Happy Octoberween!
Max chose The Cheat for his jack-o-lantern . . .
.
Ben and Milo wanted Pom Pom and the 8-bit peasant from the Trogdor Burninator game . . .
These are all from http://www.homestarrunner.com/, which you should recognize as among the very best internet sites for wasting valuable time. I'm afraid that I am a stalwart fan of the site, finding an eerie kinship with Coach Z, the Minnesotan rapper. I wanted to put Peacey P, ("the best guest rapper in the music biz, I don't even know who's song this is . . . ") on "my" pumpkin. but AK informed me that it was "our" pumpkin (she did grow it) so it has "AK *heart* CH" carved in it now. So there it is. Halloween. The day that we set aside for the celebration of flash animation web sites that suck precious time into the vaccuum of the past.
Wal Mart Slippers. No, those arent' slippers you buy at Wal Mart. That's the new name for my comfy fuzzy (but decidedly manly Forest Green) house slippers. I think my mother got them for me last X-mas, on account of me spending all winter painting in my workshop with only commercial indoor/outdoor carpeting between my tootsies and the concrete floor. Yes, I'm a fully testonsteron'ed 6'3 man, and I just referred to my feet as tootsies. Deal with it. As the chill has crept in this past month, I find my best defense is the following podiatric recipe: one pair of sport socks, one pair of AK's hand-knit-wool-warm-but-scritchy-and-a-little-stretched-out Yarny Socks, all covered by one pair of fuzzy green manslippers. Once this detailed recipe has been assembled, is it worth it to CHANGE all of my footwear to leave the house? Well, that depends. Am I leaving the car or just taxiing munchkins from point to point? If I am leaving the car, will I be seen by John Q. Public or will it be fellow harried parents who are less likely to judge my kicks and more likely to think "score! I'm totally not changing out of my slippers next time". Well, while we all joked about Daddy strolling the aisles of Wal Mart in his slippers last week -- today I again found myself at Wally World sporting the sock/sock/slipper triple-whammy of warmth, comfort and trendsetting style. So it's obvious a line exists, and on one side of the line are slipper-worthy destinations, on the other side are establishments that for one reason or another require changing into more civilized footwear. Where do you draw your line and why?
Sexy Sexy. AK and I listened to The Pretenders' "Chain Gang" on the radio today and I pontificated -- as I am wont to do -- on the seductive lilt and style of Chrissy Hynde's voice. I began to assemble an authoritative and rock-solid, irrefutable list of the sexiest voices in entertainment. But that didn't work. So here is my half-sorted, seat-of-the-pants and refutation-begging list:
-Chrissy Hynde: She somehow manages to moan and sing at the same time. She's mysterious insofar as her bangs have always been so long . . . to this day no one knows what she really looks like. She sang a duet with UB40 about cheating called Breakfast in Bed, so sultry and inviting that it almost justified infidelity. Almost.
-Toni Braxton: Delicious contralto goodness. Anita Baker but, you know, hot. Who cares if she can dance?
-Kathleen Turner: I don't know if she can sing or not, but I've set through some real stinkers of movies just to hear her voice for 90 minutes.
-Macy Gray: I should also throw Tracy Chapman in here with Macy Gray, they seem so similar to me. It's as though Tracy Chapman finally found some good anti-depressant medications . . in the late 90s . . . and then changed her name to Macy Gray. Modern folk music from a strong-yet-feminine point of view. But really. Have YOU ever seen them in the same room at the same time?
-Alison Moyet: She was the singer for Yaz (Yazoo in the UK). Yaz was Vince Clarke and Alison Moyet, then when she went to sing Christian for a living synth-genius Clarke made Andy Bell his pop-music mouthpiece and they were then Erasure. Now, Alison Moyet belongs on this list all by herself. But I also want to sneak Andy Bell in here. I asked AK if he could be on my list, even though he's a guy. She said no. I pointed out that he's an extravagantly homosexual guy, probably happy to be lumped in with female singers of any kind, let alone sexy-voiced ones, and that didn't seem to help at all. Still not so much. Both of these singers have range and power (and wear dresses) but we'll just list Alison for now.
Who's on your list? Opposite sex or not?
That's all I can remember right now. I know there are others, I'm just not worldly enough to be familiar with them. AK lamented that she did not have a smoky low voice. I informed her that she absolutely DID -- whenever she got REALLY sick and almost totally lost her voice. My advances of course during those times are diverted if not halted altogether by the phlegm, bloodshot eyes and violent moodswings that accompany any infectious virus worth it's antibiotic.
While we're on the subject of seduction, I must share a delightful tidbit of our playful romantic banter. I was so struck by my wife's clever flirtatious poetry that I wrote it down. Imagine if you will, a tired but lovely woman and her charming if Wooly-Willy-looking husband. Imagine that they are in his workshop, gazing into each others eyes as a pounding melody throbs from the stereo speakers. He confidently looks over his glasses and raises his left eyebrow in an inviting arch, then raises it again and again in time with the passionate music. He's coyly hinting at the rhythm of love -- and she recoils.
"Not so much with the eyebrow?" he asks matter of factly.
"It looks like the death throes of a caterpillar" says she.
Yes, she knows how to make a man feel like a man.
Taking my caterpillars and going to bed . . .
.Ben and Milo wanted Pom Pom and the 8-bit peasant from the Trogdor Burninator game . . .
These are all from http://www.homestarrunner.com/, which you should recognize as among the very best internet sites for wasting valuable time. I'm afraid that I am a stalwart fan of the site, finding an eerie kinship with Coach Z, the Minnesotan rapper. I wanted to put Peacey P, ("the best guest rapper in the music biz, I don't even know who's song this is . . . ") on "my" pumpkin. but AK informed me that it was "our" pumpkin (she did grow it) so it has "AK *heart* CH" carved in it now. So there it is. Halloween. The day that we set aside for the celebration of flash animation web sites that suck precious time into the vaccuum of the past.
Wal Mart Slippers. No, those arent' slippers you buy at Wal Mart. That's the new name for my comfy fuzzy (but decidedly manly Forest Green) house slippers. I think my mother got them for me last X-mas, on account of me spending all winter painting in my workshop with only commercial indoor/outdoor carpeting between my tootsies and the concrete floor. Yes, I'm a fully testonsteron'ed 6'3 man, and I just referred to my feet as tootsies. Deal with it. As the chill has crept in this past month, I find my best defense is the following podiatric recipe: one pair of sport socks, one pair of AK's hand-knit-wool-warm-but-scritchy-and-a-little-stretched-out Yarny Socks, all covered by one pair of fuzzy green manslippers. Once this detailed recipe has been assembled, is it worth it to CHANGE all of my footwear to leave the house? Well, that depends. Am I leaving the car or just taxiing munchkins from point to point? If I am leaving the car, will I be seen by John Q. Public or will it be fellow harried parents who are less likely to judge my kicks and more likely to think "score! I'm totally not changing out of my slippers next time". Well, while we all joked about Daddy strolling the aisles of Wal Mart in his slippers last week -- today I again found myself at Wally World sporting the sock/sock/slipper triple-whammy of warmth, comfort and trendsetting style. So it's obvious a line exists, and on one side of the line are slipper-worthy destinations, on the other side are establishments that for one reason or another require changing into more civilized footwear. Where do you draw your line and why?
Sexy Sexy. AK and I listened to The Pretenders' "Chain Gang" on the radio today and I pontificated -- as I am wont to do -- on the seductive lilt and style of Chrissy Hynde's voice. I began to assemble an authoritative and rock-solid, irrefutable list of the sexiest voices in entertainment. But that didn't work. So here is my half-sorted, seat-of-the-pants and refutation-begging list:
-Chrissy Hynde: She somehow manages to moan and sing at the same time. She's mysterious insofar as her bangs have always been so long . . . to this day no one knows what she really looks like. She sang a duet with UB40 about cheating called Breakfast in Bed, so sultry and inviting that it almost justified infidelity. Almost.
-Toni Braxton: Delicious contralto goodness. Anita Baker but, you know, hot. Who cares if she can dance?
-Kathleen Turner: I don't know if she can sing or not, but I've set through some real stinkers of movies just to hear her voice for 90 minutes.
-Macy Gray: I should also throw Tracy Chapman in here with Macy Gray, they seem so similar to me. It's as though Tracy Chapman finally found some good anti-depressant medications . . in the late 90s . . . and then changed her name to Macy Gray. Modern folk music from a strong-yet-feminine point of view. But really. Have YOU ever seen them in the same room at the same time?
-Alison Moyet: She was the singer for Yaz (Yazoo in the UK). Yaz was Vince Clarke and Alison Moyet, then when she went to sing Christian for a living synth-genius Clarke made Andy Bell his pop-music mouthpiece and they were then Erasure. Now, Alison Moyet belongs on this list all by herself. But I also want to sneak Andy Bell in here. I asked AK if he could be on my list, even though he's a guy. She said no. I pointed out that he's an extravagantly homosexual guy, probably happy to be lumped in with female singers of any kind, let alone sexy-voiced ones, and that didn't seem to help at all. Still not so much. Both of these singers have range and power (and wear dresses) but we'll just list Alison for now.
Who's on your list? Opposite sex or not?
That's all I can remember right now. I know there are others, I'm just not worldly enough to be familiar with them. AK lamented that she did not have a smoky low voice. I informed her that she absolutely DID -- whenever she got REALLY sick and almost totally lost her voice. My advances of course during those times are diverted if not halted altogether by the phlegm, bloodshot eyes and violent moodswings that accompany any infectious virus worth it's antibiotic.
While we're on the subject of seduction, I must share a delightful tidbit of our playful romantic banter. I was so struck by my wife's clever flirtatious poetry that I wrote it down. Imagine if you will, a tired but lovely woman and her charming if Wooly-Willy-looking husband. Imagine that they are in his workshop, gazing into each others eyes as a pounding melody throbs from the stereo speakers. He confidently looks over his glasses and raises his left eyebrow in an inviting arch, then raises it again and again in time with the passionate music. He's coyly hinting at the rhythm of love -- and she recoils.
"Not so much with the eyebrow?" he asks matter of factly.
"It looks like the death throes of a caterpillar" says she.
Yes, she knows how to make a man feel like a man.
Taking my caterpillars and going to bed . . .
posted by Chris at
11:32 PM
7 Comments:
Natalie Merchant.
My ugly baggy brown wool socks get so matted on the bottoms sometimes they appear to have soles. Bus stop, okay; convenience store, okay if I make one of the girls run in; in the house when company comes over, fine, much to my children's horror.
Sophie B. Hawkins. Her cover of Dylan's "I Want You" makes me feel all kinds of inappropriate.
(Her "Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover" would, too, if only she had used the subjunctive correctly. Glaring grammatical gaffes are only slightly less effective than cold showers.)
Re: footwear, et al. I've noticed that I will walk out of the house in just about anything, looking just about any way, these days. My hair's messy? So what? My shirt's wrinkled? Your point?
It's becoming more and more about comfort for me. If I had my druthers, I'd swathe myself loosely in linen and be done with it.
Here's the rest of my list of sexy voices (subject to revision should I think of someone later):
Sophie B Hawkins, as mentioned above.
Rufus Wainwright
Samuel Beam (Iron & Wine)
Nico (aka Christa Päffgen)
Michael Gambon
Sting
Benicio del Toro
Nanci Griffith. How could I forget Nanci?!
We too are fans of N-Griff. AK introduced me to her in the early stages of our marriage and I love the story-telling folk stylings (a la Love at the 5 & Dime). AK loves Ford Econoline and it was stuck in all of our heads for the 2 years we actually owned an old Ford Econoline (a MN native dubbed "Trusty Rusty". Los Angeles summers were too much for Rusty, he died a death of melodramatic Shakespearean proportions in the drive-thru of an In-N-Out. RIP, Rusty).
Speaking of folk, must add to list Judith Durham, who likely no one's heard of. She was the lead singer of the folk group The Seekers. Never has a white girl belted so much soul so loudly and with such conviction. She can come to my window any day of the week.
And speaking of poor grammar, blues singer Koko Taylor must also go on my list. She go'n pitch a wang dang doodle all night long.
Oh, and T-Boz from TLC. She was on the list originally, I only forgot. As mysterious as Chrissy Hynde, and a voice sow low they have to turn up the recording levels just so we can hear it. And we still can't understand all the words. Word.
Unrelated: I love the words that Word Verification Programs come up with. For me to publish this comment I have to type in "egath". Will someone please name their next son "Egath"? It sounds like a mystical elf lord or a powerful Viking warrior "Egath: Begat of Oke, From the Line of Blagdor . . ."
egath: also, my favorite congested-Sherlock-Holmes-with-a-lisp expletive
I envy Trusty Rusty--what a place to give up the ghost. I hope heaven's an In-N-Out. If not, just let me fade to black.
L, I love your question on your Blogger profile:
When I was four, my younger sister had a set of footie-jammies with ducks on them. To hide my deep, inconsolable jealousy, I would often and loudly proclaim, "No duck on me!"
(That story is super lame now that I "hear" it "out loud". My mom loved it. Oh, well.)
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