...have you seen her all in gold/ like a queen in days of old/ she shoots colors all around/ like a sunset going down/ have you seen a lady fairer?..
1: Tiara Tuesday (TM)
is today; now, everyone
be regal and posh.
2: Tea-filled china cups
sail beneath powdered noses:
pinkies aloft, all!
Tiara Tuesday activities:
Bubble baths.
Manicures.
Facials.
Luncheon shall be on china plates, even if luncheon is a taco from Taco Bell. Inappropriate, impractical or downright silly shoes are acceptable and shall be worn on Tiara Tuesdays. Beverages, even non-adult beverages such as milk, apple juice or plain water shall be served in champagne flutes, wine glasses or cut crystal highball tumblers.
Furry jackets or stoles are Tiara Tuesday-approved outerwear. Fluffy boas are optional, but recommended.
Participants are encouraged to bestow something upon another, perhaps un-tiaraed, person. You may bestow a new package of paper upon the copy machine, a regal pat upon your dog, or a lovely smile upon the person in the toll-booth. Identifying an act of bestowance at the time is not necessary (though permissible), but the word should be in your mind as you do it.
It is permissible on Tiara Tuesday to enter every room as if you expect applause.
Things that are glittery or sparkly must be given at least cursory attention on Tiara Tuesdays. Bedazzled belts, besequined berets, metallic threaded camisoles, sparkly eyeshadow, crushed glass in the streets of your city shall be noticed and smiled upon regally, so pay attention.
In conversation, use of superlatives and exotic or obscure words is encouraged.
All hand movements must be accompanied by a lifted pinkie, including but not limited to jar opening, hair brushing, makeup application, nose blowing, door opening, filing, phone answering, tea drinking, tiara adjusting, specatacle wiping, driving and of course, crocheting or knitting.
A Princess Hat (satin cone with organdy scarf attached) is an acceptable substitute for a tiara, though less glittery.
The Princess Principle of Intention:
For those of you whose tiara-deficit state causes you to believe that you mayn’t participate until NEXT Tuesday, please be advised that you are permitted to wear your future tiara Right Now.
That is to say, if you are planning to purchase a tiara, you may behave as though you already have it on your head.
Please contain your gasps of astonishment when you catch glimpses of yourself in mirrors and recall that your tiara is invisible to everyone but you. Astonished gasps are so un-Princess-like.
The Rolling Stones; She's A Rainbow
24 January, 2012
19 November, 2011
Layered Relationships
...I think you're nice, but I saw something else that I like/ and I think I gotta make you my next ex....
Speaking to the new husband of my ex's second ex, thinking about the new husband of his first ex, and how I met him without knowing he was married to her. Later, her comment was, "Does she have to be friends with ALL of my husbands?"
Ex #2's new husband is quite charming and humorous, and we discussed Schrodinger.
We spoke of the famous imaginary cat, and the popular notion that he is either in the box, or not in the box. This is incorrect, as the cat being in the box is taken as a non-variable. Whether the cat is alive or not is at issue.
However, my friend applied the 'observation changes reality' premise to this theoretical cat, and said that the cat is either looking up or not looking up, and when we open the box to see if the cat is looking up, of course the cat is looking up, because we opened the box.
This is not Shrodinger, nor Quantum Physics. It's more like a foam marshmallow s'more snowman on a sled Christmas ornament, or a shirtless Korean Canadian in a kilt playing electric sitar. (Hi, Andrew!)
I spoke of the stepson of my cousin, trying to find a word. I decided on 'nephew', which describes the emotional connection, though on a literal level is less than accurate.
Though in conversation I refer to multiple brothers-in-law, I in fact only have one. The husbands of my two sisters-in-law have no designation in English, and calling them out-laws confuses people.
Long ago, I met the little girl who was about to become my niece by marriage. I helped her gather some food on a paper plate and we sat down together. She looked at me with her serious little face and asked, "So, are you.... in law?"
I puzzled over this, because people, even four-year-olds, rarely mistake me for a lawyer.
Then I laughed when I realized she was trying to 'place' me in the family.
Yes, I told her. I'm married to your almost step-mommie's brother. I'm an in-law.
(Beyonce; Kick Him Out)
Speaking to the new husband of my ex's second ex, thinking about the new husband of his first ex, and how I met him without knowing he was married to her. Later, her comment was, "Does she have to be friends with ALL of my husbands?"
Ex #2's new husband is quite charming and humorous, and we discussed Schrodinger.
We spoke of the famous imaginary cat, and the popular notion that he is either in the box, or not in the box. This is incorrect, as the cat being in the box is taken as a non-variable. Whether the cat is alive or not is at issue.
However, my friend applied the 'observation changes reality' premise to this theoretical cat, and said that the cat is either looking up or not looking up, and when we open the box to see if the cat is looking up, of course the cat is looking up, because we opened the box.
This is not Shrodinger, nor Quantum Physics. It's more like a foam marshmallow s'more snowman on a sled Christmas ornament, or a shirtless Korean Canadian in a kilt playing electric sitar. (Hi, Andrew!)
I spoke of the stepson of my cousin, trying to find a word. I decided on 'nephew', which describes the emotional connection, though on a literal level is less than accurate.
Though in conversation I refer to multiple brothers-in-law, I in fact only have one. The husbands of my two sisters-in-law have no designation in English, and calling them out-laws confuses people.
Long ago, I met the little girl who was about to become my niece by marriage. I helped her gather some food on a paper plate and we sat down together. She looked at me with her serious little face and asked, "So, are you.... in law?"
I puzzled over this, because people, even four-year-olds, rarely mistake me for a lawyer.
Then I laughed when I realized she was trying to 'place' me in the family.
Yes, I told her. I'm married to your almost step-mommie's brother. I'm an in-law.
(Beyonce; Kick Him Out)
16 November, 2011
Aborted Visit
...travel the world and the seven seas/ everybody's looking for something....
Before I woke this morning, I was in your apartment- not the house I've visited, nor the other dwelling you've described to me, but a first-floor condo unit in a large complex. I knew it was yours because it was the same apartment I'd dreamed before, which I entered, barely knocking, and walked straight into your arms as you stepped from the shower. This time, as I came in, I tripped over a red cloth shopping bag- Target, I think- which contained a pair of shoes and a sweater I'd left behind the last time.
In my dreams, you don't seem partial to locked doors.
You are not here. I can feel your absence.
A young college-aged woman moves from one room to another in the back of the apartment. The front rooms are dark. She is speaking on the phone, but eventually notices me, and asks, "May I help you?" in a slightly hostile tone. I stammer that I've accidentallly entered the wrong apartment. Her face relaxes and she agrees that the units look all alike, and, smiling at me, resumes her phone conversation as I back away towards the door. I grab my bag of clothes and exit, wondering.
Eurythmics; Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)
Before I woke this morning, I was in your apartment- not the house I've visited, nor the other dwelling you've described to me, but a first-floor condo unit in a large complex. I knew it was yours because it was the same apartment I'd dreamed before, which I entered, barely knocking, and walked straight into your arms as you stepped from the shower. This time, as I came in, I tripped over a red cloth shopping bag- Target, I think- which contained a pair of shoes and a sweater I'd left behind the last time.
In my dreams, you don't seem partial to locked doors.
You are not here. I can feel your absence.
A young college-aged woman moves from one room to another in the back of the apartment. The front rooms are dark. She is speaking on the phone, but eventually notices me, and asks, "May I help you?" in a slightly hostile tone. I stammer that I've accidentallly entered the wrong apartment. Her face relaxes and she agrees that the units look all alike, and, smiling at me, resumes her phone conversation as I back away towards the door. I grab my bag of clothes and exit, wondering.
Eurythmics; Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)
02 November, 2011
Juxtaposition, Again.
...they paved paradise/ and put up a parking lot/ they took all the trees/ and put them in a tree museum/ then they charged the people/ a dollar and a half just to see 'em...
The sun gleams blinding on the flat waters of the harbor. Beyond, twin plumes of steam rise from the stacks of Brandon Shores power plant, floating above the dinosaurian skeletal frames of mechanical monsters.
Nearby, a pair of large rocks protrude from the inlet, covered with birds. White-shirted cormorants glare at the monstrous floating city moored across the way. The lone heron among them tips his prehistoric head disdainfully and flaps away.
Marsh grasses rustle against the light breeze. Somewhere, I know there is a tent almost, but not quite entirely hidden from view. I often wonder about the tent's inhabitant: homeless, semi-homeless, or just living off the grid?
A seagull sounds as it sails overhead. I lock my car and walk into the Wal-Mart.
(Joni Mitchell; Big Yellow Taxi)
The sun gleams blinding on the flat waters of the harbor. Beyond, twin plumes of steam rise from the stacks of Brandon Shores power plant, floating above the dinosaurian skeletal frames of mechanical monsters.
Nearby, a pair of large rocks protrude from the inlet, covered with birds. White-shirted cormorants glare at the monstrous floating city moored across the way. The lone heron among them tips his prehistoric head disdainfully and flaps away.
Marsh grasses rustle against the light breeze. Somewhere, I know there is a tent almost, but not quite entirely hidden from view. I often wonder about the tent's inhabitant: homeless, semi-homeless, or just living off the grid?
A seagull sounds as it sails overhead. I lock my car and walk into the Wal-Mart.
(Joni Mitchell; Big Yellow Taxi)
20 August, 2011
Get One.
...look me in my eyes with the blank stare/ why don't you know/ why don't you know what to do....
"Shit!"
What's wrong, honey?
"I have no fucking clue what's wrong! It just won't work!"
He's trying to fix the sink in the bathroom. I'm in the kitchen. I dig around in a drawer, find a chopstick.
I carry it to the bathroom, hold it out to him.
"What's this?" He takes it.
It's a clue stick.
Fluffy, helping, chimes in: "That's not- that's a chopst-"
Shut UP. Work with me, here.
(Rob Allen; Clueless)
"Shit!"
What's wrong, honey?
"I have no fucking clue what's wrong! It just won't work!"
He's trying to fix the sink in the bathroom. I'm in the kitchen. I dig around in a drawer, find a chopstick.
I carry it to the bathroom, hold it out to him.
"What's this?" He takes it.
It's a clue stick.
Fluffy, helping, chimes in: "That's not- that's a chopst-"
Shut UP. Work with me, here.
(Rob Allen; Clueless)
14 August, 2011
Sleep, Interrupted.
...whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you....
I've stayed up too late chatting on the internet with a friend I've never met. She has wonderful words of advice about something that's been troubling me for several months, so I don't begrudge the lost sleep. I gather a few things I'll need in the morning then tuck myself in for a few hours… at least, that was the plan. In less than an hour, the dogs wake me, barking furiously. I listen, and hear a knocking at my front door. This used to not be an unusual occurrence when RJ was living nearby, but he has moved away. Who is knocking? I hurry downstairs and peek under the curtain. There are two uniformed people, one of whom bears passing resemblance to the girl who used to care for my babies, back when I had babies. I open the door. It's the police.
Why are the police at my house?
"We received a 911 call from this residence."
What? A 911 call? From MY house?
"It was a 911 hang-up."
Ah, okay. Which the police are obligated to investigate. The cruiser is parked diagonally across my street, which I mentally note is a Bad Idea, considering the speed at which drivers regularly take my hill. It's 3 AM. Why are the police at my house at 3 AM?
No, I didn't make a 911 call. I was sleeping. The kids are also sleeping.
"Do you have any housemates, someone renting a room?"
Nobody. What the hell? Also, my land-line doesn't work particularly well, and mostly provides me with internet access, which is also spotty. Not only DID no one make a 911 call from my house, I doubt anyone COULD make a 911 call from my house.
"Well, it was just a mistake, then. Sorry to have woken you."
But whose mistake? How?
I go back to bed, but I do not sleep, not for quite a while.
(Bob Marley; Bad Boys)
I've stayed up too late chatting on the internet with a friend I've never met. She has wonderful words of advice about something that's been troubling me for several months, so I don't begrudge the lost sleep. I gather a few things I'll need in the morning then tuck myself in for a few hours… at least, that was the plan. In less than an hour, the dogs wake me, barking furiously. I listen, and hear a knocking at my front door. This used to not be an unusual occurrence when RJ was living nearby, but he has moved away. Who is knocking? I hurry downstairs and peek under the curtain. There are two uniformed people, one of whom bears passing resemblance to the girl who used to care for my babies, back when I had babies. I open the door. It's the police.
Why are the police at my house?
"We received a 911 call from this residence."
What? A 911 call? From MY house?
"It was a 911 hang-up."
Ah, okay. Which the police are obligated to investigate. The cruiser is parked diagonally across my street, which I mentally note is a Bad Idea, considering the speed at which drivers regularly take my hill. It's 3 AM. Why are the police at my house at 3 AM?
No, I didn't make a 911 call. I was sleeping. The kids are also sleeping.
"Do you have any housemates, someone renting a room?"
Nobody. What the hell? Also, my land-line doesn't work particularly well, and mostly provides me with internet access, which is also spotty. Not only DID no one make a 911 call from my house, I doubt anyone COULD make a 911 call from my house.
"Well, it was just a mistake, then. Sorry to have woken you."
But whose mistake? How?
I go back to bed, but I do not sleep, not for quite a while.
(Bob Marley; Bad Boys)
04 August, 2011
Summer, Suddenly
...then it happened/ it took me by surprise/ I knew that you felt it too/ by the look in your eyes....
It wasn't that the car was pulled up to the kerb, blocking foot and cart traffic as shoppers exited the market.
It wasn't that the windows were wide open while the stereo emitted incomprehensible bleating voices and the rhythmic backbeat of what I believe is called R & B.
It wasn't that the car sagged on the occupied driver's side presumably with the not-inconsiderable weight of the driver.
I could've ignored any one of those.
Taken together, though, and coupled with the fact that the driver was leaning forward towards the vanity mirror, actually plucking the hairs from her chin with a pair of tweezers, aroused a sudden, overwhelming horror of Life As I Know It and reduced me to a walking mass of revulsion against Mankind.
Sometimes these things happen rather suddenly.
(The Drifters; This Magic Moment)
It wasn't that the car was pulled up to the kerb, blocking foot and cart traffic as shoppers exited the market.
It wasn't that the windows were wide open while the stereo emitted incomprehensible bleating voices and the rhythmic backbeat of what I believe is called R & B.
It wasn't that the car sagged on the occupied driver's side presumably with the not-inconsiderable weight of the driver.
I could've ignored any one of those.
Taken together, though, and coupled with the fact that the driver was leaning forward towards the vanity mirror, actually plucking the hairs from her chin with a pair of tweezers, aroused a sudden, overwhelming horror of Life As I Know It and reduced me to a walking mass of revulsion against Mankind.
Sometimes these things happen rather suddenly.
(The Drifters; This Magic Moment)