I Blame Those of You Who Brought Up T.S. Eliot the Other Day

I had the most beautiful looking peach in my lunch and I bit in and it was not yet ripe.  Even though every nerve in my mouth tingled and my eyes watered, I tried to eat it because I did not want to be one of those people who measures out her life with coffee spoons.

Alas, I just could not get through it.  Hopefully, the rest of the peaches in my kitchen will hurry up and ripen.

I have to eat them at work, though, because the dog thinks that all peaches within her purview are hers to eat, if she can get them, and it’s very hard to eat a peach with a sad dog resting her head on your leg looking at you like she’s about to die of lonesome if she can’t have that peach.

My favorite peach of all times* is the peach-shaped water tower in Gaffney, South Carolina, because the first time I saw it, I was driving down from Winston-Salem to Bremen, Georgia to inadvertently have Thanksgiving with the Ku Klux Klan and there, on the side of the interstate, hovering over the treeline was what appeared to be a giant pink ass mooning everyone on I-85.  I was so tickled by the thought of some town in South Carolina putting up a giant butt with which to moon everyone; it seemed to capture something about the essence of South Carolina.

I was disappointed when the KKK explained that it was a peach and not an ass, but I still really like it and I remain convinced that the “peach” story is just a cover for the more obvious “Let’s moon the tourists” purpose of the water tower.




*Oh, come on.  Like you don’t have a favorite peach of all times.  You know, to go with your favorite pepper of all times.  My favorite pepper was a beautiful purple bell pepper I saw in an Aldi’s in Chicago.  Did you know that they will kick your ass out of Aldi’s if you drunkenly and loudly proclaim your love for a beautiful purple bell pepper, so shiny and enticing?

Well, they will.

Is the Butcher Down or Just Settling Down?

The Butcher has today and tomorrow off (for any of you trying to schedule in a seduction of him), which are his first two days off in about a week and a half.

Last night, he was home by 10:15–after he’d spent most of the evening sitting around here watching Season Two of the Wire.

This is not like him.

I know he’s bummed still about the car and trying to show contrition, but still.

I’m going to charge the dog with the task of cheering him up.

Of course, this will be made more difficult by the fact that the dog still does not know our names.  I could sit here for a half an hour telling Mrs. Wigglebottom all kinds of sad and worrisome things about the Butcher, tales so poignant and touching that the mere telling of them makes my neighbors tear up just to be on the same block as such heart-breaking-ness.

Mrs. Wigglebottom could listen attentively, with her head cocked to the side and her ears perked up.  She could, overwhelmed by sadness, place her muzzle on her front paws and sigh forlornly.  I could say, “Mrs. Wigglebottom, it is up to you!” and she would jump up and look read to go.  “Yes,” she seems to say, ” I will make right this great wrong!”  and I could say, “Okay, go fix the Butcher!” and point upstairs where he is sleeping and she would leap right over and lick my finger, wagging her tail with joy, like she’s just fixed every problem in the world.

Granted, it does make it nice when the Butcher is all like “Aunt B. will take you out.” and the dog follows him around for ten minutes.

Hey, guess who just wandered downstairs?

No, Mrs. Wigglebottom, not me.

They’re Going to Ruin Macbeth

Damn you, Gandalph ‘Too Many Names’ Mantooth and your thought provoking post!

So, it turns out that I’m a snob, I guess, in that I just cannot get over the fact that the first play the Nashville Shakespeare Festival’s Shakespeare in the Park is doing is some kind of anime version of Macbeth.

Macbeth is one of my favorite plays because, first of all, it’s got witches and ghosts.  It’s got prophecies that come true and all kinds of cool shit like that. 

It’s set at an intriguing time–at the beginning of the play you’ve got Macbeth and Banquo returning from fighting off the forces of the Irish and the Norse (which is not surprising, considering that the Norse founded Dublin.  Well, fuck wasn’t the real Macbeth alive during Knute’s reign in England?) when who do they stumble into but the Weird sisters?  Who were the goddess of fate in Norse tradition?  The Weird sisters.

God, this is just what I love about this play.  You just start following threads and they lead such interesting places.

Think about how gender works in the play, where you have the men doing things and the women manipulating events.  Is it any surprise then that we see the Norse goddesses of fate–imagined as witches–show up to set in motion the events that will insure the tragedy among the men who have defeated the armies loyal to them?

Anyway, I’m all for performances of Macbeth.  I’m not all for making the play family friendly and cutting out the violence.  I’m worried that setting it in some vaguely Japanese setting will make it more like The Mikado than Macbeth.

Still, I’ll probably go see it anyway.