Department of Corrections

So, since I don't want to sound like I am complaining, let me start by bragging about the greatest one-two-punch of a Christmas gift ever. First, the Wifey got me these great new kicks (which she has forbade me from calling "kicks" in her presence, so Wifey, don't you read this blog!).

Then, she got her folks to buy me the best New York sneakers book ever, which probably means the only New York sneakers book ever. It even came in a box from The Strand, which is one of my favorite places in the world.

The Nikes (pronounced "nyks") are by way of complimenting the Nike (pronounced nyk-e) waffle racers I got last year, which, while they are wonderful, are both red and non-wind-proof. They mesh tops are designed to let the air straight in, which is a wonderful thing in the summertime, but not so much in the winter. These are leather-tops, so warm and quite comfy-cozy. They are also, careful readers will note, not bright red.

Here's a pic of the Nike Waffle Racers from last year, for all those un-careful readers out there. I love them too. I came up in the generation that knew what great sneakers were, because the industry was throwing them at us by the truckload. As opposed to what they sell nowadays, which is chiefly clown shoes. (No, you will not see a picture of them on my site.)

The other gift (amongst the other gifts) I wish to speak of today is the new David Gilmour CD, which I am listening to now, and quite enjoying. But, and take this in the spirit intended, the first blush response was that it sounds like a conglomeration of Echoes out-takes and incidental music for a proposed Dr. Who movie. Which still makes it a helluva lot better than 90% of what most people have playing on their MP3 players these days, or virtually anything you're going to stumble across on VH1 (now that Music TeleVision no longer plays any music), but it brings to mind an old paradox, which is that Pink Floyd was always far less an invention of David Gilmour and Roger Waters than it was of those other two guys.

Whose names are Nick Mason and Rick Wright. (Yeah, I did go look them up on Allmusic just now. I'm not proud. I remembered the drummer's name, spaced on the keyboardist's name.) Not to say that Gilmour and Waters were not instrumental (he he he) in the band (he he), but it has long been my contention that the music stopped getting better after those two turned it into a rolling turf war. And it always struck me as odd that most of the Floydheads I know never gushed over the possibility of a Mason or Wright solo project the way they have over Gilmour or Waters solo projects. (Like The Pro's and Con's of Hitchhiking, which sucked.) (Yes, it did. And does. It has not aged well.)

Anyways. It was a very Merry Christmas for us. I hope it was for y'all, too. And a Very Merry New Year to ya, as well!!!

License to Ill

So. PERfect timing. I am ill.

It started yesterday afternoon, after spending a day with niece and nephews who had been ill earlier in the week. What they had had was some sort of debilitating stomach virus, but I seemed to have gotten the Beta version, a little head-stuffiness and a weak but persisting sense of nausea. The vital result of this was that I stayed home while the Wifey went out to meet our film club people to see "The History Boys," which they quite liked, thence out for Brit food at a place near the theater (about which more in a moment), which was good for them. I stayed in, drank white wine, and watched a pretty bad movie and then a pretty good movie and then a better movie, feeling alright as long as I had my consciouness precariously balanced between the wine and the television. Which is what TV is really for, really.

The theater was in a part of town called Myers Park, where the property prices are ridiculous. The Wifey left the rest of the party a tad early, and walked back to the theater, about two and a half blocks, by herself, in the dark of night. She remarked this morning that she did so hardly fearing for her life at all. Which is why, we concluded, the property prices are ridiculous. Not that it actually is measurably safer over there per se, but I grew up there, and it sure does feel like it.

So off we go to the fasmily Christmas Eve part, this year being held out in the sticks. Errrp.

10 Weird Things I Hate About You

So the Doc tagged me. Oddly, unfortunately, the tags to those he tagged don't work, apparently because Blogger sometimes insists on ruining tags. But the Meme is "10 Weird Things About Me," so off we go.

1. I almost never ever use the numbers of bullets function when I am writing in Word, but I use it here all the time.
2. I watch war movies because I hate war. I am a militant passivist. The only reason to think that any war is a good idea is because you're STOOPID.
3. I have to eat. I get hungry, I get cranky, I get angry, and I have to eat or I will hurt the people who are keeping me from eating. And I will never eat a meal that doesn't include some kind of animal protein. I consider it immoral to consider doing so. (Except for, like, black beans and rice, but that'll have sour cream and cheese and stuff on it.)
4. I love geography. I mean, there are places on this earth where the landscape just stones me, blows my mind. And I like going back to those places again and again and again, like some kind of landscape junkie. (One of these places is the Mertopolitan Musem of Art in New York, where I get stones gazing upon allllllll the gorgeous 19th Century American Landscapes.)
5. I drive cars to performance. That is to say, pretty much every car I drive, I drive it as fast and tight as the car is capable of going. I think it is a sin to drive badly. God will judge ye.
6. I am a life-long insomniac, but I like getting at least 8 hours of sleep a night. (I don't like staying up late anymore either, except when I am visiting somewhere else, and then I try to sleep as little as possible.)
7. I love America, and one of the main reasons I love it is that most Americans don't seem to understand how incredibly good they have it. This is one of the hardest countries in the world to seriously bitch about. (Without cranking into some zany conspiracy theory or another about how the CIA is responsible for everything going wrong in the rest of the world.) (Which is just wrong. The CIA couldn't find it's ass with both hands.) I also hate hate hate hate hate "patriots."
8. Three things I cannot live without: mints, gum and water. (People who knew me in college and grad school would probably find that intensely weird.) (Maybe not the gum part, but definitely the mints and the water.) And I'm saying these are things I have to have around me at all times, in bulk if possible.
9. I am musical. That is by way of saying: I listen to every piece of music with rapt attention. I can very often identify not only a musician, but what kind of instrument (brand, model) he/she is playing.
10. I am impatient. Not like you are impatient, but like I am impatient. The whole world is standing in my way. MOVE!!!

So that's that. I guess I am supposed to tag 6 people now. Eh. I don't feel like it. I will come back and tag some people later.

I Think It May Be Safe Now

I was going to blog about this root canal procedure. but I have decided I don't want to. Suffice to say it wasn't nearly as bad as everyone imagines. Painless, actually. I didn't even fill the Darvocet scrip they wrote me, just in case.

So one down, two to go. And then I gotta get caps on tywo teeth. Which is all fine. But nothing I really feel compelled to write about.