Dissecting This Post Femur By Femur, Or, Take Two!

Saturday, January 16, 2011

I wrote out a post somewhat similar to this almost a week ago.
As with anything you write, I went through the period of "is this good enough?" (Believe it or not, I do actually have some kind of standard for posts [it had to be developed, naturally... I mean, please, don't go back to the earlier posts and expect a standard of quality]; some make it, some don't, and some have to be reworked to hit par.)
I went back and reread it.
Every day.
Tuesday through Saturday.
Five times over the course of this week, if not more.
As time went on, I disliked the post more and more.
Basically, the standard is "if somebody else posted this on their blog, would I bother reading it?"
Every day, I answered, "no. You wouldn't. Chuck it, and start over."
I wondered what I could do to make this post better. After all, words can be changed, photos removed and replaced, paragraphs edited or eliminated.
So, here we go. Round two! I hope this turns out better than it's predecessor.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Well, here we are. I still don't know what's going on with this post.
I have decided I'm not going to read it over. The time for dawdling has long passed.
I'm actually quite pleased with the way it's turned out, but you can just never be too sure. I've got no clue as to what the hang up is, I'm just a little hesitant on this go 'round. Which is just silly; it's not like this is the first post I've ever made, for all that's good and cheesy.
We'll just have to see.

Reginald Kitty is not amused.


We all know that talking music is something I can really get into, and this blog is the biggest and bestest outlet to do that with. I mean, do you think people want to hear me waffle on about this drivel if they're face-to-face with me?
No. They don't. Believe me, I've tried.
Let's be honest, though, I don't know much about it; I don't play any instruments (I've never had the patience for it), I can barely carry a tune (with or without a bucket), and I don't understand the jargon as well as I'd like to think I do.
What conclusion can we draw, then?
I'm just really opinionated.
I find it's similar to watching HGTV, or DIY Network. Maybe you know, or maybe you don't, but my dream profession would involve working with houses; architect, general contractor, interior designer, or just good ol' fashioned flipper are all things I could really sink my teeth into and enjoy the hell out of. Unfortunately, numbers make me weep like an injured kitten, so I must settle for something outside the first ring of joy.
However, if you make the mistake of watching home improvement shows with me, I'll annoy the pants off you in the first fifteen minutes, guaranteed.
Favorite phrases to use during home improvement shows: "that's a waste of space"; "that architect should be shot"; "...would have worked better"; "there aren't enough windows"; "or, what would be really cool..."; or, my personal favorite, "that doesn't look like a load-bearing wall".
How did I arrive at this longwinded conclusion?
By trying to figure out how on earth I was going to tackle talking about the genius that I have discovered in Ryan Ross and Jon Walker (proving that I am, in fact, late to every party). Honestly, I'm still trying to figure out what to say. One ill-fated blog attempt under my belt, this one with no prospect of improvement, and I still have no idea where to even start.
With one long swig from my Imagine mug, I shall toss caution to the winds, and just write whatever comes to my brainbox.

I do a lot of research on a band if I like them. Sometimes, part of the fun of the music is knowing where it came from in the first place (trivia, snippets of wisdom, stories from the writers, or, sometimes, the artists themselves are thoroughly entertaining). Stuff like this? JACKPOT! GOLDMINE! Big bucks, no Whammies! Imagine my reaction when I discovered there was a part two.
Of course, band research doesn't ever really stop. There's always something new to discover about the folks that bring such pleasurable sounds into the doldrums of your everyday life.
Interviews are always my favorites, so imagine my surprise one evening last November, when, in my insomnia-fueled psychosis, I run across this one with a couple members of the Plain White T's (writing playlist favorites for years), out to promote their fresh release, "Wonders Of The Younger" (it's not "Big Bad World", but certainly on par with "Every Second Counts"... but that's not what we're here to talk about). I suggest you fast forward to the thirteen minute time stamp, for those of you who don't really care what Tom Higgenson has to say about festival season at home and abroad (if you do care, you will note that, while he mentioned Lollapalooza, he blatantly ignored Cochella and Bonnaroo)...

I've seen and read enough about Tom Higgenson to know that if he says something has a '60's vibe, odds are great that I shan't be disappointed.
On this advice, I had just found a brand spanky new, shiny-tastic toy to play with.

Oh, what fun!

Since I have terrible issues sleeping (who are you to judge me?!), I spent several nights enjoying interviews, exploring their catalog (limited though it is), reading articles and reviews, and, generally, having fun with my latest discovery.
In all of this research, I'd have to have been a right dunderhead to not recognize, as Mr. Higgenson so kindly informed us in that interview, that the Ross/Walker team had been engaged elsewhere before their latest venture.
Panic At The Disco, they called themselves.
Yes, I had heard of them when their first album came out. It was, apparently, some big deal at the time, blah, blah, blah.
I wouldn't know. All I needed was a thirty second preview on iTunes and a look at the man-liner (yes, I know it's usually called guy-liner, and, by calling it man-liner, it ruins the play on words... I think man-liner describes the practice better)...

...and fourteen year old me thought nothing more of it.

I was assured in my research that their second release, "Pretty. Odd.", was a far cry from that original material. And, as was evident by the Young Veins promotion, the man-liner was a thing of the past.
Of course, if we're going to poke fun at where they were at four or five years ago, I must be willing to do it, myself...

Oh my God. I haven't seen this picture in a long ol' while. What a couple of bumbling idiots.

Side Note: my mother laughed hysterically when she saw this picture. I'm not sure whether I should be glad it got it's intended effect, or offended by the retrospective hilarity that ensued.

Male make-up aside, I decided to try out their new sound; after all, the more the merrier, right?
Besides, with a few years in the rearview mirror, surely maturity will win out, right?
I mean, we've all grown from man-liner and... well, whatever my personal contribution represents.
Yes, I believe we have.

I have to say, Ryan Ross is rockin' that Monty Hall suit. Nothing screams fun like heavily checked waistcoats. The sad part? I'm serious.

When I did my traditional YouTube search (I'll type in the band name, and watch the very first video that comes up), and watched this video...


Due to technical difficulty (i.e., they don't allow embedding), you'll have to click here to see it. Do so. You won't be sorry.

We now resume our regularly scheduled programming.


...I was blown away.
It reminded me of something...

And we all know I like to be reminded of that.

"Pretty. Odd." charmed the pants right off of me; although, since I do all of this research in the early morning hours, I probably wasn't wearing pants, anyway, but you get the point I'm making.

NEVER!

Of course, going about it in the wrong order, what with learning about The Young Veins first, then the later, pre-split material (confusing, but not inaccurate) from their prior gig, I shouldn't have been surprised.
Regardless of the fact that Brendon Urie may or may not annoy me (which, apparently, defies some kind of universal law, like gravity, or the butter-side-down theory), the only other thing I disliked about the album was that there simply wasn't more of it.
There. I said it. They left me wanting more, just like Col. Parker and Brian Epstein made their respective acts (credit where it's due, and all that).
All I can say is look it up for yourself.
Chances are, if you enjoy reading this blog, and you haven't heard this album yet, you'll be glad you checked in here today. You don't have to thank me, but checks may be payable to...

Reginald Kitty is not amused. He will take your money, though.

As for what I know about the split, I kinda stopped paying attention when I read this in an interview (BAND RESEARCH!) with Mr. Ross on that very subject:

"Brendon's more of a Peter Gabriel fan, and I'm more of a Ray Davies fan."

When I read it, I nearly had a heart attack.
Ray Davies, the mastermind behind the one and only modtastic Kinks?


As in, "The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society" Ray Davies?

Let's be honest, we all know the Ray Davies Mr. Ross was talking about. I just couldn't make up my mind which photograph to use, so I figured, "use 'em both!"

This explains so much!
Thus, we have this...

If you don't recognize the musical genius of this songwriting team, your ears must be made of some impenetrable substance. I'd get that checked out by a doctor, if I were you.


To be frank, the songs are New Millennium elysium. Their debut album, "Take A Vacation!", is what I like to call a perfect album. The odds are very great that you will not touch the fast forward button once during a listen through this album, meaning you can just leave it on. No fiddling about with checking or unchecking in playlists, or wasting battery on your iPod by twiddling about to skip something that's slightly unpleasant. Just set it to play straight through, and you won't hear a sucker in the bunch.
Though I fall into a very small niche in the market, they've got the sound I look for. If my grandmother, who died in 1966, were to hear this album, she'd want to head to the nearest now near-extinct, Rob Gordon-esque record shop and pick up a copy for herself.
I saw an interview that was posted on the Young Veins website in which they were asked what music influenced their sound. Do you realize how refreshing it was to not only know every band they mentioned, but to actually own every album they talked about?
I almost wept over my keyboard.
I take this as official confirmation that we have encountered a most rare sighting: fellow anachronisms!

Regardless of this depressing Twitter message (is Twitter not the most useful/creepy/totally screwed up tool ever?)...

I firmly believe that, as a team, or solo, they've both got nice, long careers ahead of them. There's so much growing and wiggle room with these guys, it makes me feel like a topless puppy just to think about it.
Apparently, I'm not the only one. This Twitter response from the official Plain White T's feed backs me up.


Mr. Walker has already released a delightful solo EP of home recordings; if you loved "McCartney" in 1970, you'll love this, too. I was instantly reminded of Paul's classic solo debut as I listened to Mr. Walker's latest efforts. Go on, spend five bucks, treat yourself.
Though I haven't bought it yet, I've been playing the fool out of it.


If you're not going to buy it, at least listen to track four (I'm listening to it as I type this sentence, actually). You'll probably buy the album if you do.


I leave you now with a video that continues to tickle me (I can't help it, I'm big on wordplay)...

Fifty billion bonus points if you can guess my favorite plural noun.





OK, I lied, I read the whole post over.
Again.
Sue me.

The Copper Chopper Guards And Protects (Your Heart)

Today was quite a busy day here at Fusspot Farm.

There was housework to be done...


Grocery shopping that needed doing...


An appointment with the dentist...


And a ride in a helicopter...

You know blogging has become a part of you when your dad says 'you'll have pictures for the blog!' in a really excited tone.

I consider it one of the perks to my Daddy's job.

Hey, I think I see our house from here!

I have to say, the whole time I was there, I couldn't help but think of various scenes from Bachelors and Bachelorettes past (after twenty-one seasons, it infiltrates your brain)...


Now, I have been in many an aircraft carrier (The Lisa Marie, Air Force One... maybe you've heard of those two), yet I had never been in the air before today.

"Hmm, if only Ed were The Bachelor..."

Overall, the helicopter was quite a fun experience!



Reginald Kitty is not amused. Probably because he didn't come with us.

I couldn't resist, this video had to be included...

Snappy Goo Year!

Should old acquaintance be forgot?
Yes.
And never brought to mind?
Most definitely.

We're a little bit too Rock 'N' Roll for Auld Lang Syne, so how about a swingin' alternative?


As a personal Hogmanay to myself, I like to recap the year before it's final hour.
Not only is it a chance to reflect on the last three hundred sixty-five days (or -sixty-six, whatever), but it can make for some pretty interesting blog material.

There are always things that don't make their way to the blog (directly, anyway); take, for example, the televised images of 2010.
Here's a small sample of what was lighting up my television screen this year...





Five minutes into this film, I paused the disc, and loudly exclaimed "I HAVE FOUND MY PEOPLE!"

...the sounds filling our headphones...






...and the memories that tie it all together...

A small breakdown of adventures, if you're interested...

February - Fort Davis/Midland-Odessa area (feel sorry for us)
March - Phoenix for PAUL!
May - VEGAS, BABY! Oh, and Red River.
July - Denver for PAUL!
August - Albuquerque day trip (oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that)
September - South Padre Island/San Antonio, Austin
October - Colorado for fall foliage, Austin/San Antonio
December - Colorado Winter Excursion (yeah, we haven't talked about that yet, either)
And, of course, another holiday season without killing people!

HOORAY!

How much of the year we skipped in this silly little post, I don't know; I'm sure it's quite a lot, since you can cram all kinds of boring drivel into that time frame.
And, I have to say, as far as years go, 2010 was beautiful. If you'd have told me last year that I was describing this year as beautiful, I'd have to have asked what was going to happen to make it so.
So, for last-year-me, the only thing I can tell her is I don't have any sodding idea. I just know it was great.
And, going into 2011, I've got a good feeling. Every day, in every way, it's getting better.


So, from everybody here...

Yes, even Reginald Kitty. That does not mean he is amused, though.

...we wish you a rockin' new year, and hope you'll stick around to share in our year, too (we've got some pretty gear stuff planned, so it shouldn't be too terribly boring. Besides, if you're reading this to begin with, we're all probably cut from the same bolt of crazy, so it's all kosher)!

In No Way Associated With Pete Townshend

Well, folks, this is it.
In our family, December 24th means Christmas; we don't do that silly wait-'til-Christmas-morning bollocks, we get straight to business.
All of the annoying Christmas music, the wrapping and buying of gifts, the decorations, and general festive goop leads to this one night.

So, while it may be a little early for the rest of the world (except our European friends, of course; thank you, time zones!), we'll be having a Wonderful Christmastime...


...sending you a lovely Christmas card...

When I was little, I thought the lyric was "instead of letting the postman read it", rather than "instead of letting the postman bring it". I have always been suspicious of government agencies.

...and thinking of world peace...


Now, I know we haven't really kept this tradition up as well this year as last, but I find it fitting to draw your attention to my favorite Beatles Christmas record (the 1966 Pantomime), as it's just so charming.

That damn Podgie and Jasper bit kills me every time.

Really, all silliness aside...

Why's That Nutter In Her Dressing Gown?

1:24 AM

I have now regained enough feeling in my fingers to properly type.
How did I loose feeling in my fingers, you ask?
I just went traipsing through our neighborhood in my jammies and dressing gown (christened The Arctic Robe during the Frosted Flakes storms earlier this year... yes, for similar reasons), enjoying a surprisingly strong snowstorm!

Not knowing what setting to put the camera on for nighttime (besides the one with a picture of a little stickman and a moon; don't be snarky, it doesn't suit you), yet knowing that photographs needed to be taken RIGHT BLOODY NOW, I slipped on the closest pair of shoes I could find, and headed out.
If I do say so myself, I don't think these turned out too badly, considering I wasn't using the proper settings.











I think looking at this display of colorful lights, with the cheezy plastic nativity lit up in the background (you can't see it very clearly in the photo, but it's there), during a beautiful, quiet, early morning, December snowstorm, warm lights glowing from the house I was standing in front of as I snapped the shot... is the most Christmas-y I have felt in years.


Reginald Kitty finds this pathetic.

I plan on going out tomorrow to get some daytime shots, too. That's why you're reading this post now, and not sooner.

Tonight, after I came in from the cold and wet, as I stirred my cup of piping hot cider (yeah, I do that kind of thing from time to time, what's yer point?), still enjoying that semi-Christmas-y feeling, I looked out the window. As the snow fell gently outside, this song played back to back (on two different radio stations!); 'somehow,' I thought to myself, 'this fits'.

If I wasn't the only one up right now, it would probably have been Christmas music. I like mine better.

I shall now finish my cider, and continue watching the snowflakes grow; it looks like the opening of Star Wars out my office windows right now, so I'd better go enjoy it!

2:06 AM

Just refreshed the My Life Is Average tab. About this time each night, the new "Average Word Of The Day" is updated. Today's Average Word: snowflake.


Reginald Kitty is not amused.


9:54 AM

I have just returned from an arctic expedition, deep into the proverbial Texas tundra.
I have, again, just regained feeling enough in my fingers to properly type, and I have a nice, hot mug of cider at my disposal.
It snowed all night, and is still snowing now; we estimate we've got about seven or eight inches by now, and, as you'll see in the accompanying photos, it's beautiful out there!














It's like that scene in A Christmas Story!


The favorite bloggy snow shot.

The house is awake and bustling to the sounds of Christmas music now, just like every other morning.
Somehow, it doesn't feel as cozy-Christmas without snippets from the LOVE album, but this, too, will work... I guess.


Reginald Kitty is in agreement.

Dear Society, Stuff It. Sincerely, Me

Mother and Daddy went to the annual office Christmas party this evening. Though I was invited, I politely declined. It was such a hard decision to make; sit in a room with a bunch of lawyers and their families, or have the entire house, Bose and all, at my disposal (I blew my voice, but the speakers are intact).
When my Wrinklies came back home, they proceeded to regale the evening.
So-and-such's daughter was going to Wisconsin, Mrs. What's-Her-Face's son went to New York, little Billy Schmuck has decided to go to university in Miami. So I'm told, one of the office secretaries is my age (trying to pay her way through college), and, apparently, was disappointed that I wasn't there; something about working with old people, and wanting to meet me (I immediately asked 'she didn't find my blog, did she?', with a worried note in my voice... well, what's left of my voice, anyway).
As Dad turned on the evening news, and Mother happily added marshmallows to her hot chocolate, I sat and pondered my own existence.
I realized that, in comparison, I have no accomplishments to my name, whatsoever.
I don't go to a fancy university, particularly an out-of-state one; though I travel often, it's usually not very far... our vacation to Canada, in my fifteen year old eyes, was the biggest deal ever, and it's still one of the most magical and wonderful things I've ever done (despite the Toronto Incident, but we won't talk about that right now); and I am certainly not in the workforce, trying to pay my way through community college.
I started thinking of certain musicians with recording contracts, and big selling albums by the time they were nineteen; thinking of that stupid git that wrote the Eragon series (boring as hell, by the way); wondering why I didn't luck into something mega like Emma Watson did (what a lucky tit).
As all of this was running through my head, I had a shining moment of comprehension.
Though I am none of the things I have mentioned, I am something infinitely better: I am myself.
Instead of wondering what, according to society, I should have done with my life, I looked at what I have done.
Sure, I may take two classes a semester at the community college; I may not go far and wide, like my father's co-workers. I don't have to do any of it to discover who I am. I don't need the fanfare to recognize that, though insignificant my life is today, that doesn't mean it won't be something greater tomorrow.
In my life, I have learnt that timing is everything; timing is what got me here in the first place, if you think about it. The time I was born, the time I live in now, forms other times, for other experiences I'll need in the future; whether it's for spiritual growth, or a husband, or future crib midgets, the timing will eventually be just right. Just right for all of it.
With the security and confidence to know who I am, know how far I have come in things besides human academia, and faith in family and friends, I realize that my life is, quite possibly, more significant than I give it credit for.


Reginald Kitty is skeptical.

And the wonderment continues...

Have a song.

We're Celebrating Our Cotton Year!

Well, folks, here we are again. December 14th.
Every year, we memorialize a momentous occasion in the history of blogdom. Without this event, not one sodding thing would have changed; with it, not one sodding thing has changed.
What helps keep the waters calm?
How the hell should I know, it's certainly not me.
It is, however, the Turret Full Of Ravens birthday!
Way back in the mists of time (or, more accurately, 2008), I had absolutely no idea how to blog, or, indeed, what to blog about. All I knew about it was that my sister set it up, and she'd want it updated more than once every two or three months.
Look at how far we've come since then! We're already on design 2.1 (is it slightly nerdy that I'm keeping track of that?), created by yours truly; we've updated more than two or three times a month; I've figured out the whole "how to" of blogging itself; and, I found a topic to blog about (OK, that one's not true, but it sounded better than "we're still working on that one").
All in all, I think this little experiment has gone rather well!
How about some stats from the last year? (You may remember I did this to celebrate our first year. You may not, though, as the rest of you have lives.)
Of the 237 videos that were embedded in the last 86 posts, here's how they break down:
The "Other" Category - 68
General Music Of Awesomeness - 71
Beatles Awesomeness - 38
Britcoms - 27
Just Paul - 25
Just John - 8

I have taken the liberty of constructing a graph to illustrate 2009 and 2010.
Yes, I have too much time on my hands. So what?

Now, wasn't that interesting?
Let's continue!

Total posts dedicated solely to music: 19

We must not forget good ol' Reginald Kitty!

He has appeared 64 times, in 46 individual posts. Not to mention the header as part of redesign 2.1! He's a busy lad.

The most referenced post this year, and, indeed, in the history of this blog: In Defense Of The British Male.
If I had known that at the time I wrote the post, maybe I wouldn't have been so anxious to simply get it onto the main page (I get kind of excited when I blog. I blame the tea, of course).
Speaking of that post, since I will never get my fill of proving to my sister that I was 5000% right on that point, a post from My Life Is Average:

Today, while reading MLIA, I read about a girl with a British boyfriend. I was struck with a brief moment of jealousy (I have an affinity for British people). Then I remembered that I have no reason to envy this girl. I'm a guy. A completely straight guy. At least that's what I thought...MLIA

I understand, good sir. I understand.


Reginald Kitty understands, too.


We shall now continue the Mr. Gee-esque tradition of summarizing the last 365 blogging days, with my own poetaster flair, in some kind of rhyming form.

Before we move on to year number three,
Let's look back to see what we can see.
There was the visit from Ellie,
And junk we remember on telly,
The neighbor's obnoxious radio,
And Hot Pants At The Home Depot.
My Life Is Average brought folks together,
While RAIN and Frosted Flakes were in the weather.
Paulie came over to play for us twice,
And we showed my sister those Brit Boys can be quite nice.
With prospective voyages across the pond,
And remasters from Paul and John,
We celebrated birthdays here and there,
And discovered that we weren't really square.
We talked of The Fabs, and this newfangled sound,
And why record labels are driving themselves in the ground.
Twentieth century gadgets, and a frightened Mr. Schuman,
Bieber, Netspeak, and changing textbooks? Nothin' doin'!
Cat glasses, follicle meltdowns, and leprechauns,
Conservatism, The Brothers Gibb-Starr, and Revolver appears to be gone.
Pete was on half-time, and we somehow found Mickey,
Ken Jennings blogged, bacon treats, and, of course, Reginald Kitty.
So, here we herald the next blogging year,
And one thing I'll say; I think it'll be gear!

Thank you.

I have to admit, when I first started blogging, I didn't expect anyone but my mother and sister to ever read this drivel. Somehow, it's gotten past the two of them, and has branched out in a way I never expected. Judging by my sneaky facts and figures, I know there are a few more of you out there than just the family I've let in on this little secret. Truthfully? It tickles the hell out of me. I would just like to take this opportunity to thank you for finding my life more interesting than I do.
And, as for the blog, I enjoy it too much to do anything but keep right on truckin' to year three.

For the time being, though, let's just sit back with a strong, sweet cuppa, and bask in the awkwardness that was year two.

Fuzz-Bucket Leaves, The Henderson's New Car, And Bendaroos

It is a little known fact that I collect blog material constantly.
If I see a funny picture, or a video I think I can use later, I'll sock it away in the kitty for a future post.


No, Reginald Kitty does not eat the blog material.

I find the only problem with this system is that, sometimes, certain things will just not fit with any subject discussed on this blathering slice of the dubya-dubya-dubya (www, for those of you not familiar with the Texas Drawl).
Though possibly seen as a disadvantage, I find that this just opens up the opportunity for a rarity on this here blog (pfffftttt): a totally random post!
If you're ready, we'll begin the slum-gullery right now!

Mother was going through the shed today (why she decided to do this eleven days before Christmas, I still don't know), when she found some give-away boxes.
Curious, I looked in one of them, and discovered it was a box I had packed when we moved ten years ago.
Three items stood out to me; not only because, at nine years old, that was what I decided needed to get switched to the new house, but that I haven't changed much in those ten years (I was advanced for my age, sue me).

Exhibit A:

Fresh off the 2000 election, I suppose I was feeling the lack of political action (much as I still do after an election, really), and left this out as a reminder.
That's what I'm telling my future therapist, anyway.

Exhibits B and C:



I suppose this was the beginning of the end, so far as the grammar department was concerned. Why I kept them, I don't recall, though I find it amusing. In even odder news, my hand did not grow much after this tracing; my fingers just got about two inches longer. This makes me feel sorry for Dan Radcliffe, in an odd way (believe me, this will make sense). When I placed my hand in his imprint at Grauman's Chinese Theater, I was stunned that his hand was exactly the same size as my own; I mean, no one would have known the difference if I had put my hand in that wet cement instead (kind of in that Lucy stealing John Wayne's footprints way).
Unfortunately, no one was particularly interested in this story as we talked about that specific vacation, so it hasn't ever really come up again. UNTIL NOW!

See? Interchangeable hand prints.

Switching gears, now!
One of our little traditions for Christmas is to color. Yes, like, in coloring books, with our big 100+ crayon kit. My Mommy liked mine, so she hung it on the fridge...

Look, Ma! I stayed inside the lines!

I was actually quite surprised at how well the colors worked together; when I do my little doodles, I work in shades of black/white/gray, never any other colors...

The latest sketch! I left the photo a little large, so you could see some of the detail work.

...so I was quite pleased when I noticed the colors blended nicely.
And that's how seriously I take coloring.

It's hard to believe that we're almost two weeks away from Christmas.
A couple of days ago, as I went out to look at the sunset (yeah, I do stuff like that... 'cause, one day, I'll be dead), I saw our little purple weeds blooming through the cracks in the flagstone path by our house. You know, those early/mid-spring purple weeds? In December.

We're having crazy weather in our neck of the woods, though, so I'm not as surprised as I should be.

While they're blooming outside, my geraniums are blooming away inside, too...


...and even growing some little fuzz-bucket leaves (no, that's not a technical term)...

I just love this picture, by the way. I thought of editing the header to include it.

What I'm most excited about, though, are these.

I have this freshly cut one, and two more on the plant.
And I'm really, really glad to have 'em.
When I started growing geraniums, I was probably fourteen (that was a big year for me). When one of these little spriggy things appeared in the middle of my carefully tended blooms, I asked my grandfather, who's mother also grew geraniums, if he could tell me what they were.
He said something along the lines of "if ya plant 'em, you'll get another plant".
Ahh, seed pod!
I usually don't get these, but I've got an abundance this year!
I'm currently drying this one, and I'll (maybe) attempt to plant them this spring/early summer. It depends on how adventurous I'm feeling this growing season.
Two weeks to Christmas, I have high hopes. We'll see when it's two weeks to spring.

Speaking of Christmas, let's talk advertising; newfangled-this, shiny-cool-that, new-packaging,-same-great-flavor, or whatever they're trying to shove on us this time of year, they're always trying to sell you something.
Here are a couple of ads I took notice of.
Exhibit A:

Overall, a pretty ordinary commercial, right?
No.
Please, take note at the 0:10 time stamp, as GMC tries to tell you about their special "multiflex" seating. You will notice a little stick family. Let's look at them for a second.
Moving right to left, we see Daddy Stickman, Mommy Stickman, Oldest Sibling Stickman, Youngest Sibling Stickman, and... Harry Henderson?

I didn't get it, either.

Or what about the amazingly-fantastical Bendaroos? What child of the 90s didn't encounter Bendaroos at some point in their young, as-yet-meaningless lives? That waxy smell from the package, and the odd tacky-sticky feeling that lingers on yer fingers after you've twisted your little primary colored stick into goofy shapes like swirls or hearts (my sister once got adventurous and made a pretzel).
Judging by this commercial, Bendaroos have changed since I last saw them.
Apparently, they now glow in the dark, as well as bend into swirls and hearts.
Let us observe the ad...

Let's look at the 0:36 time stamp, shall we?
"Turn old, scratched CD's..." is pretty much what we're looking at, here.
You know, as much as I love MP3 (and heaven knows I loves me some MP3... young and impressionable during the first decade of the Millennium, doncha know), there's a magic about having the tangible record in your hands, being able to read the liner notes, and look through the little booklets. I have always loved to look at a physical CD. When I was younger, and CD players were still a status symbol, I used to watch the discs spin through the clear plastic cover; occasionally, I would take other CDs out of their cases (when I had on a favorite or appropriate track) and play with the rainbows the back of the disc would make on the wall if the light hit it just right. Of course, it dawned on me the other day that my little niece, aged one year, will one day ask what a CD is. And why it was cool; especially since, with newer albums, you can download the booklet with the album, and have it on your computer. Then, she'll ask her Gammy what a record is. And then, we'll all feel freaking old.
In our family, there was/is no such thing as a scratched CD. Albums cost money, so you take care of them just like anything else you pay for.
I think hearing you can stick Bendaroos on CDs was more like an insult to my childhood from these younger hoodlums than actually using old discs for amusement. What right have they to take our antiquated technology and twist it to fit their little UFO Village? That's right, they haven't. At least, that's what stingy little me thought as I watched them fitting pink sticks onto a disc.
I don't care that they're outdated, personally. I still get a rush when I look at a CD booklet, and look at the label on the disc itself. I know there are at least two wrapped and under our tree right now, and I'm looking forward to getting them... and looking at the booklets. Incidentally, I find it ironic that the two albums I know are under our tree are two of the albums helping keep me sane during this Christmas music season. As I type, I've got my headphones on, relying on the good people of YouTube to keep me supplied. Perhaps it's karma for figuring out which two albums they were. It was all fair, I swear! I didn't snoop or anything. I just have supersluth skills. That, and Mother didn't know what one of them was, so I had to make sure she ordered the right thing.

Believe it or not, I've got about four more tabs of stuff to talk about. I have realized, though, that my mother is absolutely right on a certain point; I don't talk much, but once you get me going, it's hard to shut me up.
I love her. And I get to pick the home.
Ahhh, the perks of being the baby of the family.


Reginald Kitty is amused. He suggests Shady Pines.

Since Christmas is driving me bonkers, here's something that has nothing to do with Christmas. Don't say I never gave you anything.

It's like The Kinks and The Who had a love-child circa 1965/early '66. Not too shabby, considering this band's first album was only released this summer. Never fear, once I unwrap the album on Christmas (whoops!), we'll talk about it. In detail. It will be fun! Well, for me, anyway.