peter, Paul and Mary (with an added dash of Andy Williams). Enjoy!
Would you believe I’ve never been to the top of the Hancock Building? Just the Sears Tower. I refuse to call it by its corporate name…even though Sears is a corporate name too.
When people ask me where I’m from, I always say I have “North Carolina branches, Illinois roots.” I live just outside Winston-Salem, but I was born and raised in Chicago, and I’m inordinately proud of that fact. I love where I’m from, I love the neighborhood I grew up in, I love the people that surrounded me there. There are things about Chicago I’m not enamored with and that I wish would change, and hearing news report after news report about the violence staining the city breaks my heart in pieces every time, but it’s never enough to make me wish I’d come from somewhere else. It’s who I am. It informed the kind of person I grew up into. I lived in a very diverse neighborhood, went to diverse schools, found myself surrounded by people from all walks of life. It is probably why I’m so liberal and progressive as an adult. I don’t know that I would have ended up this way if I grew up in the South, where I currently live. I don’t think all Southerners are racist or backwards or ignorant, but I see enough of those things every day to know that it would have affected how I saw the world growing up.
Thank you great-grandparents (on both sides) for settling in Chicago. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Imagine if you lived in a black and white movie. That’s what this feels like.
I ask that rather silly question at the start because since Saturday night, it’s been non-stop rain, and the sky is as gray as slate. I’m starting to wonder that we’ll never see the sun again, nor a blue sky. That’s hyperbole of course, it’s supposed to be sunny and 80-something tomorrow, but three days of constant, heavy rain is enough to make anyone start to go barmy. I understand that North Carolina is in a deficit this year, as far as precipitation is concerned, but I don’t think we need this much rain all at once, thank you. Our backyard could double as a small lake.