I wrote this post out on September 15th, and, apparently, forgot to post it. If I hadn't been so busy getting ready to head out of town for a week (more on this later), clicking that bright orange "PUBLISH POST" button wouldn't have slipped my mind.
That being said, enjoy a late post on the house (TINSTAAFL, and all those good things).
My life has decided to blow up in my face the past two weeks. There is simply no other way to put into words what idiocy I have dealt with. Really. I wish I was kidding.
But it's quite difficult to linger on what the morons of the world are doing; the weather has been cold and wet (my favorite!), there are patches of yellow in some of the trees, I'm nursing a delicious cup of decaf tea, and I've got the Ross/Walker team on the radio. With these things filling my senses, we're putting all of the week's stupidity aside for another edition of Blog Casserole! That's right, folks, just when you think you're in the clear, it's back for another go around.
Are you ready?
Reginald Kitty is not amused.
We went on a little day trip during the weekend. Nowhere special, really.
Of course, when we got to Colorado, we had to make the final pilgrimage to Borders. Really, we're done now; this isn't like the last time
I thought we'd never go to Borders again.
Personally, this trip to Borders was much more disheartening than the previous one. I've got some lovely memories associated with Borders
(you know, back when I had a life), and I couldn't help but get a little nostalgic as we walked out with our purchases (of course I bought stuff!).
What was once a two-story bookshop was now just an area about the size of the old coffee shop, and a few tables stacked with the mismatched
leftovers of a brighter yesterday.
Sad, indeed. The next day, I saw this picture on the Interwebs, and knew the feeling.
This depresses me.
On the way, I got a chance to listen to some of the Paul remasters (yeah, we haven't really talked about that, have we?).
Honestly, it's like taking Krispy Kreme doughnuts, rain, and tea on a vacation to the Island of Awesome, and deciding you should all live there
forever and ever.
Of course, comparing these remasters to the mono and stereo versions of the Beatles remasters is an entirely different ballpark; there actually is no
comparison as to which is better with the McCartney releases.
On an unrelated note, the same goes for John's solo remasters, but this is a different topic for a different day.
These remasters are fabulous.
And, of course, I LOVE the bonus tracks. So far, my favorite has to be the One Hand Clapping version of Maybe I'm Amazed; it's more like what
you hear when he plays it live, so maybe I'm just a tad bit biased.
Pull out the boarding passes, we're headed to the Island of Awesome!
And while we're on the music subject, I've been turning this thought around in my head over the past few days.
I heard this song about a week ago (mind your own business why)...
OK, I can dig it. I get the premise, the lyrics are clear -- I'm with ya.
Then, of course, I got to thinking. You know, as you do when you can't sleep at four o'clock in the morning (doesn't everybody do this?).
There was just something in the song that didn't make a lot of sense to me: I like you best in my cheap suits.
I turned the phrase over in my head until I realized what was wrong with it.
Girls generally do not fit in men's suits; it would just sort of... hang there, looking like a living clothes hanger. Or like kids playing dress up.
Maybe I'm missing something, but I just can't get past the fact that he's dating Victor Victoria.
There is something about my family that wants to find look-alikes; "this looks like that one guy...", "that guy looks like...", or
"you know who he reminds me of?!" are all familiar phrases in our house. I really don't know why, but it's just that way.
Remember who Reginald Kitty was supposed to look like? And then, I ended up using him again?
The David Cassidy Cat? The Tragic Royalty/Niles the Butler playing cards?
Yeah, that's just a taste of what it's like here at Fusspot Farm.
The other day, my mother comes up to me, giggling and grinning widely.
I asked her what was so funny, so she handed me this little dog figurine...
and asked me who it looked like.
I looked it over for a second, and replied, "Sheperd Smith?"
Somewhere, Carl Cameron is laughing.
And that's why he spent eight years in Crawford.
We'll just add Little Shep to the "File of Weirdness", right next to the guy that thanked me in French the other day, and the fact that people will
talk to you if you dress like a beatnik.
That's right, kids! Dress like an early 60's art student, and you suddenly become popular. It's some kind of law I don't understand.
Well, I don't know about you, dear reader, but this has just been as fun as a hen in a sweater.