The Rock And The Roll, The Hip And The Hop

The Live Acorn downloaded some songs on iTunes the other day – most of them say “Explicit Lyrics” next to the title. I assume that means one of two things – either it’s an indication that the artists take great care to enunciate properly so that the words can easily be understood, or the message of the song is very clear and not too obscurely veiled in symbolism. Either way, I think it’s very considerate of the musicians.

I like living in a world where there are songs with such titles as "You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison", "Kill All Your Friends (B-Side)", and "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)". I have a bit of a soft spot for kiddie punk, I guess.

No More Rehearsing, Or Nursing The Part

Time to get yer gear on. The bait is cut, and it's time to fish.

Drinking Season starts today.

A Holiday Classic

I remember Thanksgivings growing up in Pocatello. We’d always have a pretty good meal – a good sized Butterball and all of the traditional dishes. Well, one year, we decided that we’d try a fresh turkey the next time. We drove out to American Falls to a turkey farm in early December and got ourselves a little baby turkey, the plan being that we’d raise it and have the best turkey EVAH the next year.

So this thing lived in our back yard, and I’m sure you can imagine what happened. Of course we named him (Tom), and we’d play with him, and pretty soon he was sleeping inside, and would hop up on our beds, and he’d get so excited when we came home from school. Tom really was one of the family.

Well, come holiday time, there was just no way that we could do the deed. He’d come to mean so much to all of us, and to even consider following through on the plan was unthinkable.

So we ate the dog.

The Voice Of Reason

Johnny Drunk And Gone gives a clinic on the fine art of ranting:

Another thing, these are the same girls that will watch sports because they want to make there guy happy. They have no real input on anything athletic other than maybe they fucked a softball team in an abandoned hospital. But they root along like they have a clue, "Off sides!" They'll yell out, to bad we're watching baseball sweetheart.

Brilliant.

There's No Business Like Snow Business

The Weather Bureau has predicted it’s going to snow 3 ½ feet tonight a 20% chance of snow tonight in the valley. Actually, the Idaho Statesman reported that the National Weather Service “predicted a 20% precipitation”, as there are apparently no copy editors at the Statesman for the weather writers, at least in the online version.

I love the snow. Not just for the skiing, not just for the joy of making snow angels (Hey! Why does mine have a pitchfork?), not just to marvel at my dog’s awesome ability to write her name in a snowbank, not even for the beautiful blanket of white with which it covers the world.


Actually, that last one is related. It’s not the beauty of the snow covering everything, however; it’s the fact that it covers up the ugliness around us, even if only for a while, here in the lowlands. As beautiful as the trees are at the height of their technicolor splendor, that beauty is fleeting, and soon all that remains at Casa de Acorn is a soggy brown mold factory smothering what can only laughingly be called a yard. Autumn also brings as many grey skies as blue, and the irony is not lost in the realization that the color scheme of the grey ghost (the remains of paint and dark rust) coordinates with this, the saddest of seasons.

But then the snow falls. Not a dusting, as we might get tonight, but a good 3-6” covering, with big-ass flakes falling in a breezeless night. Enough to watch drivers who didn’t grow up in snow slide into curbs. Enough that moms are watching TV for school closures. And then … gone are the rotting leaves, gone is the oil-stained driveway. The skies are still grey, but now seem perfect as a surreal background as one stares up into the falling flakes. For at least a while, things aren’t as ugly as they were.

Of course, here in the valley, the snow never lasts. That’s okay. You can still see it in the mountains, you know that it will come again, and the memory of looking up with your tongue out and letting the flakes sting your eyes can sometimes be enough.

Sometimes.

This Changes EVERYTHING

Longtime readers of this blog (and really, don’t you both have something better to do?) know that I have a somewhat adversarial relationship with the dog who lives with me. We generally match up pretty well – she’s got a few IQ points on me; I have opposable thumbs. We each have our days.

So I was raking leaves this morning, and she was on the rope, chewing on a stick. It was actually kind of nice – a brief respite, akin to the Christmas Truce of WWI. I almost broke down in a moment of sentimentality and scratched her behind her ears.

She’s attached to the rope by a caribiner, and she’s gotten off of it a couple times before. I saw it happen once, and I’m pretty sure she was just scratching with her hind leg and happened to pop the ‘biner off her collar. Random. No big deal.

Well, this morning, I walked into the house to get some coffee, and when I came back out, she was free. It was 30 seconds. THIRTY. FUCKING. SECONDS. I know that she’s opportunistic – she knows when I get in the shower that she’s got 10 minutes to wreak havoc. I’ve conceded that battle in our little war. But getting off her goddamned rope in 30 seconds … sweet pickled popcorn, I fear the worst.

So I ask this of you: if I should meet an untimely demise, please … PLEASE … don’t let the coroner brush off the dog as a ridiculous suspect. She’s wily, and she’ll make it look like I tripped over a beer bottle or had an unfortunate accident while eating toast in the bathtub. Don’t be fooled.

It's Probably Good That I Don't Write Jokes For A Living ...

Growing up, I always feared the concept of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Now I scoff at it.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm working on it. Shut up ... at least I'm trying.