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1 month ago
Sunday, June 11, 2006
too much fame . . . not good
I just realized that I've been writing a lot about Rue recently. I should probably try to write about other things . . . spoiled kitty.
war games
I am currently writing you from enemy territory. I don't know how much longer I'm going to make it . . . I can't move without putting my life at risk . . .
Rue is playing war games with my bedroom furniture. My bed: The Enemy. My bedroom curtains: The Enemy. The cords hanging from my curtain: The Enemy. The carpet, the underside of my sheets, the computer keyboard, the laundry hamper, ME: The Enemy. Seriously, Rue rockin' a vendetta of some sort. And in truth, I'm scared that she's going to win this battle. Poor, innocent bedroom furniture . . . all you did was sit there, being all bedroom-furniture-like and then this orange tabby with Illusions Of Grandeur starts attacking you - Cadet Rue, that careless heroine.
AAAAHHHH! Geeeeez! I thought scary war game Rue had left the room for a brief minute (hence my hurried entry), but I got this weird "someone is behind me feeling" and There She Was - sitting right behind me, licking her paw in seeming innocence . . . plotting her next attack. I could tell by the look on her face. Seriously - she's got the stealth thing down. She could totally rule the world. Or at least fight all of my enemies in order to clear the way for my total world domination. Ok . . . now her butt is in my face. Why. Rue. Really. Why. (on all counts).
Rue is playing war games with my bedroom furniture. My bed: The Enemy. My bedroom curtains: The Enemy. The cords hanging from my curtain: The Enemy. The carpet, the underside of my sheets, the computer keyboard, the laundry hamper, ME: The Enemy. Seriously, Rue rockin' a vendetta of some sort. And in truth, I'm scared that she's going to win this battle. Poor, innocent bedroom furniture . . . all you did was sit there, being all bedroom-furniture-like and then this orange tabby with Illusions Of Grandeur starts attacking you - Cadet Rue, that careless heroine.
AAAAHHHH! Geeeeez! I thought scary war game Rue had left the room for a brief minute (hence my hurried entry), but I got this weird "someone is behind me feeling" and There She Was - sitting right behind me, licking her paw in seeming innocence . . . plotting her next attack. I could tell by the look on her face. Seriously - she's got the stealth thing down. She could totally rule the world. Or at least fight all of my enemies in order to clear the way for my total world domination. Ok . . . now her butt is in my face. Why. Rue. Really. Why. (on all counts).
Thursday, June 08, 2006
robert frost speaks
I was listening to NPR at work yesterday and they had Bill Collins on, a former U.S. Poet Laureate. He had the audio of Robert Frost reading his very famous poem, "The Road Not Taken." Now, I've heard and read this poem a million times - pretty much everyone has heard and read this poem a million times - so much I think, that people don't truly engage with it anymore. When I heard Frost reading his own poetry though, it really added a whole new dimension to the poem that I have grown up with.
Not every poet can read his or her poetry well out loud. The inflection, volume and flow of the voice can enhance the line or draw out a layer of meaning that had been entirely unrealized. Someone reading poetry has to pay close attention to breaks in the line, to the emphasis of one word over the other . Robert Frost's voice was not entirely what I had expected - kind of like the physical appearance of radio djs is often one that you don't expect . When we read poetry, and actually, when we read anything to ourselves, most of us hear the words in our own voice. His voice was wisened, worldy . . . almost like a man who has seen too much , but at the same time, wished he could have seen more. It reminded me of some kind of grizzled man living off in a shack by himself . . . a la Thoreau (who actually, didn't stay in a shack by himself the whole time that he wrote Walden, but that's a discussion for another time). It was truly fascinating to hear Robert Frost speak and I found it even more poignant because he is no longer with us.
Not every poet can read his or her poetry well out loud. The inflection, volume and flow of the voice can enhance the line or draw out a layer of meaning that had been entirely unrealized. Someone reading poetry has to pay close attention to breaks in the line, to the emphasis of one word over the other . Robert Frost's voice was not entirely what I had expected - kind of like the physical appearance of radio djs is often one that you don't expect . When we read poetry, and actually, when we read anything to ourselves, most of us hear the words in our own voice. His voice was wisened, worldy . . . almost like a man who has seen too much , but at the same time, wished he could have seen more. It reminded me of some kind of grizzled man living off in a shack by himself . . . a la Thoreau (who actually, didn't stay in a shack by himself the whole time that he wrote Walden, but that's a discussion for another time). It was truly fascinating to hear Robert Frost speak and I found it even more poignant because he is no longer with us.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
fwooosh!
Teakettle: fwapforeFWOOSH!
Frank: OUCH! The green is THAT WAY *points at driving range*
Teakettle: fwooshienogreenswoosh.
Frank: Well if you weren't aiming for the green... then what were you aiming for??
Teakettle: tickleticklefwooshhehehehe.
Frank: ME?? Why were you aiming at me?
Teakettle: fwooshdorkfwoosh.
Frank: These pants are not dorky! *looks down at plaid golf pants*
Teakettle: fwooshhonkhonk.
Frank: HEY! I do not look like a walking set of bagpipes!!
Teakettle: Fwooshfire?
Frank: No you can't set my pants on fire!
Teakettle: fwoosh?
Frank: Because it will burn me.
Teakettle: swooshmcdreamyfwooshie!
Frank: No he works in Seattle...
Teakettle: Fwooshwooshwooshbangbangbang
Frank: ???
Teakettle: FWOOOOOSHGAHSWOOSHWEEEEEEE!
Frank: .......................................
Teakettle: FWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAOOSHFIRE!!!!
Frank: *backs away slowly*
Teakettle: Fwoosh?
Frank: Oh, um, I was ahhhh, just going to check on my begonias...
Teakettle: FWOOSHLIARRAAAAAAA!
Frank: *Deer in headlights look* Why are you so crazy? Did someone spike you with coffee again?
Teakettle: FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH!!!
Frank: So that would be a yes *runs from room*
Monday, June 05, 2006
pump house park
A gorgeous photo shot by my amazing photographer friend, TW. This is a small park near the river, where an old pump house from the early 20th century stands.
ok, weirdness
Well, my week is starting off to a weird start with crazy dreams and Rue antics.
Ok, now I don' remember the dream that I had last night in its entirety, but it featured me and a friend of mine from church - we'll call him Harvard Lawyer. In this dream, Harvard Lawyer and I decided that we were going to go to Wintergreen . . . by foot. So we set off on this massive hike of hundreds and hundreds of miles and after say, Mile 8, I'm about ready to collapse. Then (and I don't know who's brilliant idea this was) we decided to steal money along the way. OH and I forgot, my brother ended up joining us for the whole stealing of the money part. I know that we stopped a lot of different places and rationalized our crime spree in a variety of different ways, but I do remember that we stopped at VCU (a university in Richmond - I don't know how it got on the trail to Wintergreen). In the attempt to capture the money that was rightfully ours, my brother and Harvard Lawyer got caught by a bunch of nurses. Bro and Harvard Lawyer then pretended that they were Catholic and as punishment for stealing, the nurses made them convert to Protestant Christianity. I didn't get caught, though. Because I am amazing. Once they finally escaped, we decided to give all of the money that we'd stolen to charity.
Yeah, weird.
And then this morning, I was sitting in my recliner, drinking my coffee and watching the news like I do every work day morning, and all of a sudden, Rue starts running and pouncing around the living room like she's chasing something. I thought she was just being psychotic like she normally is . . . but then I realized that she actually WAS chasing something. And although it looked like a fly . . . it wasn't. It was a freakin' wasp. A WASP. So I freak out and am yelling at Rue to leave it alone because all I can picture is her smacking the heck out of it and getting stung in the process and I was also taking notice of the wasp's increasingly agitated state as it was being chased and swatted at by crazy Rue and I just had a feeling that it would take its anger out on me, as well. So, I yell "NO RUE!" and she stops for a millisecond to stare questioningly at me before she attacks it again. So, I bolt to the kitchen, grab a massive wad of paper towels and kill the wasp myself before disaster strikes.
Wasps. Rampant dream crime sprees. I hope this isn't an indication of what the rest of my week is going to be like.
Ok, now I don' remember the dream that I had last night in its entirety, but it featured me and a friend of mine from church - we'll call him Harvard Lawyer. In this dream, Harvard Lawyer and I decided that we were going to go to Wintergreen . . . by foot. So we set off on this massive hike of hundreds and hundreds of miles and after say, Mile 8, I'm about ready to collapse. Then (and I don't know who's brilliant idea this was) we decided to steal money along the way. OH and I forgot, my brother ended up joining us for the whole stealing of the money part. I know that we stopped a lot of different places and rationalized our crime spree in a variety of different ways, but I do remember that we stopped at VCU (a university in Richmond - I don't know how it got on the trail to Wintergreen). In the attempt to capture the money that was rightfully ours, my brother and Harvard Lawyer got caught by a bunch of nurses. Bro and Harvard Lawyer then pretended that they were Catholic and as punishment for stealing, the nurses made them convert to Protestant Christianity. I didn't get caught, though. Because I am amazing. Once they finally escaped, we decided to give all of the money that we'd stolen to charity.
Yeah, weird.
And then this morning, I was sitting in my recliner, drinking my coffee and watching the news like I do every work day morning, and all of a sudden, Rue starts running and pouncing around the living room like she's chasing something. I thought she was just being psychotic like she normally is . . . but then I realized that she actually WAS chasing something. And although it looked like a fly . . . it wasn't. It was a freakin' wasp. A WASP. So I freak out and am yelling at Rue to leave it alone because all I can picture is her smacking the heck out of it and getting stung in the process and I was also taking notice of the wasp's increasingly agitated state as it was being chased and swatted at by crazy Rue and I just had a feeling that it would take its anger out on me, as well. So, I yell "NO RUE!" and she stops for a millisecond to stare questioningly at me before she attacks it again. So, I bolt to the kitchen, grab a massive wad of paper towels and kill the wasp myself before disaster strikes.
Wasps. Rampant dream crime sprees. I hope this isn't an indication of what the rest of my week is going to be like.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
the greek festival
I have found heaven on earth. And it is in the form of baklava.
Today, The Cyclist and I experienced one of the many festivals that Richmond has to offer - The Greek Festival. The festival was just a few blocks over from our church, so right after the service, we walked on over. Picture this: tons of white tents, Greek flags flying all over the place, the smell of amazing Greek cuisine, wine flowing like water, little children in traditional Greek dress running around, a stage with Greek performers and musicians . . . it was awesome.
It was also ridiculously hot and the lines were ridiculously long. I had prepared well for this adventure, in my little black dress because I figured why wear a color that reflects heat when you can wear one that absorbs heat? (The Shamana - btw, The Cyclist says "kudos" on the dress selection). But seriously, the food was good enough that I would have gotten back at the end of the line just to have some more. I refrained from getting some wine to keep me company in line due to my heat headache, but there were people walking around drinking from whole bottles of wine . . . now talk about a party!
Once The Cyclist and I got our food from some very nice Greek women, we sat down under one of the tents, at a table across from an old married couple - the husband of which was a graduate of the same school as The Cyclist. Naturally, as does everyone in THE ENTIRE WORLD, they assumed that The Cyclist and I were married. They were a sweet old couple, married 50 years (how great is that?). Anyway, the old guy at one point asked me if I worked outside of the home. I looked at The Cyclist, laughed, and told him that yes, I do in fact work outside of the home. The Cyclist and I didn't feel like crushing this couple's impression that we were married. But it was pretty funny.
After lunch and my first experience with baklava (incredible), The Cyclist and I checked out the section where they were selling jewelry and art. There were gorgeous gold cross necklaces, shawls and bangles. There was this mannequin with skimpy belly-dancing type clothing on it, with lots of gold bangles . . . I told The Cyclist that he should get that mannequin for his future home. Hehe.
Anyway, it was good time. I have decided that I'm going to go to Greece for my honeymoon now. Or Greece & Italy. Or Greece & Italy & Ireland.
The conversation on the way back from the festival:
Me: Thank you for being gracious enough to let me work outside of the home.
TC: Well, you know, I am taking a risk here . . . the guys at work give me a hard time.
Me: . . .
TC: Hello?
Me: Oh, sorry. I was, you know, thinking about the stuff women are supposed to think about - grocery lists, what I'm going to make you for dinner . . .
TC: . . . the excitement of polishing my shoes . . .
Me: . . . exactly . . .
TC: . . . because, you know, I've had a hard day at work.
Me: Exactly. You deserve a woman waiting for you in the kitchen.
Yay Greek Festival!
Today, The Cyclist and I experienced one of the many festivals that Richmond has to offer - The Greek Festival. The festival was just a few blocks over from our church, so right after the service, we walked on over. Picture this: tons of white tents, Greek flags flying all over the place, the smell of amazing Greek cuisine, wine flowing like water, little children in traditional Greek dress running around, a stage with Greek performers and musicians . . . it was awesome.
It was also ridiculously hot and the lines were ridiculously long. I had prepared well for this adventure, in my little black dress because I figured why wear a color that reflects heat when you can wear one that absorbs heat? (The Shamana - btw, The Cyclist says "kudos" on the dress selection). But seriously, the food was good enough that I would have gotten back at the end of the line just to have some more. I refrained from getting some wine to keep me company in line due to my heat headache, but there were people walking around drinking from whole bottles of wine . . . now talk about a party!
Once The Cyclist and I got our food from some very nice Greek women, we sat down under one of the tents, at a table across from an old married couple - the husband of which was a graduate of the same school as The Cyclist. Naturally, as does everyone in THE ENTIRE WORLD, they assumed that The Cyclist and I were married. They were a sweet old couple, married 50 years (how great is that?). Anyway, the old guy at one point asked me if I worked outside of the home. I looked at The Cyclist, laughed, and told him that yes, I do in fact work outside of the home. The Cyclist and I didn't feel like crushing this couple's impression that we were married. But it was pretty funny.
After lunch and my first experience with baklava (incredible), The Cyclist and I checked out the section where they were selling jewelry and art. There were gorgeous gold cross necklaces, shawls and bangles. There was this mannequin with skimpy belly-dancing type clothing on it, with lots of gold bangles . . . I told The Cyclist that he should get that mannequin for his future home. Hehe.
Anyway, it was good time. I have decided that I'm going to go to Greece for my honeymoon now. Or Greece & Italy. Or Greece & Italy & Ireland.
The conversation on the way back from the festival:
Me: Thank you for being gracious enough to let me work outside of the home.
TC: Well, you know, I am taking a risk here . . . the guys at work give me a hard time.
Me: . . .
TC: Hello?
Me: Oh, sorry. I was, you know, thinking about the stuff women are supposed to think about - grocery lists, what I'm going to make you for dinner . . .
TC: . . . the excitement of polishing my shoes . . .
Me: . . . exactly . . .
TC: . . . because, you know, I've had a hard day at work.
Me: Exactly. You deserve a woman waiting for you in the kitchen.
Yay Greek Festival!
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