Tuesday, April 25, 2006

You Asked For It!

Back by popular demand: Elvis Versus the World. Well, maybe not by popular demand. And demand may be too strong a word. Whatever.


Elvis, in every album, every song and gosh darn it, almost every note, displays his emotional dictionary, from love and adoration through paranoid jealousy down to revenge and guilt.

Rod Stewart, in every album, every song and almost every note, displays his emotional repetoire: sad horny and happy horny, with nuances of wistful horny sometimes tossed in.

EC has been performing classics from the great American songbook since he was in short pants.

RS has been performing them since Divorce #47. Or was it Baby #62?

Delusions of Celteur: EC pretends to be Irish, RS is a wannabe Scot.

EC and RS both look iconically good in a suit. Worst fashion disaster: for EC, it has to be jeans. He looks like that kid at school, the you're-ugly-and-your-mother-dresses-you-funny kid; for RS, it was the 80's. In fact, I'm convinced he's used all his American songbook profits to buy up the photos, because I have scoured the internet and they just ain't out there anymore. But you know the ones I mean: the spandex, the boas, the pictures that just make you think of the stomach-pumping rumor all over again.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Travels with Dad

Experts say that married people should keep surprising each other to keep things fresh in the relationship. I don't think they had this in mind.

We went to Nashville to see my husband's parents. It's about a 4 hour trip, but the time changes. Normally, on such trips, I pack a few snacks and drinks to keep the Krusty Krew (our four children) from accosting strangers at rest stops. This trip was sudden, unplanned and therefore, unsnacked. But it wasn't really a problem. No one complained. We took a pit stop at the friendly I-40 rest area. I took the girls into the bathroom, Jim went with the boys. The boys browsed the brochures and I gathered them all up and headed back to the car to find my husband standing there with one pack of peanut butter toasty crackers in his hand.

"What's that for?" I ask.

"I figured the kids would get hungry," he answered.

One pack of crackers. Four children. Do the math. Don't forget to factor in a wily dog and sibling rivalry to the power of ten.

O, triumphant hunter! If we don't get more crackers, we're gonna start eating our own. Survival of the One Most Beloved By The Parental Units, after all. And these are nobody's favorite crackers, but the law of supply and demand is unequivocally confirmed.

I did the only sensible thing.

I ate them.