Let me repeat that this is the Butcher’s friend and I don’t know her or anyone in the band. They could be terrible people. Possibly made completely of boogers. Crusty boogers, most likely.
But I still like the hell out of their music and I invite you to listen to them doing a wonderful cover of Skip James’s “Drunken Spree.”
The one in the front yard? He has different chirps for the different animals in my house. I can literally tell who’s on the porch with him by what noise he’s making to yell at them. I’ve taken up talking to him when I got out on the porch to let the poor cats in the house. He likes to show off his awesomeness by standing on a cactus and looking at me. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but you try it. Cactus perching is an art. He has it down like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t yet answer me, but I keep talking.
I mean, after all, if he’s come up with names to holler at my pets, I don’t know why we can’t have some kind of rudimentary conversations.
Otherwise, thinking about my yard is just depressing. There’s a massive amount of weeding that needs to be done, but it’s too wet to do it. And nothing’s blooming. The daffodils are done and I had one–I repeat, ONE lilac blossom–and that’s it. The irises look like they intend to do something, maybe, but not today.
And none of my hollyhocks have come up. Not a single one. I planted them at Easter with my mom. So, I don’t know if the frost got them or what, but I need to replant.
And all of the bushes need trimmed, but, again, it’s too wet.
But I’m hoping that May means things start to perk up.
Oh, y’all, I forgot to tell you that I finished American Elsewhere. It was fine. It’s fantastic for the first 5/8ths of the book and then is just good. And I don’t know why that was so disappointing to me, but it was.
BUT it does contain the most hilarious misstep in the characterization of a character ever. I mean, hands down, ever. About 5/8ths into the book, we are told that the main character is an avid crocheter. So avid that she even crochets clothing. And yet, though her movements in this little town are well-described and the important detail of the town is that it’s very difficult, if not impossible, to leave, never once has she either gone looking for a place to acquire yarn or panicked about whether she could live in a place where she couldn’t at least get some RedHeart.
I just wanted to take the author aside and be all “Dude, that’s not how it works.”
I mean, it’s like throwing in a detail about how your character is a major stoner at the end. Oh, really? Then where has all the pot been all this time? Where’s his bong?!
Anyway, it’s not a meaningful detail that somehow kills the book. It’s just a funny moment when you realize that the author doesn’t understand a trait he’s just given his character.
Tiny Cat Pants 