Moments of Timeless Pleasure
First things first. I did it. I posted a blog entry every frick-frack-fruckin’ day of November, and am thus eligible for a major award (no, not this). Perhaps I’ll celebrate by not posting a blog entry every frick-frack-fruckin’ day of December.
Kidding! But it will be nice to go back to the relatively leisurely rate of 2-3 posts per week.
B came home this afternoon and placed this on my desk, appropos of nothing.
He sure has my number when it comes to chocolate. I love a dark chocolate/orange peel bar and this one is new, new, new, so B had to get it for me when he saw it. I guess it can, by default, serve as my reward for finishing NaBloPoMo without a hitch. I’m sort of saving it for when my period next strikes, but I couldn’t resist snapping off a tiny little corner, just, um, to make sure there’s nothing wrong with it. It is scrumptious, although the tagline Ghirardelli came up with—"Moments of Timeless Pleasure"—is farking meaningless.
Enough meta. B also brought home a copy of the soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou?, so I can keep plugging away at being far, far behind the times. (By the way, has anyone heard of this band called the Beatles?) Actually, we did see O Brother, Where Art Thou? (the movie) right when it came out, and I remember liking the soundtrack quite a bit more than I liked the movie.*
Anyway, I was listening to the CD and enjoying all the banjo picking and pedal steel guitar (so up my alley—that kind of thing), and I got to “I’ll Fly Away,” and found myself—inexplicably—choking up! I know all the words to that song, but I don’t recall when or why I learned them; they're just lodged up in my brain somewhere, apparently, and I didn't even know until now.
Why should that song make me cry? It’s just about as bouncy and chipper as can be and is played in the most major of all major keys. Of course, the lyrics are all about someone toiling through his miserable, cotton-pickin’ life and looking forward ("Hallelujah!...by and by") to the release of death . Anyway, I'm listening to it again right this very minute and it's having the same effect. Sob! How maudlin of me. What's going on here? I'm usually a very even-keeled person.
*I cannot tolerate George Clooney, the unsexiest and yet smuggest (most smug?) man alive.
Today’s NaBloPoMo blog: BosphorusRamblings
Kidding! But it will be nice to go back to the relatively leisurely rate of 2-3 posts per week.
B came home this afternoon and placed this on my desk, appropos of nothing.
He sure has my number when it comes to chocolate. I love a dark chocolate/orange peel bar and this one is new, new, new, so B had to get it for me when he saw it. I guess it can, by default, serve as my reward for finishing NaBloPoMo without a hitch. I’m sort of saving it for when my period next strikes, but I couldn’t resist snapping off a tiny little corner, just, um, to make sure there’s nothing wrong with it. It is scrumptious, although the tagline Ghirardelli came up with—"Moments of Timeless Pleasure"—is farking meaningless.
Enough meta. B also brought home a copy of the soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou?, so I can keep plugging away at being far, far behind the times. (By the way, has anyone heard of this band called the Beatles?) Actually, we did see O Brother, Where Art Thou? (the movie) right when it came out, and I remember liking the soundtrack quite a bit more than I liked the movie.*
Anyway, I was listening to the CD and enjoying all the banjo picking and pedal steel guitar (so up my alley—that kind of thing), and I got to “I’ll Fly Away,” and found myself—inexplicably—choking up! I know all the words to that song, but I don’t recall when or why I learned them; they're just lodged up in my brain somewhere, apparently, and I didn't even know until now.
Why should that song make me cry? It’s just about as bouncy and chipper as can be and is played in the most major of all major keys. Of course, the lyrics are all about someone toiling through his miserable, cotton-pickin’ life and looking forward ("Hallelujah!...by and by") to the release of death . Anyway, I'm listening to it again right this very minute and it's having the same effect. Sob! How maudlin of me. What's going on here? I'm usually a very even-keeled person.
*I cannot tolerate George Clooney, the unsexiest and yet smuggest (most smug?) man alive.
Today’s NaBloPoMo blog: BosphorusRamblings
posted by Rozanne at 8:19 PM
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