Madwoman's Attic: In The Attic

Props to Simon at The Next Stage for this one.  (It will resonate with Valley Residents). 

The Po and Me

So, yesterday I'm running errands in Visalia, happily making my way home via Akers Road whilst singing 18th century Murder Ballads loudly in the car. 

I'm stopped at a light and as people begin to move forward a space is created in front of my vehicle.  A Visalia PD car in the next lane jumps up in front of me and cuts me off.  No lights.  No signal.  I gladly give him right of way and move along. 

The next thing I know there are two PD cars to the right side of me and one in back of me with their lights blazing.  The two to the side move ahead of me but the one in back stays where he is.  I pull over with him staying behind me, but still in traffic. 

The two that had gone ahead block traffic just ahead of me while the first car had spun through a parking lot, turned around and pinned a late model Corolla in. 

I roll my windows down as a Po approaches my car.  As he's walking up, two other PD vehicles, two traffic division vehicles and a highway patrolman all come barrelling in, all lit up. 

And what's worse. . . . Two cops in front of my car have their sidearms up. 

The cop angling up to my window apologizes for having me trapped here, but they'd have me on my way in ten minutes or so. 

"Um. . .okay.  It's all good."

He then crossed the front of my car to go around to join his brothers in arms against the offending Corolla.   Someone calls out for the vehicle's occupants to put their hands outside their windows.  Out pop two sets of diminutive-ish hands. 

Then the command to open their door slowly and step out of the vehicle. 

Out step to fashion victims who had to be about 19 years old. . . .all Paris Hilton swayback and overlarge sunglasses.    They are immediately detained, cuffed, rights read, and placed in the back of squad cars.  At this point, the remaining officers search the sad, little Corolla and the Police Cars begin to clear the street and I am given the green light to go. 

As I drove way, the strangely alien face-- all high cheekbones, wall-hairdo, and big black goggle-eyes were just staring dolefully out the window. 

I have no idea what those chicks did, but they didn't know what hit 'em. 

Then I went home and did laundry. 

Happy Easter!

Good Friday

Today is Good Friday, the day we commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth.  I celebrated by going shopping.  I also got some fun messages from friends regarding:

*A man walking down Mooney Boulevard with a cross on his back.  He was apparently using a wheel to help him out on his trek, which is a little bit pussy if you ask me and Sergio -- who sent me the pic via cell phone.  If I could figure out how to get the pic out of my phone and into my computer I would share it with you all.  But don't count on it. 

*B- informed me of the hilarious blog Stuff White People Like which is some of the best useless blog reading I've happened upon in a while.  Check out the chronological list of Stuff White People Like in the top tab and hit the ones YOU like. 

*James informed me of a pastor in town who commissioned him to forge three crucifixion spikes in EXACTLY the specifications they would have historically used.  Apparently, he's using them for an object lesson in his Easter sermon.  (I always love it when pastors focus on the positive in their Easter sermons.  I mean, seriously. .. . I saw the Passion of the Christ.  It's imagery is still burned in my brain. Do I really need you talk to me about the torture devices of the Roman justice system when all I want to do is get to my lamb kebob and pilaf?).

Beyond that, tonight I cook hamburgers and get things set up for pie baking tomorrow.  Cat, I will be stirring for THE pie right along with you, my friend.  And mom will be trying her hand at rhubarb which she hasn't made since before I was born.  (Probably because I do not like rhubarb). 

I'll let you know how it goes. 

Challenge Question: Which British Royal

Laurilyn asked:  With which British Royal, past or present, do you most identify?

Funny, the one I've always wanted to play isn't really the one(s) with which I most identify.  That qualification belongs to two of her daughters. 

Princess Louise Caroline Alberta, Duchess of Argyll

and

Princess Beatrice Mary Victoria, Princess of Battenberg

If you combine their two stories, you have some parallels to my own-- particularly with regards to "Baby" (Princess Beatrice).  The few GOOD biographies of the Victorian Royal Family that I've read can really do these women justice.  Most biographies overlook them almost entirely in favor of Victoria's two eldest children. 

Of the Royals today, there aren't really any with which I identify.  I like several of them (she says as she drinks her darjeeling from a teacup with the Queen's coronation insignia on it), but it's hard to identify with someone who's life is so far removed from my own.  Unlike some Britons, I do see that they serve a purpose for the British Isles (although less so, I think for their commonwealth countries-- the Queen may serve some purpose for them, but the rest of the lot?  Not so sure).  And I don't think of the institution as quaint or antiquated (several retooled European monarchies have made a case for their modernity of function).  However, just enough royals act just enough like utter squibs that it does make one wonder.  I mean, so they sent Harry to Afghanistan for ten weeks.  His comrades were doing six month tours.  If his position is compromised-- MOVE HIM TO A DIFFERENT POSITION and make him serve his tour.  But don't splash him all over the media as some sort of great brave new royal as though thousands of young men everywhere aren't doing similar tours-- rougher ones, in fact.

But at least they did send him somewhere.  Leaving him at home to play pretend war with his colleagues in the English country side and then going to swanky clubs with his snubbed nosed girlfriend wouldn't have served any purpose.  Not for the Royal Family, not for a nation asking them to do their part, and certainly not for a 23 year old man looking for some sort of purpose in life.

But I digress.  Just read the biographies of European Monarchial families going back a thousand years.  They all had their bad apples AND their red, shiny round ones.  Bitching about them has been, after all, a world-wide pastime for as long as they've been about. 

As I write this, I am watching Grease II on Bravo. Wow, I love how awfully campy this thing is. I was obsessed with this movie when I was a little girl. “the Pink Ladies pledge is to act coooool, to look coooool, to be cooool. . . . until death do us part: THINK PINK!

I wanted to be Paulette. Don’t ask me why. I’m sure it had everything to do with the big blond hair. Watching it now, I’m always amazed at how old-looking these “teenagers are”. Some of these actors had to be 30 years old! And poor Michelle Pfeiffer and her fake tough girl accent. She was still better than the material she was in, god bless her. Of course, nowadays I just wish I had Miss Mason’s body and big blond hair. Lol!   That Connie Stevens kills me.

I've never been a cool, elegant Hitchcock blonde.  No. . .  I must embrace the fact that I am a little trashier, a little artificial, a little more . . . well. . .

 

Cat's Question #2

(I'm obviously doing these things in no particular order)

Cat asked: What non-essential thing would you grab before leaving the house if it were on fire, and why?

That's a tough one, too, because while I am not inordinately fond of my "stuff", I do like having it.  Just looking around the room I'm in, though, I'd actually say my sewing machine over my computer.  I guess I'm just thinking about a quote I read somewhere that as long as a girl could make herself a pretty frock, she had no reason to despair.  (Paraphrasing). 

And naturally the sewing machine would only come out after I am certain that the animals. . . . oh, and mom. . . were out safely.  lol! 

There are a few books I always say I'd grab, but you know. . . there are enough used book places around that I think I could live without them for a short time.

I MIGHT grab my digital camera, though, just to shutterbug the burning house. 

The question that has forced me to address the previous challenge. . .

Peter Stradinger or Nathan Camp? 

Phew!  That's a tough one.   I wouldn't have even been able to tell you those two guy's last names.  Alyson, how do you remember these things?  Well, I guess there's always one friend who always remembers names. 

Peter and Nathan were a pair of English majors when we were at Whitworth that were notoriously irksome.  Looking back, though, I was undoubtedly as irksome to a few people as they were to us, so I cannot be too hard on them. 

But man, Nathan's columns were rough reading.  He had such a dense energy about him, too.  Peter seemed more open, more positive somehow.  And toward the end there he was rather normal and seemed to be getting himself together hygiene-wise. 

So, I'm going to have to go with Peter on this one. . . . you know, were the world attacked by zombies and he was my only hope for re-establishing a relatively intelligent human race. 

*shrug*

A challenge

As taken from a LIve Journal challenge:

Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on religion, favorite type of underwear, random techniques, etc.

Let's see what piques my interest.  Fire away in the comments section. 

Oy

Wow.  I feel like I've been hit by a train.  Well, that's a slight exaggeration, but still. . . I am extremely tired.  Last night's Feast of Scholars was fun but a lot of hard work, and it coming right after getting a show launched meant I wasn't really operating on a full tank. 

Luckily, mom is spending the weekend with her brother in the V-towne and I've had today pretty much to myself.  I'm so bleary-eyed, though, I'm having trouble finishing a complete thought.  I'm hoping to get it together enough, though, to put together a skirt for my Elizabethan doublet-- although I doubt that will happen tonight. 

I put the doublet with the white and silver embroidered partlet that I stole from B- on the dressform, over my kirtle and farthingale.  It actually looks pretty cute like that, but it is just calling out for the black skirt to go onto it.  Usually a half-dressed dress form is enough inspiration to get me motivated, but I may just force myself to take the evening off. 

On Tuesday I begin work on the Woodward Shakespeare Bard's Bash in April.  It'll be much like the Feast, although I'm hoping on a smaller scale.  After that I'm costuming WSF's production of Twelfth Night, so I'll be spending a lot of time with my dress forms and sewing machines in the next few months.  I suppose one night off won't kill me.  :D

Right now, though, I need food.  And maybe a little caffeine.