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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, Santa Baby.
Everybody Has One 22-Dec-2004 3:15 p.m.
I would like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize for absolutely nothing. I have no clear idea why I typed that. But truly, I have nothing to apologize for, so I'll just tell you a joke instead. I don't know any jokes offhand, unless you're interested in hearing one of those banal Johnny Deeper jokes from way back yonder when I was a kid. God, how I loved those. I was a pre-pubescent pervert. I think that's a movie.
I'm just sitting here enjoying a year-old LifeSavers candy from one of those LifeSavers Sweet Storybooks. You know the ones; they appear this time of year in grocery stores and other places offering fine wares. I didn't finish the package from last December, so here I am making up for lost time. You should probably know the pina colada flavour, when eaten one year later, tastes like a sugary hamper. I am not kidding. Not that I would know by experience, but I can imagine. Whoa. Lance Kerwin just popped into my head. Where does that stuff come from? Man, I would love to have James At 15 on DVD. I just checked—not available. Rats. He was so pretty. I remember having a crush on him as a kid. I also loved Shaun Cassidy. But not nearly as much as I was bewitched by Stefanie Powers of "Hart To Hart" fame.
I moved away from the LifeSavers and ventured on to some Smarties left over from Halloween. Good stuff. Does anyone remember the candy that looked exactly like Smarties and was packaged the same way, but wasn't Smarties? I have been trying to think of the name for ages, mostly because I like to spend my time wisely. If you know, please email me and I will sing your praises.
So, I visit amazon.com on occasion when I feel like adding to my flourishing DVD collection. As it is with other retail sites, Amazon has customer reviews for their products, which are pretty helpful when you're considering purchasing an electronic device etc. You need to know if that alarm clock is going to do the job. But what's the deal with the movie, music, and book reviews? Good Lord. It is all completely subjective. Unless you're writing about the quality of the recording or something to that effect, all you're doing is giving your subjective view of somebody's creative endeavor. What one person thinks is brilliant you might think is crap on a rope. (I hope you don't get one of those for a gift this holiday season.) Anyway, I used to buy into those reviews, and sometimes I would receive the items and think what the holy fuckout is this? after listening, reading, or watching. And then my love asked me why on earth I would listen to the reviews of people whose tastes may differ greatly from mine. Smart cookie. Why would I? Because I'm brilliant, that's why.
I remember fondly the time my sister said, "You have to rent Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo—it's hilarious!" This was when I started to doubt that my sister and I had grown up in the same house, enjoying many a movie together and agreeing on our like or dislike. I still regard that as one of the most horrible movies I have ever watched, without a single moment of laughter. And now I can't look at Rob Schneider without seeing his manwhore character. Poor little buddy.
Some years back, my nieces were really into Hansen and The Spice Girls. You know—good music. Forgive me. I tried to bite my tongue and remember they were kids, but I was bent on them liking the music I like. The part I love about getting older is shedding my dipshit ways. They still enjoy some music that makes me shudder, but I no longer feel the need to have them see things the way I see them. When it comes to taste, there is no right or wrong. Like it matters what kind of music someone enjoys. How lovely that they enjoy music at all, for it is the universal language. That, and love. And cake.
Everybody has an opinion about something. I sometimes think how boring it would be if we all agreed one hundred percent on everything. Kind of creepy, really. I hope it never comes to that. And yet in some ways I hope it does. Can we pick and choose which things we'll agree upon and which opinions will continue to vary just for kicks? Probably not, but that would be delightful.
I just cracked open a Newcastle, if you must know, and have some lovely organic chamomile tea a-steepin'. And a glass of water. Apparently I plan to spend the evening making several trips to the bathroom. Oh well, more Loo notes.
My neighbour Mr. Fussy seems to want to keep his snazzy vintage convertible a secret. Can you blame him? He hides his face when he drives past my house. I have to tell you, I am afraid to try to figure this out for fear of falling into the madness that is Mr. Fussy's world. I have my own snazzy vintage convertible, but I don't think he is hip to this info. Maybe he is trying to spare me the jealousy of his car. Oh, my God, Mr. Fussy is a humanitarian and I never knew. The universe just slaps you with news when you least expect it.
There have been several requests for me to list 5 of my favourite albums. What am I talking about? Nobody requested that. I just want to list some.
HOODOO Alison Moyet Retriever Ron Sexsmith Whatever Aimee Mann Dog & Butterfly Heart 52nd Street Billy Joel
Just five that I pulled out of my bum—now I feel better. There are countless other favourites I would not want to exist without. There are certain songs I could listen to repeatedly for days. Jeff Buckley's "Last Goodbye" overwhelms me every time I hear it. It makes me want to make love and hold on for dear life. Maybe that's what making love is all about: holding on to life. Music is so powerful, and certainly it does change the world at times. Maybe not the world as a whole, but definitely it affects change in individual worlds, which in one way or another branches out to the whole, affecting it to some extent. I recall ending an abusive relationship, feeling mournful and heartbroken for weeks. After listening to a certain Bonnie Raitt song a few times, I lost the feeling of wanting to go back and try to work it out. It's true—that ain't no way to treat a woman in love, you fucktoast. Hands are not for hitting. They are for making cakes and pies and stuff.
I am grateful to be a songwriter. I've been writing songs more than half my life and it is the main reason I have kept my wits about me. Being too sensitive for the world you live in is difficult to cope with, and writing it all down is a big help.
I fell asleep in the middle of a prayer last night. That happens to me often—praying relaxes me. My God is nice. He's not a he, but instead a kind older lady who is always tending her garden in the mild morning sunlight, ready to listen to whatever I have to say. That might sound funny or even corny, but I'm totally serious. God is whatever you make of God. At least that's how I feel about it.
Quote From My World
"Is it wrong that I like the plastic bag in the tree?"
I need a bath to melt away some of this pain. Today my body has felt like the most formidable rainstorm in the history of the world is dangling, waiting for its cue to begin. I am a human barometer.
Well, I'm off to soak. Thank you for reading. Remember to floss and tell the people you love that you do indeed love them.
Linda
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