“Trying to step over the fence with both hands full of grocery bags is not that smart. Catching your shorts on the fence and throwing groceries everywhere as you fall flat on your ass is not that fun. But having your neighbors come running out of the house to see if there’s been an earthquake, well, that’s just not all that neighborly. Whatever happened to politely ignoring things…like when someone farts?”
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Go vote, y’all. The 9th District polling station at Fairview Middle is stone cold empty. You don’t even have to stand in line! Lately I’ve been on a “hey let’s dig through my boxes and files and see what this pack rat’s squirreled away this time” kick. The treasures I’ve found remind me of why I hang on to all this old stuff. Last week, I found photos of some long-lost paintings done by my old friends’ art collective back in 2000/2001-ish. I hadn’t seen them in years, the paintings or the friends. After some scanning and Facebooking, they got to see their old works and I got to say to hi to folks who themselves have been squirreled away in my memories for years. Tonight, I lifted my Cat’s Music badge off the doorknob it’s hung on for years. I’d forgotten all the effort I’d put into cultivating a badge that really, you know, reflects who I am as a person. Heh heh. The store, actually the whole chain, is long gone, lost to the internet age and gross missteps by its owners. All that’s left is memories and friends and a poster or two. Oh, and my taste in music, which I would never have gotten to explore had I not worked for years in a store mainstream enough to sell the big artists and indie enough to care about the small ones. And oh, this kick-ass badge.
You may know Scootie’s. You know, the convenience store by The U of M and RP Tracks. We used to buy kegs there. There used to be an impressive collection of fake IDs taped to the bulletproof glass. Yeah, that one. Anyway, I walked there Sunday to buy a Commercial Appeal. For the NYT crossword (which I summarily destroyed, thank you very much). And I walked past a poster pasted on the inside of the store’s window, facing out. It’s the white one on the left. Here, you can see it in the window, easily missed, I imagine.
But if you get closer, it’s quite interesting. The inks have smeared against the glass and created a piece of art out of that tacky poster. Looks a bit like this…
This morning, while I was in the area (Starbucks on Poplar is surprisingly empty at 7:30 a.m., I discovered), I swung past with my camera. The clouds were still hanging in the early morning sky, so I hope you don’t mind that I boosted these in Lightroom a bit to better convey what I see when I look at the poster in person. The world needs more accidentally beautiful things. (More photos here.)
“That is to say that horror, crime, murder did vivify all the phenomena, the most ordinary details of experience. In evil as in art there was illumination.” ~~~ Saul Bellow, Mr. Sammler’s Planet Well, today was full of sweat and fury, signifying nothing. I spoke too soon about the air conditioner. It’s out again. It blows cool air and all parts appear to work, but the house is not comfortable. The inside temperature was 90 degrees during the late afternoon, which was positively delightful when compared to the much hotter attic in which I swamp-bathed during my (failed) Miss Fix-It mission to repair the air conditioner. Whatever’s broken doesn’t appear to be a user-serviceable part. However, I am now intimately familiar with my attic’s duct work and the scent of my own steaming skin. For the occasion, I wrote a little poem about troubleshooting the A/C.
There were some bright spots to this muggy, humid heatwave day. I did get the tree limb removed from the garage and most of the backyard’s overgrown weeds cut (under severe orders from Shelby County Code Enforcement, I might add). And I did invent a lovely new hairstyle, perfect for the glamorous repairwoman on the go.
The desk is two feet wide and he hangs off three sides of it.
I said a few days ago I would write a longer entry for my sister’s birthday when I had time. Well, I’ll probably never have the time to really do her justice. So I will have to just stop, write, post and consider it done. Amber’s one tough woman. Younger than me by a year and a half, but older than me in every other way. Strong, strong-willed, rough, tender, loving, witty, smart, hilarious, mean, inviting, intimidating, captivating, scary, intense, amazing and never, ever, ever boring. Never. A contradiction in terms, an amazingly complex person. I love her more with every passing day. I’ve watched her layers fold out and open my whole life. From the tiny, spitfire, stick figure kid sister…
to the hilarious teenage rebellion hurricane (hilarious because she is truly funny, not just because this picture is ridiculous)…
to the tall loudmouth beauty with a wild mane of hair and a presence that commands every room…
to the subdued (relatively, haha), responsible, devoted mother and wife.
(I would love to post some of my favorite photos of her, but they are of her making goofy faces. And considering she’s pregnant again and currently screening the entire internet for published photos of herself, I will avoid her wrath and post only the good ones. Except that 7th grade photo, which she can’t blame me for anyway.) Like the petals of a flower and its stem, my sister’s layers are held together by a root. Hers is made of love and raw feeling. Her unbelievable, undefeatable spirit. It’s not her looks that keep folks looking. It’s that spirit. I look up to her. Physically (she’s 5’8″, the lucky rat) and mentally. My younger big sister. Happy 29th birthday, seeeester. You will love this year, and we will love it because you are in it. And today’s my sister’s birthday. She deserves far more than a hastily typed note on this day though, so I will come back to her when I have more time. |
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