Both of these websites have become daily must-reads for me. I found the 1001 Rules For My Unborn Son, first, awhile back, and it has consistently made me smile and even laugh out loud. Obviously, it is not just boys, born or unborn, who can benefit. And I was super excited to now find a website, 500 Pieces of Prudent Advice for My Baby Daughter, focused on helpful hints or rules for a happy and fulfilling life for girls. And again, it is not just girls, or the young who can benefit from these important words of witty wisdom! Take a look and see if you agree.
My plans waver between the great and the mediocre. First, I was going to post the lyrics to this song just to throw something up here during this busy time. Then I aspired to write a monster post about the nearly endless historical references in the lyrics of Pogues songs. But then work and life obligations grabbed me by the shirt collar and demanded that I temper expectations. So I am left pursuing a more modest goal. I would like to post something more than the minimum, however. I have been listening to my Christmas music lately, trying to get in the mood. Phil Specter, Beach Boys, Sinatra, Elvis. It's not doing anything for me this year. The lights and decorations are up. Aside from the Mr. and Mrs. Frosty salt and pepper shakers and a few ornaments there isn't much to display though. The other day I watched Elf. It's just all not working. The magic isn't there this year and I can't recall it being there much last year either. Too bad. I lamented the loss and wondered why I can't seem to reconnect with those feelings that once upon a winter's moon I took for granted. And then I listened to the Pogues on my way to La Jolla the other day. It was a cold night and the music, the moon and the sea breeze just mixed so perfectly so as to blow in a forgotten memory from that purgatory where lost memories go. I was reminded of Christmas lights in Newport, walks on the beach, the changing leaves around school and listening to the Pogues endlessly. It was the sort of memory that transcended any one night but rather represented a recurring feeling I once had over the course of many such nights. I felt Christmas and other such feelings that I once thought so integral to life. Oh, but what a good song can do for you.
I recall the moment Before it slipped away When 5 green queens On a black bin bag Meant all the world to me
And I recall the moment More distant than it seems When 5 green queens On a black bin bag Meant all the world to me
And I recall the moment Much closer than it seems When 5 green queens On a black bin bag Meant all the world to me
And I recall the moment Before it slipped away When 5 green queens On a black bin bag Meant all the world to me
5 green queens & Jean
The feeling, as you might imagine, was fleeting. I have listened to the Pogues almost exclusively over the past few days trying to recapture that spirit but there seem to be a few ingredients missing from the recipe. I have racked my brain for the answer (for longer than I care to mention) to this dilemma. So I will turn it over to you. If you have an answer or a theory, go ahead and post it. Am I searching for what is not lost? Are the forces at play external or internal? Do I really have a hand in my forgetting? The nostalgia of this song kills me. It makes me want to cherish things more than I really should. Still, whether the memory above is worthy or not it still is my memory. So, it goes in the box with everything else; my wooden testament to living. Or is it my concrete monument to not forgetting? You forget more things than you'll ever remember and this song reminds me of how much of life you lose and can never get back.
I always imagined that 5 green queens was some sort of design on a black bag that Jean must have owned when Shane knew her. It seems it was a reference to a dice game.
I have lots of girl crushes. My latest one, and perhaps my most nerdy, is Elizabeth Warren. It's a little weird but I seriously get excited and giddy when she appears on Frontline or NPR or The Daily Show as the resident economic expert and voice of calm and rationality. She is all about defending and giving voice to the disappearing middle class. Swoon.
Busy week kids. So it will be a bit of gallimaufry from me.
I have something that I would like to add to my Christmas List. This particular typewriter is for sale by it's current owner. It is well used and in declining working order. Hopefully it is cheap.
But really what would you do with such a thing. Put it on display? Hold it as an investment? Not a bad idea. It won't lend you magical writing skills. It won't make you smarter and you certainly won't understand life, mortality or humanity any better than you do now. So unless you are Nelson Rockefeller, save your pennies Gilly, someday you'll have a lot of pennies.
