Idle Chatter

Darlings, it has been such a day and it's only quarter after three. But a boy has to eat, so I'm going to hold the fork with one hand and type with the other. I have no actual topic in mind, but since when has that ever stopped me?

You look hungry. Pull up a chair. Cookie? Wine spritzer? Careful, the fajita platter is still hot.

Screechy Peaches

So, I mentioned Peaches (the rock singer, not the fruit) and Felicia outed herself as a Peaches fan and asked if I liked her stuff.

Well, in a word, no.

I am all for women (and men) telling it like it is, I'm just more comfortable when they do so in a manner that won't make the dog soil the carpet. Honey, that girl and the noises she makes are scary. Somewhere between the classroom and the concert hall, something went grievously awry.

In the novel Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Sigmund Freud tells the narrator that she needs to "cultivate some inhibitions and get some sleep." I think that's the same advice I would give to Peaches. After which she would kick me in the head and use my goatee to light her cigarette.

Tinkerbell

I want to say how much I appreciated everyone's advice and compassion on the subject of undoing unsatisfactory stitches.

QueerJoe has offered to "butcher" some knitting (how studly does that sound?) at Rhinebeck so he can show me how to frog without fear. You're on, Joe, as long as you promise not to laugh at me if I get scared and start to cry. Otherwise it'll be second grade dodgeball all over again, except you're not a closeted lesbian gym teacher with a whistle around your neck.

Tattoos and Piercings

Boy, you are all so excited to see me get stuck with a needle, aren't you?

I mentioned being the only person at the Intonation Festival without "visible tattoos" and Lee Ann wondered if I might have a non-visible tattoo somewhere. Not at the moment, sugar.

I've wrestled with the tattoo-or-no question for years, and until I'm dead certain or dead drunk I shall remain un-inked. I despair of ever finding a motif I love deeply enough to wear forever, or an artist I trust to do work that won't make me feel I've been doodled on.

Colleen, who you may recall was the one who knew what a "pantyhose party" is, was also awfully learned about getting tattooed in a hurry. For somebody who has a real job and rosy-cheeked kids and an RV all that, girlfriend is certainly giving us glimpses of a wild side, and I don't just mean impromptu buying sprees on Knitpicks. As my mother used to say, it's always the quiet ones.

Rabbitch mentions that she adores pierced nipples. I do, too, darling, aside from the danger they pose of chipping one's teeth.

I am pierced, but very mundanely, one hole in each ear. I usually wear little hoops, though I have a pair of diamond studs for those evenings when I need to feel gala.

Churl with a Pearl Earring

On that note, it frosts my cookies that girls get to have all the fun when it comes to earrings. For a guy, it's simple hoops or studs or forget about it.

I was in a Vermeerish mood once and tried on a single pearl-drop earring, and quite liked it until the saleswoman came over and said I looked a pirate. I looked in the mirror and I didn't look like a pirate at all, I looked like Prince. Although it would have made me attractive to Yarn Harlot (no small benefit), that just didn't seem like a good idea.

Roll Call

Mush liked Edmund, the Wild Thing* in my picture of Susan's hat. I have many such little friends in the office. In the interest of giving you a fuller, rounder, Cinemascope picture of my life, here's a complete list:

1. Winnie-the-Pooh
2. George and Martha (the hippos, not the former Mrs. Dandridge and her second husband)
3. Snoopy
4. Arthur, D.W., and Buster
5. Lucy from "Peanuts"
   
6. Happy Bunny (on a pedestal that reads, "Hi. Cram it.")
7. Buddha

Buddha is not very cuddly, since he's made of plaster. On the other hand, that makes it much easier to fling him at the heads of people who make me mad.

When I worked at New England Conservatory, I also had Madeline (the one who lived with Miss Clavell in the old house in Paris all covered with vines), and this one sicko coworker of mine used to come into my office while I was out and pose her on my keyboard, ass up with her dress over her head and her knickers pulled down.

Which brings us back to Peaches, doesn't it?

Since we've come full circle, I'll hush up for a wee while.

Another spritzer? Nu?

*Oh, and Mark let it slip out casually that he had, like, a friendship with Maurice Sendak. Maurice Frigging Sendak! Good grief. What can I say, except, Bitch, I totally hate you.