Apparently, our current Halloween festival is a leftover combination of a Celtic/Christian holiday. Who knew?
Now college freshman just use it as an excuse to dress up in skanky outfits. Why do I know this? I know this, because I was standing around at the campus last night waiting for K to come and pick me up, and the froshies were parading past me on their way to party after party.
At five minutes to 3:00 yesterday afternoon, my train rolled into the Amtrak station in downtown St. Louis. I was returning from a very short (read: less than 24-hour) trip to Chicago to have dinner. "Wait, what? You went to Chicago to have dinner?" Yes, indeed I did.
L and his parents were there for a few days, and invited me to dinner with them. My first thought: "That's crazy, I'm not going all the way to Chicago to have dinner." My next thought: "Why don't I go to Chicago for dinner? I'm in a position that I can do that, so might as well take advantage of it!"
I opted, against the odds, to take the train. Less stressful than flying or driving, and I wanted to nap and/or get caught up on some reading. I did more napping than reading, but no big deal. The amazing thing, though, was that the trains were dead on! We were supposed to arrive in Chi-town yesterday at 12:20, and we pulled into Union Station at 12:20. No joke. And today, despite a minor delay "due to some freight traffic ahead," we arrived a tad early. Fantastic!
Dinner was at Benny's Chop House, and was quite lovely. I started with the Belgian endive salad, which I would mostly recommend for the cheese that came on it. Dinner was a ribeye (my favorite cut!) cooked to perfection (medium rare) and a side of tri-color carrots (orange, red, and white). Don't see anything but orange carrots most places, so I was excited about that. No purple carrots, however - a little disappointing. L got a side of these little sweet potato patties, and they were delightful, especially the brown sugar sauce that they were sitting in.
We went back to the hotel for dessert, which was a Grand Marnier souffle and a bottle of champagne. How positively celebratory! L and I headed back out to a bar for a little while, and I was up far later than I should have been. (Oh, did I mention I almost slept through dinner? During the time that I was supposed to be getting ready, I instead passed out and nearly missed our departure time!)
Today's obsession actually started because I was listening to the Rosanne Cash CD The List (which is amazing and will probably someday appear on this blog). On that CD, Bruce and Rosanne do a duet called "Sea of Heartbreak" (which is a fantastic song in its own right, and has been done by many artists).
Anywho, I was thinking about how great Bruce's voice is - that rough, gravelly, tough-guy thing. Love. It. I am dying to see him live, but haven't had the good luck yet.
Every single one of those videos is worth watching (or at least listening to in the background). Perhaps against logic, I opted to post one of his more recent rocker-style songs. Everyone knows (and loves!) the old ones, so I'm giving something else a chance. "Radio Nowhere" - a song about what you want from music and life:
I was tryin' to find my way home,
But all I heard was a drone, Bouncin' off a satellite,
Crushing the last lone American night.
This is radio nowhere,
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere,
Is there anybody alive out there?
I was sittin' round a dirt dial,
Just another lost number in a file, Dancin' down a dark hole,
Just searchin' for a world with some soul.
This is radio nowhere,
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere,
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
I just want to hear some rhythm,
I just want to hear some rhythm,
I just want to hear some rhythm,
I just want to hear some rhythm.
I want a thousand guitars,
I want pounding drums,
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues.
This is radio nowhere,
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere,
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
I was drivin' through the misty rain,
Just searchin' for a mystery train, Boppin' through the wild blue, Tryin' to make a connection with you.
This is radio nowhere,
Is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere,
Is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
I just want to feel some rhythm,
I just want to feel some rhythm,
I just want to feel your rhythm,
I just want to feel your rhythm,
I just want to feel your rhythm,
I just want to feel your rhythm,
I just want to feel your rhythm,
I just want to feel your rhythm.
Touching Evil is a British television series which ran from 1997 to 1999. I heard about it recently - read a good review - and thought I should check it out. It's a serial crime drama about a cop working in an elite investigations division, solving crimes and trying to beat the clock.
Sounds like any other crime-solvers series? It is a bit like other ones. But that doesn't make it not good. Well acted, compelling stories. What makes it different is that the episodes that are not (based on the ones I've seen) always emotionally satisfying. Sometimes the bad guy doesn't get it the way you think he should. Sometimes the personal lives of the good guys get mixed up in the mess. And somehow, this seems quite appropriate for a rainy gray British crime show.
If given a choice of one of the pair, I usually lean towards pessimism - a fact which does very little to explain why I love calendars. And I'm talking about paper calendars here, specifically wall and desk calendars.
I love them for all the opportunities they present. When you buy a new calendar, it is full of 365 totally blank slate days. Then you start to fill them up with the things you have planned. Usually the first things I put on a new calendar are birthdays. Then go the things which are usually planned pretty far in advance, like vacations and family events. Then go the rest of those life responsibilities, and even though some of them aren't so fun, they don't spoil everything.
I love calendars because you can look ahead as far as you want and see what's coming.
I love calendars because they have pretty pictures, and I don't care that what I just said makes me sound like I'm four years old. They do have pretty pictures: London, Van Gogh, vintage posters, the Irish countryside, New York City. Pretty much whatever you're interested in, you can find a calendar for. And that's awesome.
The last few days have been total insanity. There is too much to even remember it all. But lets start with K.
She came out to the lake to help me out with some stuff yesterday. She was in one of the motor boats, and I was in another one. Then all the sudden I hear "Ow, my knee, my knee!" And I look over there, and she's gone! I didn't hear her fall into the water, so for a moment, I am terribly confused. Then, like a scene from a horror movie, a hand comes up and grabs onto the edge of one of the boats. I run over to where K is on the ground, rolling around on the gravel and saying "Ow, it hurts!" Turns out that she had tried to step out of the boat, but the gravel slid out from under her foot and she twisted her recently-recovered knee. She had at least enough sense to notice, while rolling around on the ground in pain, that there were spiders crawling around all over the place. But she was in so much pain that she didn't even care!
We spent the rest of the day doing family-related activities, including a photo shoot (thanks to Uncle P) and a lovely dinner in celebration of my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary! Dinner consisted of crudites (including crab cakes, a beet/goat cheese/blood orange sampler, tempura shrimp, and steak tartare), a trio of soups (gouda and wild mushroom, pheasant consumme, tomato gin), a salmon filet/venison chop entree, and berry cobbler with Tahitian vanilla ice cream. Delightful! Breakfast this morning was another family event which involved quite a buffet spread as well!
D and I went for a bike ride this afternoon. We went to Castlewood State Park, and rode a combination of the Stinging Nettle, Al Foster, and Cedar Bluffs trails. Yes, I took another spill. This time it was quite amusing, although it had nothing to do with spiders. We had gotten stopped on an uphill, on which it is quite challenging to get going again. We were riding across this particular hill, so standing on the trail, the hill slanted down to the right. I had my left foot clipped in, and my right foot on the ground on the uphill side of the trail. As I pushed off to try to get moving again, I leaned a little too far to the right, and just tumbled over, down the hill. As did my bike, which somehow came to a stop resting upside down on its seat and handle bars! Awesome!
That's all I have the energy to write about right now. There's lots more I could say about this weekend, but it's just not going to happen.
The link above is to the regular music video. The video below is a Gray's Anatomy mash-up. I am not a Gray's watcher - I've seen maybe a grand total of one episode - but I actually really like that version of the video. I originally downloaded it on iTunes about 3-1/2 years ago, and have loved it ever since. I especially like the part near the end where she screams so loud that her voice cracks.
All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am So many stories of where I've been And how I got to where I am.
But these stories don't mean anything When you've got no one to tell them to It's true, I was made for you.
I climbed across the mountaintops Swam all across the ocean blue I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules And baby I broke them all for you.
Oh, because even when I was flat broke You made me feel like a million bucks You do, I was made for you.
You see the smile that's on my mouth It's hiding the words that don't come out All of our friends who think that I'm blessed They don't know why it is a mess.
No, they don't know who I really am And they don't know what I've been through Like you do, and I was made for you.
All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am So many stories of where I've been And how I got to where I am.
Oh, but these stories don't mean anything When you've got no one to tell them to It's true, I was made for you.
Oh yeah, well, it's true, that I was made for you.
The Messenger is the painfully sad, hopeful, complicated, confusing story of two very different soldiers who, because fortune has frowned upon them, have received assignment as Casuatly Notification Officers. They tell the next-of-kin that "The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your son/husband/daughter was killed."
Woody Harrelson plays Captain Tony Stone. He's been in the CNO business for a while, and it's not helping him recover from his alcohol problem. Sargent Will Montgomery (played by Ben Foster) is new to the business of death notification. He's trying to learn the ropes from Captain Stone while dealing with his own literal and figurative scars.
Both men act their roles beautifully. They are tough and strong, but also damaged and starting to crack. The emotions of the men are restrained, as is the film portrayal of their misadventures. They talk, but don't say too much. They get to be friends, in that way that men do, but they're not too close. Then there's Montgomery's ex, who moved on to someone else while Will was in Iraq. He's not quite ready to let her go, and she's too nice (or too cruel?) to cut him out of her life.
The most complicated emotional confrontation is between Sargent Montgomery and the widow he just notified of her husband's death (played by Samantha Morton). They are drawn to each other, even though they know they shouldn't be. They try to be friends, lovers, even though it feels wrong. Or does it? You feel a little sick yourself watching it, but at the same time, you know why they want to be together. They're both, from their own perspectives, going through the same experience. They understand each other. But that explanation somehow doesn't make their relationship any less confusing.
Bottom line: great portrayal of complicated emotional and psychological issues. From a male perspective. Which is rare.
Guess what I did for the first time in years (a decade, at least!) today....
Give up?
I went mountain biking! T and I had to get out of the house for a couple hours, we we headed out to the Lost Valley Trail. So to say "mountain" is not totally accurate. But that's beside the point.
What I learned is this: apparently the phrase "just like ridin' a bike" doesn't apply to me. I fell down. I blame it on the rock that I hit. I seem to be good at that. There can be 6 perfectly flat and level inches of dirt on either side of a rock in the trail, but I'll hit the rock. Every time.
But really, with just one spill after a decade out of the saddle, I think it went well. And T made it through a tough stretch he hadn't done before! A good day all around, and a fun (and healthy, unless you count the dirt-encrusted open wounds) way to kill an afternoon.
Apparently, our current Halloween festival is a leftover combination of a Celtic/Christian holiday. Who knew?
Dinner was at Benny's Chop House, and was quite lovely. I started with the Belgian endive salad, which I would mostly recommend for the cheese that came on it. Dinner was a ribeye (my favorite cut!) cooked to perfection (medium rare) and a side of tri-color carrots (orange, red, and white). Don't see anything but orange carrots most places, so I was excited about that. No purple carrots, however - a little disappointing. L got a side of these little sweet potato patties, and they were delightful, especially the brown sugar sauce that they were sitting in.
I used to wonder why Gwen Stefani was so proud of the fact that she could spell bananas. B-a-n-a-n-a-s!
Touching Evil is a British television series which ran from 1997 to 1999. I heard about it recently - read a good review - and thought I should check it out. It's a serial crime drama about a cop working in an elite investigations division, solving crimes and trying to beat the clock.
She came out to the lake to help me out with some stuff yesterday. She was in one of the motor boats, and I was in another one. Then all the sudden I hear "Ow, my knee, my knee!" And I look over there, and she's gone! I didn't hear her fall into the water, so for a moment, I am terribly confused. Then, like a scene from a horror movie, a hand comes up and grabs onto the edge of one of the boats. I run over to where K is on the ground, rolling around on the gravel and saying "Ow, it hurts!" Turns out that she had tried to step out of the boat, but the gravel slid out from under her foot and she twisted her recently-recovered knee. She had at least enough sense to notice, while rolling around on the ground in pain, that there were spiders crawling around all over the place. But she was in so much pain that she didn't even care!
The Messenger is the painfully sad, hopeful, complicated, confusing story of two very different soldiers who, because fortune has frowned upon them, have received assignment as Casuatly Notification Officers. They tell the next-of-kin that "The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your son/husband/daughter was killed."
