As seems to be the norm lately, this one will pull double-duty. Possibility of being offended, so, proceed with caution.
I’ve known Queen, the band, about as long as I can remember listening to music. I remember Johnny Cash and “A Boy Named Sue” on 8-track in my Mom’s car. I remember Jim Croce and ‘Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” and “Operator” (which is still one of the most melancholy songs I can think of) from my Dad’s records. John Denver too. Now that I think about, WTF, this was the 70s, why couldn’t my parents have been into Floyd or Led Zepplin? Oh well, got to discover them in college so it all worked out in the end.
Peace and Pulp Fiction? What’s they’s gots in common, you might ask? Nothing that I can really see, other than they both start with P and I decided to write a quick split column with both the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt (peace/piece) and one of my favorite movies.
I couldn’t come up with anything to write about for today. Hell, I even asked Lauren’s boyfriend when he came over to pick her up. He came up with “patience” and “priorities,” but he may have just been sucking up – though I think I’m stashing both of those away for content marketing-related posts. Good kid, mostly, so far. Continue reading Peace and Pulp Fiction, #AtoZchallenge and #SoCS
This was originally titled an Ode to Oscar, but this isn’t really an ode. It’s more a paean, but without the lyrical quality. I looked up odes, but they’re very complicated with three varieties, some in verse, and I don’t have lyre to accompany this anyway. I could’ve waited, I guess, and gone with Paean to Oscar tomorrow, but I’m still toying around with the idea of Penis, or Pulp Fiction, so Oscar it is.
Oscar, as you can see from the photo to the left, is our Boxer – the best and smelliest Boxer in the World.
What’s the “D” stand for, you might ask? Well, it varies, depending. At various times and in no particular order: doofus, dumbass, dingleberry, dandy, dipshit, dummy, danger, damn dog, dickhead, dickweed, dynamite, delightful, donger, dingbat, dork, dashing, deranged, Continue reading Oscar D. Boxer, #AtoZchallenge
Ye cannot serve both God and mammon. – (Pick a Bible, King James mostly)
[Warning: I ramble a bit in this one – more than usual.]
I originally was going with “money” until 11 years of Catholic school kicked in and “Mammon” popped into my brain. I’ve always loved that word, mammon. Just sounds impressive, oppressive, and a little bit chilling. Like a cartoon, comic book villain who’s always dripping gold. Like Whoopie Goldberg’s Hyena in the Lion King when hearing “Mufasa” made her shiver – mammon, “whooohooo hoo!”
Lauren and Casey. Casey and Lauren. Turdbirds Numbers One and Two (no idea, ask my Mama where she got that nomenclature from — hmmm, might’ve been Meme). Even though they have singly and, sometimes, as a unit driven me slightly bonkers (and they’ve been threatened with defenestration), I can’t imagine what my life would be like without them.
Now, if push ever came to shove, I’m a dog person deep down. Choosing between either one isn’t a choice, I’m going dog every time.
However, I do love my kitties. Over the years, I’ve had some great and awful cats: Mittens, who died too young and chased three dogs away from my brother Kirk when he was playing outside by himself in the yard (which, apparently, used to be allowed without calling child services); Crook, whose tail was broken at a 90 degree angle when he was porn and who also had a crooked neck, who pissed in my shoe and was a sweet cat for a while before going nucking futs and running away; Guinny (for the beer), who played on the dashboard of my U-Haul on the trip from Hattiesburg to Gaithersburg in 1996 (and was the reason, Foster, my dog at the time wouldn’t look at me for the entire trip — he was in a royal huff). By and large, kitties are the uncoolest cool beasts you’ll ever meet. Continue reading Kitties, The #AtoZchallenge