One Fine Day

I had one.

Saturday.

August 23rd, to be exact.

On Friday, I daydreamed. Hallucinated? Perhaps. Anyway, for the first time this summer, I did not have to work on Saturday to get payroll done. And I was filled with a sense of possibility and exaltation. I visualized my Perfect Day. I would sleep a bit late, but not much because I wanted to get in my garden before it got hot. I would pick beans and clean up a bit and prepare for the next plantings. I would go to the library, and find some cool books about vegetables. I would go to Walmart and not overspend. I would fix a nice dinner, something I like (hamburgers) and not something I make because everybody else likes it (shrimp scampi). I would enjoy a few cold beers and a good soccer game. I would go to bed tired and fulfilled.


There's a song I can't remember (intentionally, I think) with a line about 'if I can see it, I can do it'.

I saw it, I did it.


Here's to the little things.

Vacation - all I ever wanted...

Today's Frolickin' Friday (TM pending) theme: vacation songs. I.E., songs you remember from vacations past, songs that make you want to be on vacation, songs that make you feel like you ARE on vacation, etc. See, it's SUMMER. And in the SUMMER, people go on vacation. And, just so it's on the public record, I want a vacation like the French do vacation. All of August, please.

So I wanted to make a suggestion or two (or twelve - the greater the number, the better chance of success) and I put my little thinking cap on for a stroll through the misty mists swirling over Memory Lane.

It's a wonder I'm not scarred for life - or, maybe, perhaps... I am - by the music I recall from summers/vacations. Driving through the beautiful Mississippi State campus (Dad's alma mater), I distinctly recall hearing Summer Breeze, that godawful Seals & Crofts song about the jasmine in one's miiiiiiihiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnd. I think I heard Saturday in the Park (yes, Chicago. the shame!) about a gazillion times the summer we arrived in Washington, D.C. And there was an Eagles tune that dominated the summer of '74 - one of the sappier, sad ones. Probably Best of My Love.

Then I heard the words 'road trip.' And I had my suggestion, my brilliant brilliant suggestion: Truckin', by the Grateful Dead.

No, *they* didn't play it. But I dialed it up on Napster, had a listen and took a good hard look at those 'other members like' recommendations. Time warp! I am 16 years old again, soaking up Neil Young's Harvest, which became the theme to the Summer of 1980, a/k/a the U. K. Invasion. (I'm sure, if I tried just a little harder, I could come up with a skin flick title involving the words 'debbie' and 'does', but we work hard here at My Mood Swings to maintain a certain level of decorum. Really.)


This is the first record I ever stole, the harbinger of all the illegal downloads to come. ;0

(j/k about the downloads, btw, my bffs FCC and RIAA.)

I stole it from my friend and neighbor Mike Moeller, while I was feeding his cat because he was away on ... you guessed it... vacation! And it came to have a lot of resonance for me. Not only because I was leaving the familiar and safe and comfortable for a strange land full of strangers with a strange English, but because there's a lot of lovely words and even lovelier truths within: You gotta tell your story, boy, you know the reason why; or I sing the song because I loved the man, I know that some of you don't understand; or the whole wispy dream that is Words (Between the Lines of Age).

So, thanks Steve and Jay. Even though you ignored my suggestion, even though you trashed my carefully selected personal musical totem, you managed to do me a favor. Ta mucho mucho, my brothers. And mangez la merde et mourez.

Obligatory Neil Young as Icon of Cool photoand I had a pair of boots just! like! those!

Long Time No Post

I guess I've been "on hiatus."

I'm back.

Not much has changed.



But I have.








I have always been environmentally aware, even if I didn't do much about it. I like to think that comes from growing up in national parks, with that protect and preserve mandate. My 8th grade science project was a working wastewater treatment plant. Recycling is important enough to me that I've been schlepping my steel cans and glass containers into Knoxville, because my own county had no recycling available, with the exception of newspaper bins. But I wasn't making a concerted effort really, just trying to keep from taking the trash out so often. It's been years since I brushed my teeth with the water running (probably since *I* started paying for it), but the only other water I conserved was the hot water I needed for showering.

Well, all that recently changed. First, our city fathers put out a magazine recycling bin. Then they took that away and put out a single freight-car style container for aluminum, steel, newspapers, plastics, junk mail and magazines. Wow! It's all supposed to be separated, but tossed into one bin. Yep, it's kind of a mess inside, but here's hoping it will remain. And, perhaps, be improved.

But, wait. There's more. It's like a switch has gone off in my head. I compost my vegetable and fruit scraps - and maggots are not necessarily bad things, just gross! I take Navy showers. I drive slower and as if I had an egg between my foot and the gas pedal. I take my own bags to the grocery store - well, mostly. But I have to have a few to tie up my recycles, right?


It's a new economy, folks.

USA v. England, 5-28-08: The Dream Team

Well, ok, the Dreamy Team.

My preferred starting 11: Timmay Howard in goal; Carlos Bocanegra and Oguchi Onyewu central with Jay Demerit and Johnathan Spector bringing the sexy back to defense; DaMarcus Beasley, Michael Bradley and Ricardo Clark making the midfield marvelous; Clint "Mostest From Nacogdoches" Dempsey, Landon "The Abs, Man" Donovan and Josh Wolff - that's some serious forward thinking, pardon the terrible pun. A completely delectable 4-3-3.



Too bad I don't know how to properly illustrate the lineup! You'll have to settle for this purloined USSF photo of Mostest and Josh Wolff. Would that I were the Towel Girl.

I say we whip those pissy Englishters! 5-0!!

Old Dog, New Trick

I'm attempting to aprender español.

No, really.

It's something I've been thinking about for a long time. Formal classes don't fit into my schedule yet and the total immersion trip to Spain just wasn't happening, so I did what I always do when confronted by the impossible: I shopped Amazon! Behind the Wheel got the best ratings for the $, and, bonus!, free 2-day shipping to boot. Monday through Friday, from the time I drop the younguns off at school until I park at the office, I am habla'ing to the best of my ability. Los días de la semana? Know 'em. Los meses del año? Know them too. Can I ask politely for a glass of water? Not yet. But such is the level of my dedication that I am trying to surround myself with the language, to disappear into it, to melt the ridges of my mind down until understanding is possible. Sounds very psychedelic, no? French happened for me that way. Of course, I don't remember much of *that* now. I've been consuming great quantities of tacos and fajitas, and I've surrounded myself with musica latina. Today it's the best in Argentine ska. Tomorrow, back to this continent and Ozomatli. Here's a sample - La Gallina, which means The Rooster, and reading between the lines, I think it basically says something like ''lift yourself up, quit dicking around, anything is possible (with Ozo)". Enjoy - it's quite the toe tapper.

What I do for fun on my lunch breaks

walk to the post office!


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America, Heck Yeah!!

Well, that's the PG rated version. Wish I could photo shop Danny Murphy in for Eddie Johnson, but then the Team America thing would lose some of its mojo. Big ups, Fulham. Although I am curious as to how these guys would have been dispersed, or if indeed they would have been dispersed, after the fall. Maybe I'll find out next year.

Big ups also to them Toros Rojas, smacking down the Gals in L. A.! Juan Pablo Angel gets his first goal of the season, David Beckham gets his first yellow. Methinks we got under his very lovely skin just a little. Bigger ups to Columbus for keeping the streak alive. I was mainly watching RB/Gals, but I would wander over to Crew/Quakes now and then. First peek, Quakes are winning 1-0. Next peek, Crew is up 2-1. Final score Crew 3, Quakes 2. I think I missed a great game.

A couple of suggestions: Left coast games should be played in the afternoon, so that they are not the Late Late Late show at my house. It was all I could do to stay awake. Also, could the Galaxy always play "skins"? 'Preciate it, MLS.

No Elvis Tonight, Or,

Wishes, meet cash flow.


Elvis Costello and the Imposters in Knox Angeles tonight at the Tennessee Theatre, my personal Jesus of area venues. I won't be there.


...



...


(big brave sigh)


Focus on the sunny hours, girl.


So, just in case Elvis needs to know, here's where the money went:

Some fancy duds for the Notorious K T J's prom. (Technically this was more than $100, but I won't hold that against Elvis). $35 on an updo. Did not have to shell out for shoes or jewelry, woo hoo!




Drugs. See? I'm still cool.

Only these aren't fun drugs, in the traditional sense. Enalapril for me and something for him I want to call Detrol, but not, because that's for bladder control. Letrol, maybe. Toprol for me and the mister. Because the couple that medicates together stays together.




Two tanks of gas. That's most of a month - at least 20 days, anyway. Do the bio-diesel thing, Elv. I've read green is your favorite color.




And groceries - I have grown ridiculously fond of eating over the years. And it shows.



So tonight I'll be home on the couch, most likely watching yet another re-run of Law & Order. Will it be Criminal Intent? Special Victim's Unit? Confession: I just spent 30 minutes trying to spell "victim." And I had to look it up in the end. I'll help Austin with his spelling. No, really. I'll herd Josephine into the bathtub and insist she wash her hair. I might do some laundry, I might pay some bills. This is NOT the adulthood I signed up for. It would be ten thousand times worse if I didn't know, deep down in my heart of hearts, that he'll be back.

This too shall pass.


Don't cry for me, Greater Knoxville.

Random Soccer Observations, MLS Week Six

1. Middle America gets no respect. Columbus is on top of the table, with 5 wins, one loss and zero ties. Are there photos on any of the major soccer news sites of their win Saturday night against Kansas City? Heck, no. *Some* of us would really like to see Adam Moffat shirtless.

2. The End of Rice-Eccles can't come soon enough. Dave, here, seems rather excited about playing on the Worst Turf in MLS, but viewing that match was painful. Glad I didn't stay up for the second half.

3. I do not understand the black outs. I couldn't watch the Red Bulls last Sunday which was on Telefutility (which I don't get) and blacked out on MSG and MSG2. However, I could "enjoy" Colorado/D.C. yesterday via Altitude. Just an esplanation, por favor. I'm feeling discriminated against.


End of bitching.


Happy Cinco de Mayo, y'all!

A Moment of Silence, Please

To mourn the loss of my Omron pedometer, Model HJ112. Alas, poor Omron, I knew him, Horatio, a pedometer of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. I hath born him on my waist a thousand steps and now how abhorr'd in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it...

Well, maybe my gorge doesn't rise, but my waistband is certainly expanding.

We had just recently rediscovered each other. I invested $4.29 (think of it as just a little over one gallon of gas) in a new battery. We were walking the dog, walking to the post office, wearing out Walmart on Saturdays. In fact, that's probably where I lost it. I was so excited last Saturday afternoon to check my total. I was dog-tired - we had soccered all over BFE, been to 4 different grocery stores AND walked the dog. But I'll never know how many steps we took that fateful day.

Because only one of us made it home.

Yes, I can go buy another one exactly like it, but it won't be the one I lost 6 pounds with. It won't be the one who was with me when we saw the possum. Or the box turtle. Or the one that made me feel brave the first time I walked to the post office (people stare when you walk around here). It just won't be the same.

Farewell, good and faithful Omron.

The Soccer Weekend: Rainbows and Lollipops, Sunshine and Roses

It was good for me, too, Landon.

The soccer, people. The soccer.

Three goals for LD in a rout over Chivas, which makes me Fantasy Queen for this week. Red Bulls win 1-0 over the resurrected Earthquakes! Columbus beats Houston 1-0. Houston - remember them? MLS champs last year, and the year before that. Now, they seem to be stuck in a moment they can't get out of. A bigger person would feel their pain. Not I.

Because I am savoring the thrill of victory, basking in the glow of sweet success, tasting the intoxicating flavor of winning. Yes, friends and neighbors, I, too, am a soccer winner this week. On the Real Field, not just the pretend one. The Sevierville U-10 Hokies posted their first victory under my stewardship. It was a well-fought game and, to be fair, it could have gone the other way. But we showed grit and determination, fought the good fight and won. I'd like to think it was my deft touch in substitutions, but since Coach Tammy already had them all figured out, I'll cling to my belief in my own special skillz as a placeholder. I was the orange traffic cone around which the team revolved; it was my pugnacious stolidity the team needed, and my earnest direction. Big kicks! Big kicks!

Words to live by.

It is my most fervent desire to retire undefeated.

And, immediately.

Jozy Jozy Jozy!

He had one heckuva goal Saturday night.





vote for him here

Earth Day 2008

Well, I've done my part, bringing this little bevy* of beauty to the circus on this day ten years ago - (insert photo of Josephine here when blogger decides to cooperate)

And that's not all. I bought a reusable grocery bag. I can't remember to take it shopping, and maybe I need to get 12, but that's really a whole 'nother issue. When my mighty mighty Maytag bit the dust, I replaced it with a water-conservative front loader. I've been walking the half mile to the post office and I've been replacing light bulbs all over the house with the CFL ones as the standard ones burn out. In the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, etc.

How about you?

Confession: I don't care for the light that the CFL bulbs cast. It's cold and sterile and has the ambiance of a gynecological exam. I succumbed to the Dark Side in Walmart a few weeks ago. I bought an incandescent 3-way bulb for my reading lamp.

And I find myself worshipping that glorious warm golden light.

Years from now, when Antartica has melted, when the corn fields of the midwest are a barren dust bowl, when the only kind of tomato you can buy has been grown hydroponically, incandescent light bulbs will be outlawed. And only outlaws will have incandescent bulbs.








*shoutout to Elvis, not calling my youngest schizophrenic at all.

You Inspire Me...

It's Good Friday and we should be inspired. And music always does that for me.

Ok, full disclosure: I appropriated ('stole' is such an ugly word) this idea just before I went vacationing. I gave it some thought as we descended into L. A. - that's Lower Alabama for you travel freaks - I even managed to make a note or two on the back of our License Plate Game list, but I failed to follow up after 6 days of sun and fun.

My bad.

What does inspiration mean anyway? Merriam-Webster kind of wusses out, saying it 'moves the intellect or emotions.' Litter bugs move my emotions, but I'm not sure I'd say I'm inspired by them. So, I want to add a little asterisk to that: *in a good way. Which is to say, the music of Billy Joel moves me to madness, but I can certainly, unequivocally, forever and ever, live without it. (And with a bit of luck, I will!)

So, these are three songs that inspire me.

1. Bob Marley (or Joe Strummer) - Redemption Song. Yes, I know that's soooo condescending of me - what do I have in common with oppressed Rastafarians, I hear you ask. Well, not a lot. I am of the female working persuasion, so I know a tiny bit about The Man. But what I draw from this song is a transcendent hope, that justice will eventually be served, especially if we work together.

2. Rancid - Radio. I've been dull and boring about this song before, so I'll try to keep this brief. Never fell in love til I fell in love with you; never knew what a good time was til I had a good time with you. It's about finding community, finding connections, finding kin in a hostile world.

and finally....

3. John Prine - Sweet Revenge. Because a girl has to be true to herself above all things. I'll keep looking for the youtube.

Soccer Saturday: Heartburn! Nausea! Indigestion!

But at least I didn't have my head up Saragosa's ass.

Or did I?

I had MY evening planned out one week in advance. San Ho and Chicag-o at 4:30 as a little snack. The Columbus/Chivas clash at 7:30 to get me hungry for the main course: Red Bulls at Dallas.

At least that's how it was supposed to work. Best laid plans, etc., etc. We had a friend in town. Who wanted to take us out to dinner (hence all these menu metaphors). It was a mighty conflict. On the one hand, soccer. On the other, dinner out. I get asked out to dinner twice a year, on my birthday and Mother's Day (and I generally say no to that one, because the kids - who are after all the reason I am a mother - are not invited). But of course, it was just assumed that I would be happy to go, and drive, to boot! This is where the indigestion comes in. I internalized the debate, rather than stand my indecisive ground - which is handy. You don't have to commit, so you can bitch about it either way. We were to meet at 8, smack dab in the middle of prime soccer, and they were late. At 8:15 I called Austin and asked him to record the Red Bulls. AT 8:45, when our host began calling the waiter 'bubbe', I gave up on live soccer.

Because sometimes life just throws you under the Experience Train, whether you wanna go or not. And this was an experience, fer sure.

I have never been in a more schizophrenic restaurant. I won't name names, because I actually feel pity for them. They're trying their best, after all, in their own peculiar way. I'm no decorator. I won't pretend to have Michelin credentials. But I'm not naming names, so that forgives a lot of mockery.

Three Points to Ponder:

1. Wait staff in black and white - good. Candles and cloth napkins but no table cloths? - bad. Very bad. Silk flowers instead of genuine? Worse. A pianist playing a Billy Joel medley? Hein-ous.

2. There's a difference between a vaulted ceiling and an indoor basketball court. Also, lights should flatter, not terrify!

3. Steak tips with peppers and onions are meant to be served ON a bed of rice, not beside it. And medium should have a bit of pink.

Two Strikes Against:

1. It took 20 minutes to get a beer. And a) there were about 7 people in this entire restaurant (including staff) and b) we were staring at the bartender as she dawdled and loafed. Our waiter, bless his heart, stood by the table and 'tried to get her attention', which I guess is the polite way to say 'tried to get her to move her ass.'

2. The 3 Points to Ponder above mean you ain't gonna charge me $18.99 for steak tips and a companion bowl of rice twice. In this case, not even once. Thanks, M!


The Straw That Broke This Camel's Back

They had a tv. But it was on freakin' HOCKEY. Hockey! That's just cold, man. Cold.

Feeling Wild and ...

speculative!



Let's play Foretell the Futbol.*



This Year's Brad Guzan, being all underpaid and over-acheiving: Will Hesmer. 2 games, 2 stopped penalties. Color me impressed, Ricky Bobby.




This Year's David Beckham, the Guy I Most Wanna See on a Wheaties Box: Duilio Davino. Watch this and see if you don't want to head right on over to Dick's and stalk the fitting rooms.




The Clint Mathis All That and a Bag of Chips Award, for the player most likely to succeed in spite of himself: Santino Quaranta. I'm not the only one who thinks so, proving once again that great minds think alike. Or that idiots run in herds. You decide.




Giddy Guesses and Indiscriminate Prognostications: Golden Boot - Christian Gomez. Who says he's not worth a 2 year extension? Supporters Shield will go to ... Kansas City! Houston will have a problem, and will not Threepeat. The Red Bulls, and I'm sober as I write this, will take home some hardware, either Open Cup or MLS Cup. Maybe both!

Stay tuned.






*version español.

Hitchcock|Lowe|Costello @ Grand Ballroom

Hitchcock|Lowe|Costello @ Grand Ballroom
Originally uploaded by sketchguy

Color me sick. Color me green. Color me having little pangs that feel a little like regret for living in The Sticks.

Nick Lowe, Elvis Costello and Robyn Hitchcock. On one stage. Ok, don't know RH enough to be thrilled at him, but jeez louise - Elvis AND Nick? My heart might not be able to take it, but I'd sure like to try.

Yeeeeeee Haaaaaaawwwwwwwww!!!

Red Bulls 2, Columbus Crew 0. Osorio becomes the first coach in team history to open with a win. I don't want to get crazy confident (because after all, this is *still* the team formerly known as the Metrostars), but maybe the spell is broken.

Anyway, it was a long cool drink of water - nay! a case of really nice beer - maybe some of that Sam Adams October brew - after an arid desert of soccer that was RBNY-less. (In case you're wondering - and maybe you aren't - I'm trying to set a personal best in dashes today). There's the ole turf still there, hopefully for the last season. There's the TV people and Giants stadium people doing something like cooperating by putting ALL the fans together, more or less, instead of allowing them to randomly dot the seats in the stadium. Good crowd, good crowd noise. FSC had Christopher Sullivan (yay!) and Max Bretos (boo!) - but I'll give Bretos a half a thumbs up just for the game show host enthusiasm he brings to every game. Please consult the game guides provided by the league, Max. They include pronunciation guides!

But honestly, I can't complain. It was Old Home Week, or something virtual-ly like it. Damn, I'm glad it's back.

I Am Here to Live Out Loud

Emile Zola had the right idea. Easier said than done however. My life sometimes feels like the Talking Heads song Once In A Lifetime, in the 'my god, what have I done?' and 'same as it ever was' refrains. But today is better than yesterday, Rock Bottom has a population of 4 now - the more the merrier, I suppose. But to keep us (the Rock Bottomites) on the straight and narrow, let's take to heart the immortal words of Rockpile and never be a fool too long again.

Check out how Nick doesn't play that acoustic.

It's Robbie Fulks Day!

I am having one of those days. You know the kind, where you're just one step behind everybody else, where you're just not quite in sync with The Real World. There I was thinking I was being witty, charming and sociable, and apparently I was being boring, obnoxious and loud. Only not loud enough, because no one seemed to hear me. It was like waking up naked in your backyard with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, a strange pair of boxers in the other and a meter reader peering over the neighbor's fence. Ok, maybe not that bad, but certainly one of those god-what-was-I-thinking moments, only without the excuse of alcohol. Friends, never let your ego tell you what to do.

Anyway, here I am in Rock Bottom, population 1. Well, 2 if you count Robbie. Spent a few minutes (hours) on youtube hunting up good stuff for you.




Don't forget that I'm Countrier Than Thou...



Holla if you out there, people!