It is unseasonably cold here and I for one am annoyed. On my home page on my computer, as opposed to my home page I just have in life, I have the local temperature, the temperature of my hometown in Michigan, and for no real reason, the temps in Dublin and Paris.
Back when we all wore Swatch watches? Remember that? I wore two, because that was also a cool thing to do, and one of the watches was light blue and smelled like something. I forget what. But it was scented. The other was watch was black, to go with my general demeanor at the time. The point is, one watch was set to Paris time. My boyfriend Cardinal said, "I'll bet a lot of people in Paris have their Swatches set to East Lansing, Michigan time."
Anyway, my home page yesterday said the temp here was the same as it was in Dublin--46 degrees--and this morning? My hometown, my FRIGID NORTHERN HOMETOWN, has the same temp as here. Thirty-two degrees. Which is not pretty. THE GOOD SPRINGS HERE MAKE UP FOR THE CONFEDERATE FLAGS. That was the deal I made with this place when I got here. Am irritated.
And what's more fascinating than hearing someone complain about their weather? How about their bird house?!?!
A few years ago, I spent seven dollars on this little wooden bird house with a hole in the middle. I think it was supposed to attract a certain kind of bird, a bird from our class, a bird of the Philadelphia birds, yet every year different species have come in and nested there.
Can birds be different species? They can't, can they. June. Paying attention in science since 1977.
Last year, hornets or bees or wasps or some stingy thing had a nest in there. And I mean "sting-y," not that the bugs failed to pay for heat or only got meat on sale or whatever.
Probably a bee or a hornet or a wasp is an INSECT and not a BUG, right? Do you know what I enjoy? People who act like that makes any difference, bugs and insects. It's like people who insist you know that a tomato is a fruit.
My point is, I hope the birds don't encounter the sting-y things and all hell breaks loose. I imagine this sort of thing happens in nature all the time, much like what's happened to my ass, and it's a tragedy any way you look at it.
Last night, Ned and I went to that old theater we like and saw The Passion of the Christ. Oh, by the way, I'm changing the subject completely now. My old friend Tammy called me The Queen of the Nonsequitur, and often I'd be telling a story and all of a sudden come up with SOMETHING ALL NEW, and she'd just say, "Are you the QUEEN?"
I imagine I'm an exhausting friend.
So, Ned and I met at the movie theater, where he showed up precisely at 7:30, which is when THE MOVIE WAS SUPPOSED TO BEGIN. "If you're worried about us getting in after it starts, I've read the book," said Ned, who apparently has the passion for the Ned.
Have you ever seen that depressing movie? I mean, I knew getting crucified was no walk in the park, although he did walk quite a bit, but dang. That was awful. I turned to Ned at one point and said, "This hardly seems like a good Friday at all. In fact, it might be the worst Friday anyone's ever had."
I kind of wish Jesus had risen up and kicked some ass after that, but I guess that goes against his grain.
After the movie, Ned and I talked about how my friend Sandy's birthday was last week, and not only did I completely forget even though her bday is on the Ides of March and therefore memorable, and even though I have known her for TWENTY-NINE YEARS and should know, I managed to email her that day and call her a twat.
Oh, I was kidding. Still. Happy birthday from one of your oldest friends!
I imagine I'm an exhausting friend.
Anyway, we talked about if we remembered birthdays, and did Ned recall the birthdays of any old girlfriends (answer: not really) and then somehow we got onto the topic of what the number one song was the week you were born, and sadly for Ned it was Mr. Tambourine Man by the Byrds. Not the birds who are building a nest in my house, but rather the singing ones with the Y in their name.
Had it been Mr. Tambourine Man by Bob Dylan, that would have been a different thing altogether. And by the way, that link up there goes to Wikipedia, and you know I am snobby about Wikipedia, but you click the year you were born and then look up your particular birth week. Good luck.
I have Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones, and you know that's a good one.
And speaking of songs (I'm changing the subject again) (I imagine I'm an exhausting blogger), do you have a friend who absolutely abhors a song, and then when you hear the song you get a kick out of it because you know how much they hate it? That's how I feel every time I hear Lyin' Eyes by The Eagles, because my coworker The Poet abhors that song.
Subject: With fiery eyes and dreams no one can steal.
Guess what I heard on the radio just now?
My oh my, you sure now how to arrange things.
Whenever I YouTube for you guys, I try to find the most ludicrous video I can. I guess every form of refuge has its price.
Did that terrible song ever go to number one? Because what if you find out THAT WAS YOUR SONG from when you were born? Oh, that will tickle me.
I have to go. I'm headed for the cheatin' side of town.