Recently a subject has come up on this blogger's blog that merits thoughtful consideration and mature, reasonable discourse. Unfortunately, Steph hogs all of that good stuff on her blog, leaving the rest of us to squabble over the scraps of pettiness and nonsense.
The good news, of course, is that I have advanced degrees in both pettiness AND nonsense, having grown up in a house with six kids - four of whom were girls - and only two bathrooms. My doctoral dissertation, "Justifiable Wearing of Your Sweater on the Grounds of You Getting Mascara All Over my Toothrush and Then Lying to Mom About It" was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Drivel and later made into an ABC After School Special.
Good thing fame hasn't changed me.
But, as I am wont to do, I digress. The aforementioned hot topic currently has to do with the presence of cuss words on my blog. While it is true that I am a happy, faithful Latter-day Saint woman, it is sadly also true that I do occasionally drop a B-level cuss word in casual conversation. I write exactly the way I speak - anyone who knows me personally and reads my blog will attest to that - and I speak the language I know.
Let me be CRYSTAL clear, here: I have said the "F" word twice, back-to-back, in a very heated moment, approximately 20 years ago. Two of my sisters heard it, and no one else. I hated the sound and the feel and the ugliness of it, and have never said it again. Words starting with "B", "P", and "A" slip past the censors maybe twice a year. To my way of thinking, you use those words when you've run out of imagination. Hit a thesaurus. Study up.
I could write for Disney. Bart Simpson has a fouler mouth than mine. MARGE Simpson has a fouler mouth than mine.
Nevertheless, someone read a gratuitous cuss word on my last post and was disappointed. She was right; there was no need for that word in that sentence, and I traded it for its more acceptable cousin. Problem solved, and I hope that reader comes back, because I think we have a lot of fun together over here and I'd hate for her to miss out on the party.
But it did remind me of a post I did back in November, before most of you had met me. I don't know why I opted to write the cuss words the way I did, but that's nothing new. I rarely know what I'm going to write before I write it. Along with writing the way I speak, I write the way I think. I know, scary, huh?
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.
And those of you of a more sensitive disposition, well, this one's for you.
Music to My Ears
This post will be brief; I feel the Advil PM working its magic already. (Whoa, I can, like, smell colors! Awesommmmme...)
I mention in my bio that I direct a youth symphony and chorus. Great gig.
Anyway, at rehearsal today our one trumpet player (who has spent the last two months blowing his horn on football fields instead of at symphony rehearsals, so he's a little behind on the ol' practicing curve) played one particular passage so diabolical in its badness I swear I saw a mushroom cloud emerge from the end of his trumpet.
Not one to sport much of a poker face, and fearing for the safety of the innocent flute players sitting in front of the brass section, I shot him the unmistakable look that has menaced music students and DMV clients for centuries, the look that says, "You chose the wrong day to miss those notes (or register your car without proof of insurance, depending on which category of look-recipients you fall into) and now-----YOU. WILL. PAY."
Evidently, the look was so powerful it became airborne, and made its way clear over to the cellos. (It may have sprinkled on the violins along the way, but they had long since gone to that happy place where violinists hide when things get unpleasant, and were therefore blissfully unaware of the near-death experience they'd just had.)
Inspired by the intensity of the moment (and this is where the story really begins), the principle cellist began playing the theme from "Jaws". Not particularly original, I'll admit.
But...... in that moment, it was like the clouds parted and James Earl Jones hollered down from some celestial recording studio, "DENAE! WHAT YOUR LIFE REALLY NEEDS IS A KICK-(SMALL DOMESTICATED FARM ANIMAL) SOUND TRACK!"
Of course!! Why the (biblical reference to the place where murderers and people who giggle in the temple go) didn't I think of that sooner?? It would certainly make communicating with my teenagers easier, that's for (large concrete structure designed to block rivers or house beavers only theirs are small and made of wood) sure!
For example, my kids have always believed that when I said "No," I really meant, "Start whining and harping and griping until the very sound of your voice is like a cheese grater on the creamy havarti of my soul."
But with the right soundtrack, conversations could go more like this:
KID: "Mom, can I go to the midnight showing of "Cedric Diggory Plays a Vampire" next Thursday even though doing so will mean I'll get exactly 17 minutes of sleep on a school night?"
KID: "Cheese grate, cheese grate, cheese grate..."
(SOUNDTRACK: Theme from "Psycho")
KID: "Suddenly I feel like cleaning my room and kissing my brother and going to bed at 8:30."
Is that not the most beautiful thing you could ever imagine hearing?? Listen to it; it practically SINGS! "I'll go to bed at 8:30, dear mother, just as soon as I locate my floor..."
And neutralizing your offspring is just one of the benefits of having a Life-Track!
Neighbor letting his dog (fictional teddy bear, stuffed with fluff) on your lawn? Soundtrack plays, "Mamaaa...just killed a man..."
Get pulled over for doing 60 in a 15 mph school zone while the bus is unloading the handicapped children? Soundtrack plays, "Mercy, mercy me..."
Daughter tosses her new jeans into the washer with your white lingerie? Elton John croons, "I guess that's why they call it the blues..."
Yes, this is definitely a plan with potential, the creating of a musical backdrop to add crescendo and harmony to my every waking moment.
Which, come to think of it, isn't right now, as I've been asleep for the last tweny minutes. That Advil PM is really singing its own hypnotic lullaby...
Get to bed, dumb blogger-head...hmmm, music to my ears.