BEST. SHOW. EVER. October 17, 2005 ~ 9:41 am
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Paul Rodgers and Brian May. Borrowed from Brian’s Queen News site.
This is a short post, since I’m only at work, but I had to tell you all that Queen + Paul Rodgers is the best concert I have ever seen. The set list is here, if you want to take a look. I went in not knowing what to expect, and I think that was the vibe from the rest of the crowd as well, as Brian says in his Soapbox entry from last night and this morning. We all knew it wouldn’t be Freddie, but weren’t really sure what Paul Rodgers could do. Let me tell you, Paul Rodgers can do one hell of a lot. He didn’t try to be Freddie - he put his own touch on all of the Queen songs that he sang. I give him credit - Freddie left huge shoes to fill, and Paul didn’t try. He did it his way, and it worked out just fine.
Favorite moments of the night: Brian’s lovely acoustic solo of “Love of My Life” and “‘39″ (which I never thought I would hear in concert), Roger’s drum solo leading into “I’m In Love With My Car,” Paul Rodgers leading the arena in an extended version of “All Right Now,” the wonderful video tribute to Freddie during “Days of Our Lives,” and Freddie playing “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Queen has never tried to do the operatic section of “Bo Rhap” live, they always left the stage and let the video run during that section. Last night, everyone left the stage and a video was shown of Freddie playing the beginning of “Bo Rhap” from the Magic Tour. As the song went on, Brian and Roger came back and played along with Freddie. It was almost as if Freddie was really there with us - a wonderful experience.
This was hands down the best concert I’ve ever been to. And if they tour more in the spring, you bet your ass I’ll be there.
Tomorrow: pictures from the concert, and a recap of my time with Vince and his family.
Woke up in my clothes again this morning… October 14, 2005 ~ 6:53 am
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The boys in the tub on a sweltering August day.
As always, You’re-So-Cool Points to whomever tells me where the title today comes from. And before I start, I want to wish my cousin Rebecca a happy belated birthday - between Lake George, my cold, and work, I completely missed it. I’m a dumbass like that. Happy birthday, Bex!
Now, anyone who notices the timestamp on this post, if they know me at all, will immediately think “What the fuck was Julie doing up before 7:30?” Truth be told, I don’t even like getting up at 7:30, but if I don’t, I don’t make it into work on time. That’s my version of on time, people, not necessarily The Man’s, bear that in mind.
However this morning I found myself wide awake for no reason at 6 AM. In the course of my life, I have stayed up till 6 AM many times, but I don’t often wake up then. I didn’t want to this morning, either, but with Joe asleep on my left arm gazing up at me adoringly as if to say “Aren’t I cute? You know you want to pet me.” and Jesse coming to sit on my chest as soon as he felt me stir, I knew my sleep time was over. They do this often, the tag-team wake-up squad. They have it down to a science. Our morning routine goes something like this (normally):
7:05 AM - Alarm goes off, I hit snooze. Jesse, who has been sleeping on the bed all night safely out of kicking range, edges closer. Joe rearranges himself near my head.
7:15 AM - Alarm goes off, I hit snooze. Jesse lays down beside me, a heavy weight against my side. Joe meows as a back up alarm. I search for Joe’s snooze button. There isn’t one. I flick his ear and go back to sleep.
7:25 AM - Alarm goes off, I go to hit snooze but Jesse joins in Joe’s meowing before sitting on my chest. I turn off the alarm and determine if there are cats on the covers. If there are, I do the slither maneuver Lois mentioned in my comments the other day so as not to disturb them. They do not like to be disturbed and will think of it as a game if I do, trying to bite me. The slithering maneuver is akin to a game of Operation. However the second they realize I am headed for the food bowl, they jump out of bed to join me, which makes my whole slithering effort pointless.
7:30 AM - Look at food bowl. There is still plenty of dry food from yesterday. I walk away from it. Jesse meows. I explain to him that he still has plenty of food and he would do well to eat that. He meows again. I tell him that if he eats that food, I will give him more. He sits down and stares at me, employing the cat Jedi mind trick. **This is not the food we want.** he silently tells me. **You will give us fresh food.** I explain that the other food isn’t really fresh, either, the only difference is that it is sitting in a plastic container. **Does not matter** he mindwaves **That food I cannot get to because I have no opposable thumbs. For that reason it must be better. Fetch it for me, Two-Legs. Fetch it for me NOW.**
7:35 AM - Dump a small amount of “fresh” food into the bowl to make Darth Jesse happy.
7:40 AM - Change water in Drinkwell Fountain, almost tripping over Joe, who is twining about my legs on the way to the sink.
7:45 AM - Change litter in both Mega-sized boxes, a daily must with the Piss Crusader in residence. The sound of the last bit of used litter hitting the Litter Locker is a signal to both cats, who must now come and christen the fresh litter. Ponder cleaning out the clumps they have just left, decide against it. It can wait.
7:55 AM - Get insulin from fridge for Jesse. Prepare shot while he is twining around my feet, jumping on the table to nudge the syringe and insulin vial, and chirping happily **Yes, I want my shot! I like my shot! Can I have my shot now??**
8:00 AM - Sit down on the kitchen floor, gather Jesse up to cuddle with him for a few seconds before giving him the shot that he obviously wants. Joe yowls because Jesse is getting attention that he isn’t. Pet Joe.
8:01 AM - Jesse scoots away from needle as I am giving shot. Try again. Joe yowls.
8:02 AM - Jesse tries to bite me as I am giving shot. Try again. Joe yowls.
8:03 AM - Jesse runs from shot. Gather him and the syringe up, sit in bathtub, close shower door. Jesse becomes completely docile and sits totally still while I give him his shot. Joe, on the other side of the shower door, yowls loudly because he thinks he’s missing something.
8:04 AM - Open shower door to release Jesse, who at this point has decided he’s a lover, not a fighter and wants to stay by me for the rest of the day. In the tub. I push him off of me, get out of the tub, he follows.
8:05 AM - Shower. Joe knocks over trash can and begins rooting through it in search of cellophane or other assorted “shinies” to chew on.
8:06 AM - Open shower door and spray him with water. He runs, I fix trash can and continue shower.
8:15 AM - Step out of shower to find Jesse sitting in front of shower, patiently. The moment I am out, he starts licking up the water in the shower, as if he doesn’t have a whole Drinkwell Fountain full of water to drink.
8:25 AM - Dressed, brushing teeth. Jesse abandons shower for bathroom sink. When I shut off the taps, he meows in protest. Explain to him that he has a fountain right in the kitchen. **I don’t want that water, Two-Legs** he tells me. **I want this water. NOW.** Turn on tap briefly while packing lunch.
8:30 AM - Pack lunch, Joe’s whining for lunchmeat the whole time. Do not give it to him. Also wrest away Ziploc bag from his maw.
8:35 AM - Shut bathroom sink off, Jesse having grown bored with it. Finally on way out the door, stop to tell the boys goodbye. Tell Jesse not to pee anywhere but the litterbox. He ignores me in favor of a catnip toy. Tell Joe I will see him later. He yowls to let me know he’s pissed at me and tries to bite me. Walk out door.
Yep, that’s basically it. Every freakin’ work day of my life. Except sometimes we run later. Isn’t that fun? I gotta start showering at night…
He had horns October 12, 2005 ~ 11:03 pm
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Today, in honor of Half-Nekkid Thursday, I will regale you with the tale of how I got my belly-button pierced by a man who had horns in his forehead. No, you don’t understand. He had horns, and they were in his forehead. Oh, and his name was Virus.
This is a tale that could only start in the East Village. It was a little over 4 years ago, right before my birthday. I decided that I wanted my belly pierced so I could wear cute little half-shirts and show it off. I was 23 and stupid, shut up.
So Lori and I, and our friend Amanda wended our way down to St. Mark’s Place in the East Village. On St. Mark’s Place you can find anything from pizza to porn, from teriyaki from tattoos, from…ah, hell, you get the picture. We were originally going to get a few beers, go shopping, and get my belly pierced, but I was apprehensive and changed up the order a little bit, mostly because I am a huge wuss and if I didn’t get pierced right then I was going to change my mind and never have it done.
So we headed up the stairs to the piercing studio, go inside, and see…massive amounts of piercing jewelry. All this place does is piercing. I told the Goth at the desk that I wanted a navel piercing, and she said that I could only take one person in with me. Lori already had her belly button pierced, and Amanda was morbidly curious, so she won the coin toss. We left Lori out next to a 200 pound woman wearing a tutu, knee socks, and Chucks who was discussing clit piercing with the Goth at the desk. Don’t fear for Lori, because she also had plenty to look at - like the pictoral menu showing every kind of piercing that they did, and I mean every kind. I will have that graphic of a Prince Albert engraved in my head until I die.
Amanda and I walked to the back piercing room, where a man told me to lie down on the table so he could mark my bellybutton for the piercing. All was good, until he turned around and I saw that he had his ears pierced with what looked like film canisters filling the holes, many piercings up his ears, one on the bridge of his nose, tiny circles tattooed in strange patterns around his eyes, and, oh yes, horns.
I took a deep breath, looked at Amanda, and thought to myself, “Well, if he has that many piercings, he must know something about them,” sucked it up, and got on the table. The nice gentleman cleaned my bellybutton with alcohol and marked where he would be piercing me. He then took out a huge hollow needle, and to distract myself, I started talking as if my life depended on it. Looking back, perhaps it did.
“So, d-d-d-did that piercing on the bridge of your nose h-h-hurt?” I stammered.
“Oh, no,” he replied. “Just pull the skin away from the cartilage and pierce it.”
“Uh huh.” At this point foot-in-mouth syndrome caught up with me. “And how about those horns?”
“Those are implants,” he answered.
I looked at Amanda, she looked at me, I grabbed her hand and held on for dear life, and he pierced me. To be fair to him, navel piercings are notoriously difficult to heal - the ring will catch on your pants, your shirt, your jacket, whatever, and get yanked a little every time, and it hurts like a sonofabitch. That’s why my piercing hole (pictured above) is a little bit off-center, and also why I started wearing low-rise jeans. There is no pain like a freshly pierced belly button getting ripped a little to the side by your jeans every time you move. I couldn’t sit in a chair for three days after I got it pierced.
Not long afterwards, I was checking out a tattoo magazine looking for designs in case I decided to get another tat. I saw an ad for the piercing studio in the back of the magazine which listed all their artists. Lori was with me, and we read their names together. Mike, Gina, Jon, and Virus.
I have never checked, but I am pretty damn sure it wasn’t Mike or Jon that pierced me. I got pierced by Virus. And he had horns. No, you don’t understand…
I made it in to work October 12, 2005 ~ 11:56 am
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Lobster car ~ 2005 Coney Island Mermaid Parade
By dose id da color ob dat car. Yesterday I made it through a half a box of Kleenex (thank you, Powerful Goodness, for tissues with lotion!) which filled up 3/4 of my bedroom wastebasket. Lotion or no, my nose is still a lovely shade of red. The sneezing seems to have mostly passed by now, which is nice. I was getting tired of explosive sneezes that scared the cats. Jesse was even more tired of it. Imagine me going to give him his show and then letting out machine gun sneezes so I couldn’t hold the syringe steady - I am a cat’s worst nightmare!
I do still sound weird, at least to me. My voice is definitely higher than its usual self, and softer, too. I can’t really raise my voice. I am sure my officemates appreciate that.
I am currently floating around in a lovely haze that is sponsored by Tylenol Cold (Daytime), zinc pills, Halls Vitamin C Defense Drops, and some Throat Coat tea. I am feeling no pain at this point. Work is actually enjoyable. Maybe I should come to work like this more often?
Yesterday I played couch potato and watched TiVo all day. When I got bored with reruns of Degrassi: The Next Generation, The Waltons, and Little House, I dove into my DVD collection and watched Finding Neverland and Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (shut UP, I needed to watch Colin Firth fighting Hugh Grant in a fountain). And then I sunk even lower. I watched My Fair Brady on VH1.
Have you seen this show? Christopher Knight (aka Peter Brady) has shacked up with Adrienne, the 22-year-old who won the first America’s Top Model. With most of my brain cells not firing yesterday, I really got into it. Let’s see…47 year old man dating a 22 year old woman? That sounds vaguely familiar (okay, for the record, I was 24 and Rick 48 when we started dating). They live together (that part doesn’t sound familiar) but the man wants “space” (uh, check) because he’s been divorced before (double check) and doesn’t want to go through everything again (triple check). And then Florence Henderson comes over and tells Chris to kick Adrienne out because she’s only 22 and their relationship won’t last otherwise. Rick, I know we are well beyond this phase of our relationship, but don’t listen to anything Mrs. Brady tells you. Ever.
Back to work. I cannot concentrate enough to multitask right now, so blog surfing will be kept to a minimum today.
Lake George’s Revenge October 11, 2005 ~ 11:08 am
Posted by Julie in : Daily Grind , comments closedI liked Lake George fine, despite the near constant drizzle. However, I don’t think the Lake liked me. I came down with an awful sore throat Saturday night and it didn’t get any better as the weekend progressed. Since I felt better in the cool air than in the super-heated cabin we were staying in, we did still get out and about a fair amount (took a drive around the Lake, visited Fort Ticonderoga briefly, saw Lake Champlain, and hiked around an underground river and some natural rock formations), but the long and short of it is that I have a cold. And I can barely talk right now. My sore throat is feeling a little better now, but I’m sneezing my head off and am staying home today. Half of my job is talking on the phone, and that’s pretty close to impossible at the moment. So I’m laying on the couch, watching TiVo, with Kleenex stuffed up my nose. It’s a pretty picture. And I’m thanking PA for this, since she had it last week. Thank you, PA, for breathing on me on Thursday and fucking up my vacation. Stoopid cow.
Two things making my illness better: that the fucking Yankees got knocked out of the playoffs last night (making my eventual return to work a lot better, since I have been getting shit about the Sox all season), and the Steeler’s win last night. I’m waiting to hear what the final word is on Ben Roethlisberger’s knee injury, which could determine what happens to us the rest of the season (hi, our back up is Tommy Maddox -we’re fucked if Ben is out.), but it was great to see the Bus back in action again. And also wonderful to see the Governator’s prediction that the Chargers would win go up in flames.
And who the hell designed the Chargers’ helmets? A third grader? This is a fine example of Retro Gone Wrong:
Fur-butt October 7, 2005 ~ 8:05 am
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Cats hate Asshats - Jesse mauling his Dubya catnip toy
Aimee and I were getting silly in email the other day and she called me a monkey butt. So I upped it and called her a baboon butt, which as Rick said, “is just a monkey butt with lipstick.”
While we were trying to top each other in the silly insult category, I remembered that my cousins and I used to do the same thing when we were little. I was the oldest, and I think I was about 10 when the youngest one of us (now a Marine who has served in Iraq) decided that any body part could be an insult as long as he prefaced it with “fur”. He was 5 or so, give him a break. So he spent one afternoon upping the ante on us when we would piss him off.
He started with “Fur-foot.” Then one of us teased him about his ears (which were much too big for that little body) and he called her “Fur-butt.” Finally, we made up a rude song comparing him to Mr. Spock. We were kids, he was family, we figured he was fair game. Instead of running off in tears to tell Grandma, he got a gleam in his eye. He looked me dead in the face and said “Fur-boob!”
I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard since. Since I’m going to be gone to rainy scenic Lake George all weekend, I give you a mission. Tell me what kind of silly insults you used as a kid. You know, the ones you thought were really cutting in the days before you learned you could call someone a C-U-Next-Tuesday. Show me what you’ve got, Fur-butt!
Just call me “Knits with Thread” October 6, 2005 ~ 11:39 am
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Shimmer, by Knitpicks
See that yarn there? The beautiful yarn that is part alpaca, part silk? That yarn has taught me two things. 1) I can’t count. 2) I only thought size 8 needles were small.
Those four hanks of yarn, which I can hold in two hands without a lot of overspill, are each 440 yards. That means that pile there is a mile of yarn. I should know, I wound the crap. My biceps are now bigger than Popeye’s thanks to that little exercise. But if all that yarn fits into such a small space, what does that mean?
It means that I am basically knitting with thread. On size 3 circular needles, Goddess help me. And the pattern for them includes many diabolical yarn overs, SSK’s, k2tog’s, even k3tog’s that mean I am constantly counting while knitting. That’s why what I’m making with it is being referred to as the “Faroese Fuhgeddaboudit” over in the sidebar. You will note that I have begun the shawl and am in fact on Row 17 (although I will have to frog a row because Rick couldn’t keep his hands to himself while I was knitting last night and made me lose count).
My mother told me to start her present last, but if I do that, my dear friends, it will never get done. Note that although I am on Row 17, the little progress meter is barely registering. That’s because there are 238 rows to this damn thing. It’s insane. And yes, mother, I did pick the pattern, but that’s because it said it was an “easy introduction to lacework” and I wanted to give you something nice for Christmas. I have warned her that if she ever wants another present from me she will keep quiet when I bitch.
In other knitting news, the newly re-christened “Bitchy Beanie” is coming along. I had to frog about 6 rows of that because I dropped a yarn over somewhere in the middle, thus the adding of “Bitchy” to its name. Because nothing I make for Lori is ever easy. Remember her drop stitch scarf?
Yeah, frogged that sucker about 15 times. Good thing I only make small things for her.
And yep, that WiP list has grown. You only thought it was bad before. Three items on that list do not have to be made by Christmas, but I’m not saying which three. I’ll only say that they are smaller items. Of course.
Now I will spend my lunch break knitting. I think I’ve discovered why our society stopped making things for each other for Christmas - it takes too damn much time!
Weird-ass animals October 5, 2005 ~ 2:08 pm
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Cat-in-the-box. Jesse likes the coffee table.
Tomorrow afternoon the Piss Crusader and I have a vet appointment. Wish us luck - the last trip involved pooping and peeing in the crate before we got there, and then I had to clean the damn thing out in the vet’s bathroom, and then we saw the vet. It was a good time.
Piss Crusader’s sugar is high again, and the diarrhea is back. I’m waiting for an insulin increase and more pills to give him. Because we all know how much he loves pills:
Then, after we leave the vet, I am packing, hanging out with them, and leaving Friday morning after I give him his shot. He’s gonna fucking love that. I have learned, however - I’m stripping the bed and taking the slipcover off the couch, leaving only the vinyl mattress covers (aka Couch and Bed Condoms) in place. He pees this time, it’s not gonna soak in. *knocking wood, fingers crossed*
In other weird-ass ornery animal news, the campus’s collection of animals has decided that since there aren’t so many students around, they’re going to take over. You can’t walk across the quad without kicking a squirrel, the feral cats are patrolling en masse, and even our wild parrots have descended from on high. That’s right, we have parrots. Okay, they’re Monk parakeets, but they look like parrots, they make annoying noises like parrots, and they drop sticks on your head from their nests if you’re not careful. I think they’re on the quad looking for sticks to make bigger nests for the winter. Because right now their nests are only about 5′ wide and weigh enough to make the telephone poles they’re built on look like the Leaning Tower of Parrot. Their goal is obviously to build a nest so big it drives the College into the ground, and then focus on world domination, one giant nest at a time.
All these animals driving me nuts…any wonder I’m so tired?
Things I know about LiAps that you don’t. October 4, 2005 ~ 2:10 pm
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Joe loves New York - three birthday bottles of Australian wine for $20.
That title applies to most of you, with the exception of Pup, who actually knows LiAps in real life. In no particular order, I know:
- His real name
- His cell phone number (no ladies, I am not giving it out. Unless you pay me a million dollars. Then I’ll consider it.)
- That he is a whiz at identifying airlines while the plane is flying over.
- That he is a very popular guy - his cell phone doesn’t stop ringing.
- Sitting between him and Rick is a good place to be when you are baseball-challenged, like I am. Between the two of them, I actually understood the whole game. Including rules, history, and the finer parts of baseball etiquette.
- That we have the exact same color skin and both burn like mad - thank Goddess for sunscreen!
- That he and Rick went to high school in the same part of Long Island…a couple of decades apart.
- He, too, knows of the cheap wine wholesaler on Astor Place (where I got the wine pictured above).
- That he’s very generous. Not only did he invite us to a Mets game, (those were box seats, baby!), he also bought me beer. I like that in a friend.
- He says he’s got grey hairs, but I didn’t see any.
- Yesterday was his birthday. Go wish him a happy one.
In short, LiAps is an easygoing guy with a great sense of humor. After three hours of sweating and drinking with him at Shea on Sunday, I consider him a friend. And since he lives in the same city as me, we should definitely hang out again. Any time, man. Hit a bug!!
I’m realizing that there are no bad bloggers out there. I’ve met five of you now, and talked to another two on the phone, and you’re all great. Can’t wait to meet the rest of you!
Birthday October 3, 2005 ~ 10:19 am
Posted by Julie in : Daily Grind , comments closedToday, a bunch of photos from my birthday weekend. None of LiAps, though, because we totally forgot the obligatory blog meet-up photo. Next time, maybe.
My cake. Notice that while my back was turned, Rick ate a chunk, even though HE HAD HIS OWN PIECE AND THERE WAS MORE LEFT IN THE PAN. I’m not bitter. But I’m glad I have proof.
The flowers Rick got me. This semi-erased the cake incident. But not really, because look at that cake. Mmmmm, funfetti!
My new knitting bag, made up of knitted items sewed together. The inside is full of pockets, and it holds my yarn stash nicely.
The new needle case that came with the knitting bag, and is now home to all my double pointed and circular needles.
I heart Mr. Darcy:
Why you can’t take Lori to a nice restaurant:
