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My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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9:23 a.m. - 2010-07-29
When in doubt natter about nothing. I am hoping the weather cooperates and Chelsea Clinton has a wonderful sunny day and her wedding goes off without a hitch. (Except the official 'hitch', of course.) Rhinebeck is nearby enough that I'm a bit dorked out to be 'in' on things. Also if the Prez is a guest he'll land at Stewart AFB, which is practically in my backyard so it might be worth a tootle over there Saturday morning to gawk at Air Force One. Though they do tend to roll it into a hangar soon as it lands, darn it all. Speaking of hangars at Stewart, the Rolling Stones once had an impromptu rehearsal in one. This according to the wild child English teacher at my high school whose father did security at Stewart and had called his son to see if he knew anything about some English guys called the 'Rolling Rocks' and whether they were trustworthy enough to allow them to set up and play. Teach said he scooted on over there at light speed and had a fine time jamming with Mick and the boys. This is the same teacher who said when his wife's grandmother died it occurred to everyone that nobody had had a picture taken with Granny for quite some time, so they hauled Gran out of the casket and set her up on a kitchen chair and proceeded to take several group photos of various family members and their dead grandmother. I, for one, never knew when he was shining us on and tended to take his stories with a boulder of salt. But did appreciate his love for stories and his enthusiasm for telling them. Always a sucker for a good Storyteller. I like rock musicians and broody artists as much as the next girl, but it's the guy who tells a good tale who'll win me every time. I used to have the hots for Stephen King just for this reason, but since the accident his stories have become joyless and very mean. I can't say I blame him really, he went through Hell. Always an auto-cannibalistic guy when it came to his work, all that pain and grief and anger was bound to spill over into his stories, but I truly miss the twinkle of glee and the love that used to shine through his stuff no matter how gruesome it was. It used to feel like we were all in on the joke together and nowadays the only thread of happiness I get from his work is Steve's sick pleasure in punishing his readers. His stuff reads like, "Fuck you. Fuck you in spades. You want some King? Here's some King, you assholes." As he shoves another heaping spoonful of poisoned dog crap sprinkled with shards of glass down our throats. Or maybe it's just me. I don't remember what the deal was with the flying ballerinas was in last night's mind movie, but I can still see them gliding through the air in their tutus. Yes, I've taken my meds. And no, I'm not drunk. Though I did have 2.5 Blue Moons last night during/after dinner. Perhaps that had something to do with the ballerinas. Doubt it though, I've grown a rather hollow leg of late and what would once put me under the table now gets me a mild buzz at most. A function of age? Or maybe fat absorbs alcohol. Heck, most of my fat is alcohol. Wring me out like a sponge and you'd have yourself one lethal rum and coke, I tell you what. While on the subject of empty calories, I seem to have lost my taste for many of my former vice foods. That is definitely an age thing. Almost every one of those foods I made faces at when I was a kid and was told I'd like later on when I was grown up has come to be part of my diet. Everything except olives and most cheeses. Still hate those. However, weird grown-up foods like artichoke hearts, sour cream, and sushi have shoved aside the Cheetos, snack cakes, peanut butter, and kid-centric breakfast cereals that made up most of my daily fare. If you'd told me 20 years ago that I'd come to think California rolls and miso were a far yummier lunch than pb&j and potato chips I'd have laughed in your face. Seafood bisque? Saut�ed kale? Stuffed mushrooms? Riiiiiiight. And I have a Twinkie factory in Bensonhurst to sell you.
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