Call me Al.
Well, it has been brought to my attention that Grandma and Grandpa are, as I type this, en route to South Carolina. No farewell dinner, but I honestly don't mind. Grandpa is, if nothing else, a consummate observer of the human condition. He's not an outwardly sentimental guy, but I feel without doubt that he knew full well our short portrait session was a shared solemn goodbye. I didn't get to tell him outright that I love him, but he's keenly perceptive. While he's notoriously photo shy he didn't hesitate one second to sit for me and my camera.
He knows.
---
I went to buy Dark Haired Girl a surprise mother's day gift a couple of days ago. She'd casually mentioned that she wanted tanning minutes. I went to the local tanning parlour (spelling it with a 'u' makes it sound lewd in a vaguely Victorian sense, doesn't it?) to buy a gift card, and was listening to an NPR story on WYSO on the way. It was a segment in a series about children who believe and insist they truly were born the wrong gender, and about the parents' struggles and a controversial medical treatment.
Anyway, I sat in the car in the parking lot outside the tanning salon to finish listening to the quite riveting story and wait for a break in the cats-and-dogs downpour that was going on. I got to thinking: hey, I'm definitely in touch with my feminine side... hypothetically could I ever consider life as a female? Intriguing food for thought. Well, a break in the deluge came, so I went inside.
Oh. My. God.
Everything was pink. pink pink pink.
This crazy catwalk music was playing; I half expected runway models to start emerging from the rooms and start strutting through the lobby. The clerk was this prissy little late teen "hot chick" bitch that treated me like I was the biggest irritation of her work week. The fragrance of coconut and pineapple permeated the air, and the wall behind the counter was shelved with dozens upon dozens of different dazzlingly colored $30 bottles of lotion bearing names sounding more like trendy frou-frou drinks than dermal treatments: "Mind Bender", "Exotic Rainbow", "Tropical Passion", etc.
No. I could never ever ever be a girl. Question answered. I am most assuredly effeminate at times, but damn, I had to go to Lowe's and walk through the tool section while fantasizing about giving the Mirthmobile an oil change and tune-up just to wash all the hot pink residue off my brain.
---
I think my cat just sneezed, but I'm not sure. Whenever I listen to music with headphones (as I am now. Coldplay.), I think I hear all these weird background noises and get all paranoid.
---
Speaking of Dark Haired Girl, you know how I showed you the almost-picture of her a while back? Well, I was taking pictures of her and a her friend at a party a week or so ago, and she looked at one of the pictures and said it would go great on the blog. I puzzled at her and she said it's been long enough since I mentioned anything about the crazy monkey sex she and I have that it's safe to post it. I'm still not mentioning her name for professional reasons, but here's the great photo that I took of her, popping her in the face with a flash just as she was diving in for a kiss:
(Isn't that perfectly placed "beauty mark" mole just adorable??)
And, of course, this photo comes without any comment of our freaky-deaky getting-jiggy-with-it sweet-love-down-by-the-fire. No mention whatsoever. Nope. None.
---
Between jotting down thoughts and ideas in this post, I am poking around my media folder in Winamp. I was just watching Paul Simon's 1986 music video "Call Me Al". I just now realized, here in this ripe ol' modern year of 2008, twenty two years (God damn.) after first seeing it on MTV as a kid, that he's singing "I can call you Betty" instead of "I can call you Eddie".
Totally changes the flavor of the song. You learn something new every damned day.
He knows.
---
I went to buy Dark Haired Girl a surprise mother's day gift a couple of days ago. She'd casually mentioned that she wanted tanning minutes. I went to the local tanning parlour (spelling it with a 'u' makes it sound lewd in a vaguely Victorian sense, doesn't it?) to buy a gift card, and was listening to an NPR story on WYSO on the way. It was a segment in a series about children who believe and insist they truly were born the wrong gender, and about the parents' struggles and a controversial medical treatment.
Anyway, I sat in the car in the parking lot outside the tanning salon to finish listening to the quite riveting story and wait for a break in the cats-and-dogs downpour that was going on. I got to thinking: hey, I'm definitely in touch with my feminine side... hypothetically could I ever consider life as a female? Intriguing food for thought. Well, a break in the deluge came, so I went inside.
Oh. My. God.
Everything was pink. pink pink pink.
This crazy catwalk music was playing; I half expected runway models to start emerging from the rooms and start strutting through the lobby. The clerk was this prissy little late teen "hot chick" bitch that treated me like I was the biggest irritation of her work week. The fragrance of coconut and pineapple permeated the air, and the wall behind the counter was shelved with dozens upon dozens of different dazzlingly colored $30 bottles of lotion bearing names sounding more like trendy frou-frou drinks than dermal treatments: "Mind Bender", "Exotic Rainbow", "Tropical Passion", etc.
No. I could never ever ever be a girl. Question answered. I am most assuredly effeminate at times, but damn, I had to go to Lowe's and walk through the tool section while fantasizing about giving the Mirthmobile an oil change and tune-up just to wash all the hot pink residue off my brain.
---
I think my cat just sneezed, but I'm not sure. Whenever I listen to music with headphones (as I am now. Coldplay.), I think I hear all these weird background noises and get all paranoid.
---
Speaking of Dark Haired Girl, you know how I showed you the almost-picture of her a while back? Well, I was taking pictures of her and a her friend at a party a week or so ago, and she looked at one of the pictures and said it would go great on the blog. I puzzled at her and she said it's been long enough since I mentioned anything about the crazy monkey sex she and I have that it's safe to post it. I'm still not mentioning her name for professional reasons, but here's the great photo that I took of her, popping her in the face with a flash just as she was diving in for a kiss:
(Isn't that perfectly placed "beauty mark" mole just adorable??)And, of course, this photo comes without any comment of our freaky-deaky getting-jiggy-with-it sweet-love-down-by-the-fire. No mention whatsoever. Nope. None.
---
Between jotting down thoughts and ideas in this post, I am poking around my media folder in Winamp. I was just watching Paul Simon's 1986 music video "Call Me Al". I just now realized, here in this ripe ol' modern year of 2008, twenty two years (God damn.) after first seeing it on MTV as a kid, that he's singing "I can call you Betty" instead of "I can call you Eddie".
Totally changes the flavor of the song. You learn something new every damned day.
posted by Grover at 5/11/2008 08:59:00 PM
1 Comments:
have you ever watched "sex in the city?" Ok I know you have. You are Carrie...in a mans body. I have decided this. Also lovely picture of dark haired girl.
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