from the sign in front of Mostly auto repair on Biltmore Ave:
REINTARNATION:
coming back to life as a hillbilly
ya’ll know…
…i love to throw some song lyrics around for my friends like secret messages…
so let’s see…
message numero uno for someone pretty terrific and i’m just laughing so hard but i can sing along to the whole thing:
we work all day and we don’t know why
Well there’s just one thing that money can’t buy
When your body’s been starved feed your appetite
When you work all day, you gotta….(can you finish that line!?!)
ok, ok, this one is for someone else:
It’s a broken kind of feeling, she’d have to tie me to the ceiling;
A bad moon’s a comin’ better say your prayers, child
for my little bro:
I moved all that freakin heavy furniture in the middle of the night for your last minute desperate butt and you didn’t show up the next day, you freakin weasel, so i’m pretty pissed off at you right this second yeahhhhhhhh (ok, that’s not really a song, but after moving everything in the middle of the night, you owe me a drink at the Yacht Club, beeotch.)
this one’s for mr and mrs dog as they’re movin’ on up:
Fish don’t fry in the kitchen;
Beans don’t burn on the grill.
Took a whole lotta tryin’,
Just to get up that hill.
one more, one more for the birthday girl:
He’s a little bit gentle, he’s a little bit runnin’ wild
She’s a little bit of full-grown woman, she’s a little bit of child
What’s interesting to consider…
…is that we are far more in control of our own destinies than we often wish to accept. Ask for what you want. You’d be surprised how often you’ll get it.
Send that email. Make that phone call. Tap out that text message to the world. You’ll never know unless you try.
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Wingman Knows Best
Today I have to stop and thank my fearless wingman, the one and only Chiquita, for her profound wisdom bestowed upon me during our road trip. Had she not been insistent, I would have missed out on something abso-freakin-lutely awesome! Woohoo! So today, I must publicly praise her Royal Chiquitaness. Amen.
I scream, you scream…
…we all scream for ice cream!
Even though it’s a nippy 47 degrees out, the ice cream truck has already started making its rounds. I heard the song echoing around the houses several streets away, calling out to me to scrounge up the money and run to the curb…but not today.
I love that we live in a neighborhood that an ice cream truck visits. It’s such a thrill to see the kids and grownups alike scrambling outside, dollar bills in hand to get a frozen confection. It’s like a blast of good cheer to hear the blare of the repetitive song, and it’s a delight to enjoy an ice cream sandwich on the porch when the weather gets warmer.
When I was a child, I didn’t live in a neighborhood that was served by an ice cream truck. My paternal grandmother lived in an area served by Biltmore Dairy, so the milkman sometimes had orange creamsicles and Biltmore’s super yummy Winky Bars on his truck. My maternal grandmother’s street was visited by an ice cream truck on the hottest of summer days, but by the time he made it to her street, all that was left were those red, white and blue Rocket Pop popsicles…and while that wasn’t my favorite, you just HAD to buy something from the ice cream truck, you HAD to!
I equate the ice cream truck with long summer days with ample time to goof off, to build a fort, to nap in the hammock with a sunkissed red nose, to ride bikes. The ice cream truck, like so many things these days, is coming too early, rushing the magic of summer…like retailers who put on Christmas decorations in September, we’re overwhelmed by too much too soon, the wonder is lost in the quest to make a buck.
I’m looking forward to summer, and I’m looking forward to sprinting for the curb when the time is right for my ice cream sandwich…but not today. Some things are just worth the wait.
Quote o’ the Day
Cowardice asks the question, ‘Is it safe?’ Expediency asks the question, ‘Is it politic?’ Vanity asks the question, ‘Is it popular?’ But, conscience asks the question, ‘Is it right?’ And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but one must take it because one’s conscience tells one that it is right.
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
U2 in 3D is so cool!
Rattle and Hum was such a cool movie experience (I saw it on opening night at Beaucatcher Cinemas back when Beaucatcher was the biggest and the best Asheville had to offer) that I couldn’t wait to see U2 in 3D.
If you enjoy U2, it is absolutely worth the $10.50 admission. It’s like being at their concert with the best seats in the house but without the jostling and the concert-going drunk guy sloshing beer on your shoes. It’s visually stunning, and the sound was surprisingly awesome—the opening riffs of With or Without You and Pride (in the Name of Love) literally made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I did some singing along and some dancing in my seat much to Minime’s horror. The 3D effects are ample, so it seems like you’re right there beside Bono or you’re close enough to Larry to bang on the drum along with him during Love and Peace or Else. It is interesting to note that even though you get insanely “close” to the band, you really don’t get too many sweaty facial zoom-ins like you do on the big screen at a real concert…perhaps someone decided I didn’t need to see if The Edge has crow’s feet or laugh lines?
It’s not the same as being there, sure, but when the camera sweeps over the audience, it’s so packed, I don’t think I’d want to have been there in the first place. It looked like it was miserably crowded and hot, with security giving out cups of water to sweltering concert-goers by the stage. If you want U2 without the drama of seeing a band that sells out arenas, check this movie out…you won’t have to pay to park, no one is trying to sell you $50 tshirts, no one will spill beer on you or puke near you, you’ll be able to actually see the band instead of craning your neck around the tallest person at the concert all night. It was really neat, and I’m quite happy I went.
Go while you can! It’s only showing 2 times per day at Carmike in Asheville.
Could she really be mine?
Minime and I were watching “Must Love Dogs” this afternoon, and I, of course, had to swoon over John Cusack. All women of a certain age, from the era of “Say Anything” in particular, are required by law to swoon over John Cusack. Minime looked at me and said, “Ewwww, Mom. He’s olllld.”
Could this child really be mine? Could any offspring of mine reject the moody fabulousness that is John Cusack? ACK!!
(OK, yes, she really is mine because just moments later she told me that Zac Efron of “High School Musical” was too girly to be hot. Good girl.)
Under construction
Haven’t posted to the Kat Box a lot lately since I decided to destroy my house. I decided to tear out the carpet in Minime’s room, which was actually quite soothing to my ragged spirit. And in the same day, I thought I should paint one wall of my bedroom purple.
So there’s only 1/4 of a real floor in Minime’s room at this point. And there’s accidentally purple paint on my bedroom ceiling and plastic all over everything. On the bright side, ummmm, well, I really don’t have a bright side at this point. The house is a disaster, but unlike all the other mayhem in my universe, at least I have control over this particular disaster.