It’s been a month since we settled into the new house. I’m happy to report that we are completely unpacked, although I keep feeling like I don’t belong in a place this big. For the first time that Talking Heads song (sort of) makes sense to me: “You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile / You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife / You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?”
Oh man, I’m getting old. I just confessed to understanding something Brian Eno wrote. Crap.
Anyway. How did I get here? Life has taken some pretty damn odd twists and turns for me, and the course I’ve charted looks like somebody fed a map into an infinite improbability drive while it was broken but decided to go with it anyway. Yet somehow . . . everything turned out awesome. Despite my own oddities and neuroses. Despite the people who have told me repeatedly (sometimes screamed repeatedly) that I’m doing life wrong. Despite the mistakes I have owned up to and mistakes I still haven’t recognized. Despite people who out-and-out wronged me and other people I just wasn’t destined to be pals with. Despite my own self-sabotaging insecurities. Everything is turning out pretty awesome. Not perfect, but that would be boring. I much prefer awesome.
So here I am, a month after moving in. The neighbors are awesome, the weather is beautiful, the house is home, the cat hasn’t peed on anything he isn’t supposed to pee on, I’ve got dirt to dig in, vegetables to plant, and family to be with.
I think I can handle this life.
Today my niece Lily came with me to help me run errands. Since we’d be driving around a bit, as we hit the road I plugged the iPod into the stereo and asked her what kind of music she’d like to listen to.
“Sad . . . and . . . angry music.”
“Are you feeling sad or angry?” I asked her.
“No. I just want some sad and angry music. Is there music like that?” she asked hopefully.
I thought that I was proud of her the day I taught her the word “bee.” I thought I was proud of her the day I taught her to string her own beads for a necklace. But today kind of trumps it all when she asked me to introduce her to metal.
Deciding it would be best to introduce her to the very essentials, I flipped the iPod to “Black Sabbath” on the eponymous debut album by Black Sabbath. The sound of rain filled the car.
“Oooooo,” Lily said with the sort of eager excitement a child conjures up before going into a carnival’s haunted house. The church bells began to toll, and then the immortal riff — BUM, BUM, BUMMMMMMMMMM — sounded.
“Is this what you meant by sad and angry music?” I asked Lily, glancing in my rear view mirror at the serious face in the car seat behind me, her eyes obscured by her pink “rock and roll shades” as she calls them.
“Yes. This is good,” she answered with stoic satisfaction.
Let it be known — today is the day that Lily discovered that she is a metal head. And I was there to witness it.
My sister asked me a few days ago which five books I could think of off the top of my head that I thoroughly enjoyed and couldn’t live without. Here they are:
Informing my philosophy: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
Sheer pulpy funtime: Tarzan of the Apes, Edgar Rice Borroughs
Comedy gold: The Princess Bride, William Goldman
Beauty and intellect: The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco
Mind blown: Orlando, Virginia Woolf
I *JUST* realized that the line “hurry down the chimney tonight” in the song “Santa Baby” is a double entendre.
Ever since way back in 2010 humanity has been pondering what will be our fate in the year 2012. So far, John Cusack has been wrong:
So we all continued to ponder the almighty Mayan Calendar, searching in vain for some small indicator of our horrible fate:
Yesternight after much research and an abundance of sugary snacks, I finally spotted it:
There it was, as plain as day. That dude with his tongue out is clearly holding a Twinkie in each hand. Yet I failed to behold the significance of the image until it was too late. For in all my years of study I neglected the all-important field of zero-nutrient foodstuffs. I learned what it is that shall be swallowed in the fires of demons (or maybe just bankruptcy) at the close of 2012: THE TWINKIE. Yes, Hostess has shuttered its doors and it’s sayonara to the Twinkie.
Thousands are fleeing in terror to stockpile this treasured log of empty calories, but their efforts are in vain. The cosmos has aligned and lo, the Twinkie shall be swallowed by the infinite void of time. We were given fair warning. Behold:
I know. I know. This is serious. The apocalypse of 2012 will claim the life of our beloved Twinkie. We’re going to have to go through the five stages of grief now that we’ve learned our apocalyptic fate. Here to help demonstrate the appropriate expressions of each stage is Woody Harrelson.
So there. Now the world knows. Believe me it brought no pleasure to this intrepid journalist to discover the truth, but I have a duty to inform the public. May you all make peace with whatever gods you worship as we step into a most certainly doomed postapocalyptic Twinkie-free future.
I got this from my brother to say thanks for his wedding gift. I think getting this card was almost better than being at the wedding.