Blog Casserole: "I Wanna Be The Tree!" Or, Buddy Holly's Philosophy

What a lovely spring evening it was. A small shower spat little droplets of liquid gold, the clouds were a dark gray, and thunder and lightning filled the sky. It was a beautiful sight; in fact, it was so purdy, I decided to take a photograph.

As I was taking the picture, I heard the dreaded call: "Would you come help me? I wanna map out where I'm planting some trees!"
Have you ever stood outside in the rain, arms spread out, pretending to be a tree?
I have.

Personally, I think our Monday nights have been really sucky since The Bachelor went on hiatus.


It's stories like this that make me wonder if the people at the college are right in thinking I'm the weird one of the bunch (come on, we all know they're right); but, in particular, the lady that sits next to me knows I'm just plain bonkers. I seem to prove her right every week. For blogging purposes, we'll call her Left Lady from now on.
With the "spring forward", I have to wear my sunglasses far longer than in the winter; if I don't, I tend to run into things, like brick walls.

I, being the forgetful little tulip I am, forgot to put my glasses case in my bag (side note: have I mentioned I'm the only moron out of a class of seventeen that has a bag they keep everything in? I also have extra pencils, which, for reasons unknown, people think they can borrow), so my incredibly flamboyant vintage cat glasses were conspicuously present on my desktop. Left Lady looks at them, and comments on how unusual they are. As if I haven't had this conversation ten thousand times since I started wearing cat glasses twelve years ago. This time was different, though; she just kept talking. Eventually, it was my turn to speak, but I had nowhere to take the conversation. That's when Real Me picked up the receiver and started blabbering. I said to Left Lady, and I quote: "Well, it was Buddy Holly's philosophy that if you're gonna wear glasses, you wear glasses".

She gave me a look not unlike this...

...and hasn't spoken to me since.

Fast forward about a week.
Since the class lasts from 5:30 til 9:00 (someone shoot me, please), people tend to bring their dinners with them. At the beginning of the fifteen minute break, someone in the back of the room loudly announced "I'm gonna go walk my burger off". Someone else obviously misheard what he had said, asking him, "you're gonna go walk your weird off?"
So what did stupid over here say before she could shut herself up?
"I tried the once, it doesn't work."
As if that wasn't bad enough, the only person that heard my stupidity was Left Lady.
I think she'll probably pick a different seat next semester.
And I'm OK with that.


College seems to give me the best anecdotes these days, simply because you would never think an institution of higher learning could be so publicly daft.
This email arrived in my inbox the other day:

Subject: Fire

A fire has been reported in Building B on the West Campus.
The Fire Department is responding and the building is being evacuated.
Updates will follow when more information becomes available.

Really? Now they're sending out mass emails about a fire?

More to the point, where the hell is the West Campus? I guess I should put that on my list of things to memorize, right under 'learn the names/faces of people in the class who call you by name when they want a pencil'.

By now we've all seen the major announcement that one of my favorite albums in The History Of Ever has been remastered, and set for release May 22nd, right?
At first, I was more-than-mildly excited by the announcement. After all, the rumor mill accurately predicted the release date, but we didn't know full specs on what the Super-Dee-Duper-Deluxe-Edition would have; and we all know I need the Super-Dee-Duper-Deluxe-Edition to go with my other Super-Dee-Duper-Deluxe-Editions.
It was all fun and games, until I hit the part where it said Ram was going to be released in mono -- that was when I completely lost it. It looked sort of like this.

Mixed with Howard Dean up there, just for unexpected flavor.

I mean, I have tried to refrain from posting my mono/stereo comparisons here for a very long time, but I may have to break my rule.
After all, it was fun when I posted my fangirl notes, right?

Reginald Kitty is not amused.


So, what has this edition of Blog Casserole taught us?

* Pencils are in pretty high demand.


* Only the awesome-est people wear glasses.


* I am officially dead to Left Lady.


* There is something seriously wrong with the college I attend.


* Mono remasters make me go all High Fidelity. And I'm OK with that, too.

My mother said she didn't understand the meaning behind the "homo recording". I guess she didn't see the "HOME" part. I showed her tumblr recently, so I think I may have diluted her mind.

* And this song should be re-recorded for the sole purpose of retro girl-dom. "Lost In Mono" has a nice ring to it.

Look, Ma! I'm wordplaying with songs now! What do I win?

Pictures Of Lilly

There I was, standing at one of my bedroom windows yesterday, when I saw a most peculiar sight. As I pulled up the shades, my eyes were assaulted by a giant white something in our back yard. The mixture of the bright whiteness and the intense sunshine made me question what I was seeing.

Yet, plain as day, little white flowers had bloomed all over our pear tree; further investigation revealed that green had appeared in some patches of the lawn, birds were singing, and the general feeling of spring hung in the air. Also, it was so damned hot, I thought I was going to be reduced to a puddle on the floor. Any temperature over 77 degrees, and I start melting.


Now, this is still about two weeks too early for spring to have sprung, but I don't think nature is keeping track of the calendar anymore.
With that said, I went out and took some pictures.

While we were out there, Lilly decided that she wanted to model for me. Am I going to turn down the most beautiful girl in the world? No.

Did you enjoy the pictures of Lilly?
How about this, instead?


While we're on the subject of awesome music (because I can turn any conversation around to it, eventually), how excited are we for Miles Kane's Record Store Day EP?
Well, I am.
The first single was played on BBC Radio 1 yesterday, and it sounds gear.


So, here we all sit. Short pants, short sleeves, and -- quite obviously -- short attention spans.

It's the heat.

What's Wrong With Television, Anyway?

I don't watch much television. As a public schooler in the 90's, I watched more television than was probably good for me; once I made the switch to home education, however, I lost all interest in the medium. Unless it was Fox News, I really didn't care. Thirteen years later, I'm still pretty much that way; I don't know who or what is on television (except The Bachelor), but I like to make a stupid display of shouting Fox News anchors' names. Depending on what's going on that day, you can hear a wide range: "CAMPAIGN CARL!"; "YOU TELL 'EM, MEGYN!"; "SHEP! SHEP! SHEP!"; or, my favorite "IT'S THE SPACE COWBOYS!"

I officially have no life. Why? I watched this live. And I still think it's funny. Go, Karl!

If I watch anything on television now, it's generally from Britain. BBC period dramas, mostly, though I will watch films with my favorite actors in them...

But why isn't it non-fiction?

Either that, or the films are so old, talkies were still a novelty.
So, imagine my displeasure when my father asks "have you watched the cougar?" yesterday afternoon.
What the hell is "the cougar"? Is it some new show I don't know about? I had no clue.
"No, they played it after 'Arsenic and Old Lace' the other day, and it's about a cougar. They do some crazy stuff in it, so I want you to see it."
Hmmmmm. OK. That clears everything up.

So, he gathers my mother and I in front of the magical HD box, and we begin to watch.
As he starts to play the short film, I ask him the important question: "they don't kill the cougar, do they?"
"No," he said, "nothing dies in it."
'At least nothing dies,' my mental narrator said, 'because he knows I have a difficult time with animal violence. Although, he has difficult time remembering I don't eat meat. I hope there's nothing disturbing in this film. He wouldn't show it to Mama, either. After all, when you live with someone for thirty-six years, you're bound to remember that they don't like bad things happening to widdle animals.'
As I watched the first couple of minutes of the film, I remembered why I hate television.
Something about Little Surefoot having to herd sheep, while his mother sold baskets by the roadside. I don't even know. All I can tell you is that I was not pleased with how this film was turning out. The cougar was an ominous figure, ever-present when Little Surefoot made his rounds with his ruddy sheep. And then, Cowboy Jim has been called up to hunt down the cougar. Hmmm. This doesn't sound like a non-violet film. One dead calf (which, by the way, was an actual dead calf) and a lasso around the cougar's neck later, and I'm outta there like yesterday.
Long story short: the paternal unit and I still aren't speaking.


How many folks here watch Supernatural? What does it matter, I can't see you, anyway.
My mother and sister like the show, so I watch it for them. After the most recent episode, though, I realize that it truly is not my cup of tea. I don't mind when the show revolves around the monsters going bump in the night -- on occasion, that's even entertaining. When it steps into giving nutjobs ideas, though, I'm out. If you haven't seen it, SPOILER ALERT! OK? Any show that focuses on actual human stuff creeps me the hell out, and I just plain won't watch it. An actual serial killer? Really, Supernatural? One who wants to be possessed by the demon that had hold of him before so that they can kill together? Who tracks down and stalks his victims? And, most importantly, the son-of-a-bitch who KILLED THE DOG?

The name of the show is Supernatural for a bloody reason. They need to go off and find their stupid Leviathans, so Castiel gets some justice for saving the Winchesters' asses from the Apocalypse they started.

If I want a story about screwed up humans, I'll just watch the scenes from Sybil that deal with her childhood. OK? Side Note: I just had to explain to my mother what exactly happened in Sybil. Dear God.

Even music videos make me scratch my head, sometimes. College keeps me pretty busy, so I have only just gotten around to watching the latest video from The Summer Set. They aren't my favorite band in the entire world, but I got to see them open for The Plain White T's back in October, so I was curious to see what they would put out. That, and I saw them perform the song live.
And then, this happened.

As the video unfolded, I thought it accurately depicted the mood of the song: young, reckless, stupid, doing things you'll regret later. I got that bit. It was the bludgeoning I couldn't wrap my brainbucket around.
Sure, you could put on your English major hat and read some sort of bollocks into the ending of this video. You could say that, just like a first love, you have to kill it before it kills you (am I alone on that one?); I get it, I dig symbolism like nobody's monkey.
But really?
I was fine with it until she dragged him behind the car.
To quote one commenter on YouTube: "Geeze, it's just a Volvo, lady".


What can we learn from this analysis?
Firstly, I'm just going to stick to watching Fox News.

We were actually evacuated from hurricane Rita. Remind me to tell you about it sometime.

Secondly, I really miss Candleford.


Thirdly, I don't remember Maggie Smith in this film at all.

What? I was looking for films with my favorite actors in them.

And, fourthly, if you're going to watch weird music videos, the British do it best.

Adventures In Supersleuthing, Or, It's All In What You Fangirl

I take it y'all have been watching The Bachelor.
Right?
You've been watching, haven't you?

Well, if you haven't, this past Monday was the (most-boring-episode-of-the-entire-season-why-do-they-even-film-it) "Women Tell All" special.

That's right, that episode that strings out the season for one more week, and no one actually cares about; yes, we still watch it, but do we really care? (Answer: no.) They generally just talk to the "ladies", show the blooper reel, and give us a look at the annual Bachelor/ette/Pad reunions.
Boring, right?
BUT WAIT.
I cannot find a video for this anywhere, but here's the gist of it:

The Bachelorette 5 winner Ed Swiderski gave an update on his life after his breakup with Jillian Harris. It was weird to see him at the reunion, since he’s not normally part of that world, and even weirder to hear a pitch that he should be on Bachelor Pad 3.

A pitch for Bachelor Pad?
It didn't sound like a pitch to me; it sounded like they were talking him up, just in case the ink on the contract gets smudged.
We've talked about Ed on the blog before (here and here, if you care to look over the posts), and I have openly discussed my rabid fangirl tendencies. So, if I tell you I had a small reaction to this, you wouldn't be surprised, would you? Good. In that case.
I may have reacted a little.

I spilt my tea all over my dog, and nearly choked on my home-made oatmeal raisin cookies. It was a good day.

Of course, I wasn't happy just with the little clip Chris Harrison gave us. Oh no. I got that familiar itch to, as I call it, supersleuth. Most people just call it Google-ing, but I want ALL information, dammit.

There is no possible way to make this activity sound innocent, or not creepy. I know, I've tried.

Fortunately, I have dealt with Mr. Swiderski's kind before; tech nerds tend to have their own websites, with those nifty little button things that link you to their Twitter, Facebook, Foursquare, YouTube, etc. If you can find their website, you've hit gold.


He posted about the reunion, which is of help. This is my favorite part:

5 Things I learned at the Bachelor Reunion

1. If you judge people based on what you see on TV, then keep judging. You're right.
'Nuff said!

2. I still love my 3 favorite producers--you know who you are.

3. My mankini is not as popular as it once was. I saw several small children running
away crying at the pool.

4. We define the term "washed up". I think ET Honduras was on the red carpet.

5. The next Bachelor Pad is going to be awwwwwwesome.

Oh, it will, will it?
What say you, Chris Harrison?

Hmmmmm. Are we taking bets? I'm not.


Fangirling itself is just a fun thing, of course; that is, until someone else does it. It's creepy when other people do it, like the right to fangirl is yours, and yours alone.

Last week, an entire class was subjected to listening to a teacher fangirl; she got her photograph taken with so-and-such, who's fame has not gone to his head, and another one with so-and-such. I don't really remember all of it, actually. She said "I've got your picture", and my brain immediately went to this...

Tell me I'm not the only one that thinks performance video containing guitar swings should come with some kind of warning attached.

...and I kind of stopped listening after that.

It's a rather sad moment when you realize you've become a multi-faceted version of Penelope from The Amanda Show (90's kid moment, shut up).

I guess it's all in what you fangirl.
Speaking of which, apparently this happened.

It seems as though I have some supersleuthing to do.

I can't help it, it's a fangirl thing.

I have been these people. You either scream, or one of your lungs collapses; I generally pick screaming.