Pink Prickly Pear

Someone's mummy raised a very polite little boy.

Remember the other day I urged you all to go check out IDRchitecture, post haste? 

Somehow, Dan Keefe, of IDRchitecture  got wind of my recommendation and sent me a sweet little thank you via Facebook. He also, quite politely, enlightened me as to the band's spelling irregularities.

I think I like them even more.

I want to make you moan by collecting lots of spiders and again leaving them all inside the house in the corners Daddy Long Legs hanging in the cobwebs like they're dead important...

I heard this band on Huw Stephens this morning (channeling my inner teenager, laying in bed with my headphones on instead of changing a diaper, walking a dog, making breakfast or anything not entirely selfish).  Came downstairs to chase them down online (still firmly ignoring any and all responsibilities) and couldn't find them.  Dad called.  He hadn't heard of them, so no help there.  

Finally, here they are.  How much easier would it have been if they could spell properly?  At any rate, IDRchitecture.  I've chased them down for you. Give them a listen. Start with Nurishment (sic).

Pop culture commentary?  England's answer to The Postal Service?  Easy on the ears, that's for sure.

Keepin' it superficial since 1973*

 

I'm going to grow out my hair again.

Except, my method for the awkward stage involves a headband, but the boy wears a headband.  That is too matchy-matchy for my taste.

Yesterday I wore a baseball hat, but I only have one and I can't remember how I acquired it.  It's not to my taste and after wearing it out all day, Mr. Pear had this to say, once we got home:

We're home now, so you can take off your hat and Cagney or Lacey out...

To which I thought:

No nookie for you Mr. Pear!  Even if it is Saturday night!**

Anyway, he may make fun of my most awkward of stages, but I will keep him around because today I went out for lunch with my ladies and didn't come home until 5 0'clock (again with the birthday thing!) and he still did umpteen loads of laundry and vacuumed and made us dinner and cleaned up the kitchen afterward*** as well.

Oh!  And this too!  I was looking for some fun baby game on the internet this afternoon ( I ran out of creative finger plays and the kitchen was hot! hot! hot!) and found this.  D'anjou enjoyed it muchly, but I suspect I enjoyed it more.  It's not the little Roland 303 I always wanted, but I can play pretend with the best of them.

^{* In which I reference the 20th anniversary of my 16th birthday.  Except it was last Sunday, not this one.}

^{** In which I pretend to only have sex on Saturday nights, to great comedic effect.} 

^{*** Spellcheck sez that "afterwards" doesn't have an "s" at the end of it.  I'm not so sure, but my spelling mojo sure has been off lately, so I will acquiesce.}

Buckets of blood!

I was awakened this morning by a nosebleed.  Despite Mr. Pear's sleepy assurance that "everyone gets them," I don't think I actually have.  I seem to have some recollection of laying down on our old blue couch with one, but the more I delve back into my extremely fuzzy memory, I think it wasn't me, but Mini-Pear.

I was ever so slightly aware of some post-nasal drip situation which suddenly exploded into the cavity of my mouth.  I staggered to the bathroom to spit out this horrific chunk of blood.  It wasn't so much as a nosebleed, but a need to continually spit blood that was clearly generated from somewhere above as opposed to below my mouth.  So not tasty.  And so boring (and cold) standing over the bathroom sink waiting for it to all finish! 

Anyway, now I'm all alone at home (don't read anything pathetic into that statement - I just had the last truffle and am very much looking forward to my day devoid of a plan).  Mr. Pear has gone off to work, Mini-Pear and my mother have absconded to Disneyland.  They just called to say they've arrived and that the overcast weather apparently hasn't put a damper on everyone else's plans to visit the park.

Maybe I lost some sense along with all that blood this morning, for I am just now feeling slightly horrified that I wrote my mother's cell phone number on my child's arm with a sharpie marker just in case they get separated.  Surely I could have pinned a little note to the bottom of her shirt or something instead.  Apparently I am one of those wacky paranoid mothers. 

Despite my plans to do absolutely nothing today, I did take the dog for a walk to drop off some mail.  There is nowhere to leave it for the carrier at our house, as they shove all incoming mail through a slot in the garage door.  Occasionally, I'll leave an outgoing envelope or two affixed to the flap with a bulldog clip, but now that the ne'er-do-wells from across the road have started parking their car right in front of our house, I am loathe to leave the bright red Netflix envelopes hanging around waiting to be stolen.  I thought I'd listen to a podcast and do a longish loop.  Podcasts and walking are fine, but I really need to stop listening to This American Life.  Something is usually guaranteed to make me laugh and so I either end up chortling along to myself like some sort of easily amused buffoon, or I attempt to quell my laughter which usually results in my face contorting in such a manner that I've been stopped and asked if I'm okay. 

I never know how to answer that one.

X-mess 2007 kick off! (yay/boo version)

Yay - Encinitas Holiday Parade!  Classic cars and baton twirling!

Boo - It was cold!

Boo - The lady sitting next to me who felt the need to correct anyone in the parade who wished us "Happy Holidays" as opposed to "Merry Christmas".  In the end, I had to get up and move. You know just in case she inadvertently got some bile on me.  I suspect it might burn.  A lot.

Yay - We put up a tree.  A fake tree.  With pre-wired lights. 

Boo - It takes a lot of tree fluffing to make a "fresh out of the box" artificial tree look like an actual tree.

Boo - We bought said tree at Target.  On a Saturday afternoon during the holiday shopping season.

Yay - unclogged the bathroom sink.

Boo -unclogged the bathroom sink.

Yay - I laid in bed reading on both Saturday and Sunday mornings for a very long time reading my book.

Boo - Tanky finally vomited what I hope is the last remnant of the toy she gobbled two weeks ago.

Yay - Finally checked out the Indian place a two minute drive away.  I resolve to diligently work my way through the menu over the next few months.

Yay - Supported new indie hardware store (plunger and light bulbs)

Yay - Supported favorite indie record store.

Yay - Bargain bin holiday music!   Dianne Reeves,  some movie compilation with the Ramones and Elvis on it, The Beach Boys.

Boo - Kenny Rogers The Heart of Christmas (but I can live with a $2.99 mistake)

Yay - new Nellie McKay album has nothing to do with the holidays whatsoever.

Yay - neither does the new Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings.

Boo - we just missed them on tour.

Yay - briskly walked the dog for an hour on Saturday and again on Sunday

Boo - sore leg muscles

Yay - I am getting pretty good at juggling fire.

Ha-ha! Bart does ballet!

We used to live close enough to walk to the Kennedy Center and we took full advantage of this.  There is a free performance every afternoon in one of their very grand lobbies.  We went to see Polka Bands, hip hop poets, chamber groups, one act plays, visiting artists, excerpts from current shows, etc.  There are a lot of things I was happy to leave behind in Washington, but free and frequent access to cultural events is not one of them.

I like Southern California, but I'm sensing a stubborn anti-intellectualism in these parts.  I dunno, maybe I just need to make more of an effort.  Anyway, when a friend organized a trip to a children's concert series at the California Center for Arts, we decided to tag along.  A concert that isn't a bunch of potheads sitting cross-legged on the beach forgetting to hit their own bongos?  (They don't seem to have any trouble remembering to hit the bong)  Sign us up!

It turned out to be one of those "introduce the kids to the orchestra" kind of things.  The orchestra would play short snippets of music to illustrate various moods or themes.  To me, these sorts of things always seem a bit, well, stubbornly anti-intellectual.  Are the kids going to fall out of their chairs if the orchestra plays for more than 2 consecutive minutes?

For the second half of the show, members of the city ballet were to join the orchestra on stage.  After 2 solo performances by female dancer, a young man in a tank top and little bike shorts strode onto the stage.  A wave of hysterical laughter fluttered across the audience, followed by a wave of stern hushes.  I half expected to hear Nelson Muntz's trademark laugh* ring out.  Behind me, I heard a girl whisper, "I didn't know there were boy ballerinas!"

We were treated to not one, but three boy ballerinas yesterday morning.  By the third, the snickers were suppressed enough not to be accompanied by hushing.

* Remember the episode (Homer vs. Patty and Selma - Season 6) of The Simpsons where Bart is late to sign up for gym class?  He gets stuck with ballet.  After some initial complaining he realizes that not only does he enjoy dancing, but he's got a gift for it.  He's still unsure about revealing his new passion, so at a school assembly he performs in a mask.  The audience loves the performance, so Bart throws off his mask, "Behold the masked dancer is me, Bart!"

And now the audience gasps and jeers - "Bart does ballet!", "He dances like girls!" and, of course, a "Ha ha!", courtesy of Nelson Muntz.  "He's a sissy!  Let's rush him!"

Adventures in babysitting

From Monday evening's Bonde Do Role show at the firetrap Casbah.  I still have absolutely no idea what these Brazilian kids are on about, but I'm pretty sure it's very rude indeed. 

The opening act was this skinny little boy from Wisconsin.  Unexpected!  Totally uninhibited person!  It's always nice to see people really don't care what anyone else thinks and just run with it.

And thanks to Kate and family, we didn't even have a curfew!  Mini-pear trotted off to their house with her sleeping bag and we didn't see her until after breakfast Tuesday morning;) 

At the other extreme this week - Friday afternoon in the sun.  Mini-pear was supposed to have a friend over, but at the last minute her friend decided she'd rather host.  Just before we walked out the door, the mailman delivered a package of books I'd ordered last week.  I dropped off my girl at her play date, made a hot cup of tea and headed for the bedroom.  I lay in the afternoon sun reading for three solid uninterrupted hours.  Bliss.  I even let the dog on the bed.

I'm going on a date.

Mama und Papa are visiting.  Gogol Bordello are playing in San Diego tomorrow night.  Free babysitters?  Eastern European Gypsy punk?  I need new panties.

*ETA:  Apparently I'll be using those new panties to wipe my tears away!  No tickets to be had.  Oh well.  They are playing the night of my birthday up in Los Angeles.  If I can line up a Thursday evening sleepover for mini-pear, it looks like I'll be celebrating up north;)

the only brazillian wax at our house;)

Gilles Peterson has a podcast;)  And I'm late to the party so I have hours and hours of listening and catching up to do.  Bliss.  Bliss.  Bliss.

What are you listening to?

Willie will never sound the same again.

Last month's MOJO complilation (Love Will Tear You Apart) has a Willie Nelson song on it.  I'm not particularly a fan of Willie.  He can write sad, sad tunes and I like songs I can wallow in, but his voice is just a hair too loud for me.

We were eating our lunch and on comes Willie.  Mini-pear says, "What's this song about?"  and I'm listening to Willie sing about maybe he and Marie can find a burned out van and settle under the bridge.  Later on Marie will die, with Willie's unborn son safe inside.  He'll leave them in the sun where someone will find them easy and he'll hop a train down south.

"It's about having a hard life."

She ponders this a moment, "I still like it, even if it is a sad song."

"Some of my favorite songs are sad ones."

"Who sings it?" and then, before giving me time to answer, she adds, "Sounds like Ned Flanders from the Simpsons."

He does have  Flanders-esque intonation, doesn't he?