brazilian submarine (not a euphemism)
THE KID, WONDERFUL AND ALSO SOMETIMES IRRITATING
Scene: I am reading on the couch, and Nora is going crazy with the dragon puppet again, narrating a complicated story and swooshing it around. This is mostly easy to tune out, until she says something about the dragon flying “swiftly, silently [ed. note: fat chance] over the FULL MOON” and flies the stupid thing right over my head.
Me: Hey, watch it.
Nora: Your head is the moon!
Me: I’d rather my head not be the moon. Go do…whatever you’re doing…over there.
Nora: Hey, at least your head has a role!
Dude, my head is not all that hard up for parts. It’s pretty busy starring in a reality show as itself.
She is also driving me slightly nuts with this new habit of saying, “Indeed” instead of “yes” or “okay.” Time to put down that book and come to the table, Nora! Indeed. Did you have a good day at school? Indeed. Since when is Omar Little a forty-pound Chinese first-grader? Arrgggh.
MUSIC, TURKEY, TOO MUCH INTERNET
I am home today, supposedly preparing for Thanksgiving. But really I am listening to very loud music and kicking out the jams, as it were. I have already scared the cats with a rather violent dance to Black Francis’ “Threshold Apprehension,” which is just about the greatest thing he has ever done as a soloist, if you ask me. First, Frank’s screaming abilities are back in force, unlike all that sedate alt-country crap he was doing for a while. Second, a chorus of “threshold apprehension” is to be admired, simply for its polysyllables. Third, if these lyrics
We got on my bike and we rode to the sea
I stood on the dock and you got on your knees
Grand Marnier and a pocket full of speed
We did it all day until we started to bleed
don’t make you want to squander your day on aimless Chapstick-flavored makeout, cruising around in a Buick full of beer cans, and committing a half-dozen misdemeanors, you did not have the full young adult experience. Please report to reeducation camp!
In the middle of my playlist I had the not-very-profound realization that Sonic Youth must have something against vocal harmony, because the members never sing together. There are Thurston songs, Kim songs, the occasional Lee song, but why not share and enjoy? Next time I am eating Doritos with Mr. Moore I will ask him myself.
Also, I am still grotesquely interested in black metal (an interest that does not extend to actually listening to the music). In my research I ran across this band. Here is how the lead vocalist used to prepare for shows:
During one tour with Mayhem he found a dead crow, which he collected and stored in a plastic bag. He often carried it around with him and would smell the bird before performing, in order to sing “with the stench of death in his nostrils.”
When the aforementioned vocalist shot himself, the other members made necklaces with pieces of his skull. Well! Isn’t that something! (I can’t help it, I just get all grandma-fied when I read about black metal antics like this. Oh you crazy youngsters! With your sheep heads and your songs with titles like “Chainsaw Gutsfuck”! With your skull-fragment suicide-crafts! You boys go play now!)
Anyway, enough of the stench of death. On to the aroma of cooked poultry! (Which may or may not be the same thing! Depending on whether you ask PETA or a normal person!) Because LT has a proper salary this time around, I let him order the organic, free-range, Montessori-educated, attachment-parented turkey he wanted. The farmer has assured us that it was read age-appropriate books each night and that a Bach cantata was playing as it was ever-so-lightly slaughtered. Said turkey should be on a FedEx truck right about now, which is one reason why I, the vegetarian, am stuck at home rocking out instead of down at the dock with a bottle of Grand Marnier and a pocket full of speed.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Be thankful a chimp did not eat your face. Does anyone else think that’s why Oprah is retiring? That she was interviewing a woman with a chimp-eaten face, struggling to find that special Oprah balance of sensitive New-Age “compassion” and carnival-barker HOLY SHIT FOLKS LOOK AT THE FREAK, and suddenly thought WTF am I doing with my life? That’s my theory, but I am open to others.
—mimi smartypants, from chimpan-a to chimpan-zee.