The department that occupies most of this floor, at work, has decorated with a theme for today. The theme is Hillbilly Wedding. I want to die.
Category: Angst
My cousin Bruce came home Friday, for the first time since his kidney failed and he suffered acute pancreatitis. The survival rate for the severity of his illness is, they say, almost as bad as it gets. Bruce is a statistic (the only good kind).
I am ashamed to admit that while I wrote to Bruce, I never made time to visit him in the hospital in Indianapolis. My life experience has taught me to dislike and fear hospitals; I know that’s nothing next to what Bruce must feel now. I’m just glad he’s home.
When I was in fourth grade at St. Mark Elementary, a once-fine school now under the purview of fools, there was a pair of brothers a year or two older than me–both in the same grade. I don’t remember their names, which were pretty generic, like Joe and John or something. Also in their grade was a kid named Ricky, who pretty obviously had a learning disability.
Pretty much the only reason I remember these kids is that at lunch, most days, Joe and John would tease Ricky with essentially the same patter, day after day. I knew what they were doing was wrong, but I was very small and very timid, and anyway if I could hear what they were saying in that tiny lunchroom then so could the supervising adults.
The routine went something like this. Joe, the (much) larger brother, would lean over and mutter something in John’s ear. John, who did almost all the talking, would prod Ricky and ask him whether he liked a big’un.
Ricky would shake his head and laugh.
John would ask again, to see if Ricky was sure.
“Yeah,” Ricky would say, laughing harder. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah.”
Joe and John would laugh too. Sometimes John would turn and announce to the room that Ricky had confirmed his affection for a big’un.
John would continue the interview, asking Ricky to if he liked lamb fries.
Ricky, laughing louder and in exactly the same tone, would say “Yeah. Yeah. No. No I don’t.”
Ricky, John would repeat, do you like them lamb fries.
Ricky would laugh harder yet, the way people laugh when they think laughing is what they’re supposed to do. He would be laughing too hard to speak by now, so he’d just nod, up and down and up and down. Joe and John would exchange high fives.
I could tell by the tone of the participants that this was not a kind thing to do. I tried to imagine what big’uns and lamb fries could be; I came up with vague and unsettling and unhappy ideas. I didn’t understand the jokes, but I knew I would one day.
I’m twenty-four with Master’s degree and I have no idea what they were talking about.
Update 10.24.2005 1544 hrs: The Internet has informed me that lamb fries are fried lamb testicles, and that a big’un refers to, well, you can probably deduce that from context.
Thanks, the Internet.
I lost my phone in maybe the stupidest way possible. It is not coming back. I have a new one, and I still have the same number, but I have very, very little of my old contact information. I got some numbers off Facebook, and I will get those that haven’t changed in two years off my old Sprint phone.
But that’s still not most of the people I know. So! If you have talked to me on the telephone before, or want to talk to me on the telephone now, or would like to talk to me on the telephone someday, I’d like you to call me so I can store your number. Remember, my number is the same! (If you don’t get me, leave a message so I know what name to put on it.) You can also email me your number. Put your address in there too. Maybe a couple bucks. You got some potato chips? I could go for some potato chips.
When I put on Facebook that my music preference was “whatever you liked two years ago,” I wasn’t kidding. I finally bothered to count this morning and noticed that “Hey Ya” is in 22/24 time. And I’m getting really into the original Extraordinary Machine, the unreleased Fiona Apple album that leaked onto the interweb and got everybody all hot and bothered in 2003. Now the album has been retooled and actually released, and I’m just starting to listen to the stuff I ripped off Maria’s pirated CD that she got from Graham.
Expect a lot of stories that sound like Fiona Apple in a week or so, when I cycle through my current buffer. The buffer is why yesterday’s and next Wednesday’s stories are about outer space, because last week I was getting really into Firefly (on which I was a little behind–it came out in 2002).
In other stuff about music, I can’t stand Harvey Danger, so I’m upset that I have to buy their album. Values versus taste! Does anybody want a Harvey Danger album for a Christmas present?
My family is a shotgun shell
My sister has landed by now, I think. Mom and Kyle and I saw her off at the airport yesterday evening, carrying her life in four bags bigger than herself. Caitlan is a packrat. She is also a genius. She’s going to have a degree from Oxford and I could not be more jealous or more proud.
Today is my brother’s birthday, and he is alone in Los Angeles, sans roommate, sans internets. Happy birthday, Ian. I’ll call you later and tell you that you should go to a bar and let drop that you’re alone on your birthday on your first week in California. If you can’t wring some makeouts out of that, you’re just not trying.
This post is actually about gloating over seeing Lucinda Williams
Lucinda Williams seemed happily surprised by the enthusiasm of the crowd last night. “Y’all are so great,” she said. “What is this, is… is Louisville just a well-kept secret or something?” (Roars of assent, even though she pronounced it “Looeyville.”) “Y’know, Austin used to be like this… back when I moved there in ’74. Before the Wal-Marts and the Starbucks moved in…”
I wonder if she saw any of the billboards and bumper stickers for Keep Louisville Weird, which is (by their admission) a direct rip of Keep Austin Weird.
The correct pronunciation of “Louisville,” incidentally, has been codified in Elizabethtown, and is audible in the theatrical trailer, I think (can’t check at work, sans sound card). Elizabethtown filmed for a few days and held its premiere afterparty at the Brown Hotel, adjoining the Brown Theatre where we saw Lucinda Williams last night.
Lucinda Williams is a good show! She is also the most awkward-looking human on earth.
Disturbing Search Result (that led somebody to my site):
tv remote control fall down and don't work
Ten bucks says that’s a Kentucky original!
Getting more hits for “thinspiration,” too: Ana has moved up to the #84 Google result.