Just Me and My Clone

I've been thinking about cloning.

I've always said that I would be the happiest girl in the world if I could just have a clone of myself made. I would send her off to do the things that I find distasteful.

She could have lab work done and get her cholesterol tested. She could throw up on the phlebotomist's shoes and have the dentist tell her that it is all in her mind, this terrible fear of needles that she has. She would probably really like to return 100 phone messages. Washing the dishes is just as fun as finding that the back of her pants have been covered in cat hair for most of the day. This clone, she likes to wear all of the clothes that I should wear but I am too lazy to iron. Not only would she press them, she would use the fancy linen water, making them smell like Egypt in the Spring time.

My clone, she never procrastinates. She always pays all of her bills on time, especially the electric bill, and knows exactly which movie will be arriving from Netflix before they even send out a reminder email. I know my clone would have a green thumb and will be able to finally answer the question of why the marigolds on the right side of the yard have grown so much faster and taller than the marigolds on the left side of the garden. She will even know how to make perfect tarts! She would never buy lemon filling -- she would make it herself, using the juice of snow lemons from a tree that she cultivated from a tiny clipping that she brought back from a tiny hilltop village in Spain.

I would bring my clone along to parties and she would tell charming stories about my foibles. I probably wouldn't like that very much and might not invite her along the next time. She would begin to resent me, but wouldn't say anything about it. She might open a new credit card at K-Mart and secretly begin purchasing little things from Martha Stewart's Home line. It would be unlikely that I would notice at first -- that Martha Stewart, she makes some lovely blue tea-towels. This would irritate my clone, and she would buy new tires and home appliances. She would check the mail before I had a chance to, pulling out the credit card bill. She would hide it, along with the past due notices. Suddenly, I would have a terrible credit score and my kitchen accessories would be repossessed by the bank. My clone would glare at me as I realized that she was ruining my life.

I would have no choice. I would have to eat her.

At least the FDA agrees with me.

Cue The Spooky Vineyard Music

I'm amused by the idea that the scary, scrawny, writhing guy with a spinal tattoo of a huge scorpion who famously sang: 'Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona bay....' is now the proud owner of Caduceus Wines in Northern Arizona. I'm generally not the star-struck kind, but there is a certain roadside attraction quality to the idea of this place. It is all the more appealing considering one of his bottles is called 'Chupacabra,' or goat sucker. If the wine has anything in common with that craziness, well, it might just be good. Or at least quite red.

Forty Six and Two

Cold And Ugly

Aenima

What next? Rob Zombie is going to open an upscale Hollywood Baby Boutique for newly expectant starlets such as Nicole Richey and Christina Aguilera? Rachel Ray will design a new line of household goods for Emo Kids? This just might work.

Jive Turkey

One day until Thanksgiving.

I like this holiday. No presents. Nothing too churchy. Just family and friends and a pair of really big pants and the goal of being prone on the floor, so full that the only noise possible is this one:

Gluuuuhhh.

I'm in charge of the yams this year. This is exciting, since I am a Super Yam Fan. In years past, all manner of yam atrocities have been committed - marshmallows, nuts, pineapple, apples, brown sugar, corn, lemons, coconut, orange zest, raisins. Not this year. Nope, I'm making Baptist Lady Yam Pie. It will be so fantastic that I am thinking about making some right.this.moment.

In other news, I've been talking like a robot from the 70's today. I've noticed that using a fake accent (this robot is from Ukraine) makes me feel more creative. I've been looking for a link that properly illustrates exactly how one could replicate this sound, but to no avail. Instead, I got sidetracked and listened to a series of Neko Case songs.

Hold On, Hold On

That Teenage Feeling

Which made me think about the Ditty Bops:

Wishful Thinking

Which made me think of Mike Doughty:

27 Jennifers

Which made me think about that surfer who recently explained the way the world works, but charmingly couched in 'Whoa Dude' Speak:

Just goes to show you that sleeping in a yurt really is the way to go.

Which then made me remember that I've been meaning to listen to the absolute best Andrew Bird song that I like so much, which, in turn, always makes me think of Anita Blake, Vampire Slayer:

Fake Palindromes

This, friends, is exactly the way that my mind works.

The Third Best Day of the Year

All Souls Procession 2007

I look forward to this event all.year.long. It fulfills some of the key elements of any great fantasy: Walking in a parade, waving to onlookers as though I am the Queen of Holland, wearing a fantastic costume for which I already had the belly dancer's coin belt, feeling both famous and anonymous at the same time, and being amongst my kin -- those who find it completely reasonable to dress in costume and walk down the street for several miles and then go out to dinner on the other side of town.

Oh -- you want to see photos? Above, we have the lighting of the urn. Filled with prayers, hopes, wishes and messages to the dead, this is the reason for the parade. All 10,000 of us walked behind it, some more jingly jangly than others. Of course, it was the grand finale, but I'm just so proud of this photo. Brassai, anyone?












































































































Media from the event -- the videos and slide shows capture the grander scheme of things. One cannot simultaneously participate and photograph 10,000 people. I tried.

One of the best quotes from the Procession: 'Yeah -- the bellydancers always slow things down. It doesn't matter how many times we wait for them to catch up, they just can't help it. This year, several groups from Vegas flew in for the event. We recruited extra volunteers to keep them moving." Dang those slow bellydancers.

Le singe est sur la branche

While working on a Power Point Presentation for one of my classes, I got a little distracted. Don't tell anyone, but my middle name is Procrastination.

While we're on the topic of PPP's, as they are known in the more erudite circles, I have to say they do nothing for me. I can recall sitting in an undergraduate class watching slide after slide of whistling and beeping material wishing that I had a hearing aide with a dead battery. It wasn't the case, of course. Somehow, my education has not been enhanced by the introduction of fancy slides. One day, though, all students will be unable to learn unless the material comes directly from a computer. It is true -- I learned it in teacher school this week. Me and my graphic black board fantasies are doomed.

Yet, I digress. The real issue is the video that I found that prompted this post. My friends, I give you:

Eddie Izzard Speaks French

And yes, I am the President of Burundi.

I Hear You

There are just some days when I want all of my time for me. ME. I don't have any charitable feelings available for anyone, no desire to do any sort of mindless work for my classes, nothing. All I have, on days such as this, is the willingness to give in to the call of my own muse. She comes on the wind, ringing the chimes and blasting day old blossoms from the bushes. Most days, I fight her off. Shoo her away with my 'I'll do it laters' and wine drinking and reading of other people's books. I piddle hours away in my garden, artfully clipping vines Mr. Miyagi style and stalking ants. I spend too much time online, giving away travel advice or looking up dirty Latin phrases that keep me giggling for hours. Nerd that I am.

Catullus Poems 30-45

Martial Book III .69-76

Today, though, I am in the hidey-hole. Writing up a tornado. Making myself ignore the million other things that natter in my ear, whip at my back, grind away at the peace that comes from sitting and making. Oh no, I won't clean out the closet today. I refuse to feel badly about that one wall that needs some touch-up paint. I am ignoring the bags of potting soil that are creating an eye sore and likely a safe haven for the dump truck sized mouse that has taken up residence in the back yard. Today, fingers of distraction, you are being left to pester someone else.

This is for my own good.

After staring at my computer screen for what seems like 100 million years, I've noticed it helps to make a sound like this: BLEGGGGHHHHARRGHHHGRRR.

At least, that is the sound that I am making quite often these days, since I started my online classes. Anyone who tells you that it is so much more convenient to take a class online than to spend the time in an actual classroom has absolutely no idea what they are talking about. Sure, it eliminates having to listen to the insipid comments of intellectually inferior classmates, saves me the trouble of hypnotically observing their bizarre simian fidget behavior throughout class and I won't have notebooks filled with the number of times the lecturer says certain words, like 'um' or 'gee' or 'amputation.' Ok, yes, I can sit at my computer in my underwear if I feel like it. I can post my required three comments on the discussion board drunk -- Word will catch all of my spelling and grammatical mistakes. I can click through posts that are meaningless or misspelled or clearly written by Gulag inmates sharing only a stick and one finger between them, with no obvious understanding of the English language. I know. Really. And yes, I did willingly sign up for this exercise in irritation. I even paid money to be in these classes.

Gadzooks. It has become clear to me that the intelligent life forms who are out there are not in any of my classes. I'm getting another beer.