More sustained, coherent discussions of various things coming one day in the near future when I’ve gotten my school legs back under me again. In the meantime, here are some short takes…
I.
First, Cruz is still doing fine—doing great, in fact. Our equinologically like-minded friend Joanna wanted to send Contessa a congratulations card, but had trouble locating one that expressed just the right sentiment, or, more accurately, that expressed any sentiment at all about horses. So she improvised:
Also of horsey interest: one type of upkeep that Cruz requires is to have his sheath cleaned regularly. Yes, his sheath is just what you think it is. This will not be my job. The name for the product that is used to cleanse the sheath? Excalibur. Really.
II.
Lester is also doing okay, except for the weird bald patch he’s developed under his neck, for which I took him to the vet yesterday. Apparently dogs can be allergic to nylon. Huh. Anyway, Lester has taken a bit of adjusting to. Don’t get me wrong—he’s one of the sweetest dogs I’ve ever been around, and he loves people, loves to be held. Our senior dog, Sadie, spends her days sleeping, napping, and looking at you like she’s recovering from a childhood trauma, perhaps one inflicted by you. So, basically, a cat.
Lester, on the other hand, requires a bit more attention. Besides the giant holes he’s dug in the nice palm tree planters that Contessa sweated and slaved over, he’s chewed up two pairs of her shoes, one pair of mine, three of those foam noodles you put in the pool, two ping pong balls, a peace lily, most of the pens in the house, and, most egregiously (and, I imagine, indigestibly), one of the magnetic sensors for our house’s alarm system.
Lester’s wail-free gnashing of teeth reminds me of the time that, during one of his brief periods of gainful employment, my brother worked in the meat market of my parents’ local grocery store. He reeked so strongly of chuck roast and ribeye that my parents’ dogs ate his keys.
III.
I had this exchange at the record store yesterday when I went to purchase The New Pornographers’ Twin Cinema:
Me: Hey, I think you guys are holding a CD for me. [Sees large stack of them on display at the counter] But I can just grab one of these here.Clerk: Oh, yeah, wait, let me see, we might still have a few with the limited edition 7”. [looks around] No, I guess we’re out. I don’t see anything with your name on it.
Me: That’s okay. I’ll just get one from here [picks up the NP CD]
Clerk: [looks at it] Oh! You know, the new 311 CD was in that spot yesterday, and I thought that’s what you were looking for.
Me: So you thought I was here for the 311 CD?
Clerk: Yeah.
Me: [blinks]
Clerk: I’m sorry.
Twin Cinema set my hair on fire almost immediately, by the way. And I note that “Streets of Fire,” the penultimate track, is addressed to someone named “Contessa.” Is there any conclusion that can be drawn from this other than that Dan Bejar is a huge Pretty Fakes fan? I think not. Hi Dan!
IV.
Hey kids! Like indie rock and professional football? Well, then, hie yourselves over to Peter Hughes’ Five Tools, where you can download mp3s or purchase CDs of The Football Albums, by Hughes’ former band DisktothiQ. There’s one per conference, with a song for every team, and yeah, they may be a little out of date now, but they’re still a delight. “Saints” should be a particular pleasure for the Louisianans and Mississippians amongst you.
311 is still making music?
No, but they are still releasing albums! Hi-yo!
my friend BD had the SAME EXPERIENCE in the CD Store. They’re holding one for her, and when she walks in, one of the clerks asks if she’s there to get the new 311.
the best part is that when she told me this, we both realized that we MAY have been searching and longing for a new 311 disc ABOUT 12 YEARS AGO…
i can’t quit listening to “sing me spanish techno.” and i felt the contessa reference in “streets” was quite appropriate. BUT! right at 2:40 on “the bleeding hearts show,” where the “HEY-AHH, HEY-AHH” etc. kicks in gives me chills every time i hear it. i get the stupidest permagrin (i know ‘cause i glanced at myself in the rear-view yesterday) and after a minute i start it over.
god bless canada.
Man, I know. The great thing about that part of “Bleeding Hearts” is that it kicks in just at the moment I’m about to lose interest in the song, and then I feel like such a jerk for ever doubting the NPs. But last night, listening to it while pressure-washing the patio, I danced a little jig.
I normally see the long-bearded clerk in the CD store, the drummer, whose name I’m embarassed to say I don’t know. He’s a swell guy. This guy, heavily pierced, was also friendly, but not known to me.
(At a record store in Knoxville, I once got yelled at for parking in a handicapped spot. Chagrined, I went out to move my car, only to realize that it was parked far, far away from a handicapped spot. There was however a huge SUV in the handicapped spot. So apparently I look like a guy who not only listens to 311, but who drives a giant SUV and parks illegally. On the bright side, I made the clerk feel so bad about it that he gave me 15% off my purchase.)
In answer to Prawngoose’s e-mail about whether sheath cleaning involved showing Cruz photos of pretty girl horses . . . no, it’s much more icky.
STOP TALKING ABOUT SHEATHES!
I still steadily maintain that the NP’s are no good as long as Neko Case doesn’t sing on every single song. And, Joanna is hilarious.
gorjus, one day your position on the NPs will seem as ludicrous, outdated, and—dare I say it?—offensive as the DAR’s stand on integration in the bad old days. When your biographers tell the story of your life, this will be the question they have to dance around, to hem and haw about. Your great contributions to society will be forever tainted by this colossal error in judgment. “Although his public statements certainly leave little room for interpretation,” they’ll write, “one assumes that, in his private life, he must have nodded his head or tapped his foot to ‘Jackie, Dressed in Cobras’ at least once or twice, even if he had not the courage to let others see the sprightliness of his tap or the zeal of his nod.” Or, “We must remember that, after all, gorjus was a man of his times, and we cannot judge him too harshly for failing to apprehend the aesthetic commonplaces of our more advanced era.” (Some turgid writers, your biographers).
Tsk.
Also, sheath sheath sheath.
Sheath.
Hee. EYE HATE YOU.
Still, I’m laughing a LOT at the, ahem, turgidity of my biographers.
Yes, yes…you must clean that sheath or your sweet gelding may acquire a bean. (Google: bean.) My gigantic gelding had a gigantic bean and it made his penis whistle when he ran. (Google: penis whistle) A word of warning: wear gloves or you too might be sitting in a movie and wondering “what’s that smell?”
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
True story.
oh dear. that is icky.
advice to take to heart: “one of the most important things to remember when cleaning your horse’s sheath is to be patient and gentle. don’t be in a rush. never be rough with your horse’s genitals. . .”