tinhuviel: (Augury)

That's the title of a Peter Gabriel song, but I'm certain anyone who may read this knows that speck of trivia. What does a Peter Gabriel song subject line mean, though? What does it reference?

Drumming and weather. That's pretty much it.

Later on this afternoon, we're supposed to go to a drum circle. I'm not sure if we're attending the Rainbow Family event in Balboa Park, or heading up to Carlsbad for their brouhaha by the beach.

Whichever one we're going to, I'll still be wearing short-sleeves and sandals with no socks. This is not post-Thanksgiving weather... I've been messing around with a new theory about Southern California and its inhabitants: The area is deeply influenced by alternate opinions, artistic expression, political leanings, and a general rabid hipster/purebred Hippie world view. Why? People gotta stay busy putting the spice usually provided by interesting weather back into a pretty boring, uneventful meteorological yawn-fest. This is the kind of weather most everyone seems to adore, but it's ever single fucking day! Perfect spring/summer weather can be safely assumed when you open your eyes each day. The only way to mark today as being different from the others, is to shake things up in the sphere of your influence. Going to drum with the 'natives' is a perfect way to overcome meteorological apathy.

A while back, when I mentioned once having and playing a bodhrán a few years ago, Matt grew quite curious about it, so much so, he ended up buying a bodhrán! Using a pretty good intro I found on You Tube on how to play bodhrán and achieve "rolls" or "triplets", I showed him how to start slowly and focus on loosening your grip and your wrist as you increase the rhythm. He feels like he will be unable to play the bodhrán, but I think he did pretty well. We'll be taking that along with the djembes and other percussion when we head out later.

Sometime in December, I think, the Rainbow Family is organising a weekend camping event in the desert. Even though I have zero camping gear, I would still love to go to this, mainly to escape the light pollution and be able to see the cradle of creation that is our Milky Way. I don't care what crawls on me, I want to see the Milky Way!

tinhuviel: (Dog o'Doom!)
There are some days I'm tempted to convince people I have Tourettes Syndrome just so I can curse people in public and make a scene of my rampant misanthropy without severe ramifications. People will just say, "Oh, she's got Tourettes. Don't mind her." And I can be left to my own devices and wallow in my ocean of expletives.

National Geographic Channel is showing this documentary on exorcism. It's thought that a lot of people who were accused of being witches or being possessed by the devil in the middle ages were actually just victims of Tourettes Syndrome. I wonder how many people diagnosed with Tourettes today are actually possessed by demons! Surely it can go both ways.


While some lucky folks are enjoying seasonal snowfall and are prancing about in their Winter Wonderland, I am experiencing balmy temperatures and thunderstorms. Mind, I love thunderstorms. I adore lightning and I'm inspired by tempests, but not in December. I want some frickin' Winter for once, dammit! I'm tired of living in the South where the only inclement weather we get is the occasional ice storm. I want a buttload of snow, a foot or more!

The last really fantastic snowfall we got was in 1988. It was in January of that year and the storm started when I was at work on third shift. The snow was coming down so thick and fast, we couldn't see our hands before our faces. Timothy told us that, if he did a donut in the parking lot, we could go home. So we all gathered outside and watched Tim do a fantastic donut in his orange Cherokee Chief. I barely got home that night. By the time I got in, there was about three inches on the ground, and I only lived 2.5 miles from work. When morning came, we had over a foot of snow and the whole of the Upstate was essentially shut down for over a week. It was glorious.


Watching this Evangelical exorcise demons, then accept tithes in the form of Mastercard, makes me want to manifest a demon of my own and go kick his ass in the name of god. Surely drawing on demonic power to off a shithead who is victimising the most ignorant among us is doing god's work, right? The end would justify the means in such a circumstance, I'll wager. People like this Evangelical deserve to be pounded like a veal cutlet on network television. That would be prime entertainment!


I'm having this undeniable desire to go camping. I think when I get the 401k money, I'm going to purchase a tent and two sleeping bags for the purpose of taking Aunt Tudi up to the Smokies for a camping expedition. I'd prefer to go back to Mills River, but I hear that area is now being "developed" and is no longer accessible by campers. But there are abundant camping opportunities in Western North Carolina. It's just a matter of finding that perfect spot.

There's just something supremely peaceful about dwelling in the forest and cooking beans over an open fire. And, if you're lucky, going to sleep to the sound of rushing river water right beside you. Yes, I must go camping this Spring.


Right before I fell asleep last night, I looked down at myself and this is what I saw: Chester at my feet, Shmoop between my knees, Riley up near my head, and Smidgen on my chest. I looked like a scene edited out of an old Hee Haw show. It'll be the same thing tonight. The beasties may change positions, but they'll all be on the bed with me, enjoying the warm cosiness of my blankets and watching a movie with me. Shmoop loves to watch TV.

February 2019

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