THIS JUST IN: Go here to see a couple of long-time friends of mine - we play cards together - they're the ones with the hot pink feather boas, and Lisa is the one talking with the mile-high white wig.
Wow, what a day!
I celebrated the 4th as nature intended: Independently.
I crawled out of bed at an inexplicable 9:00 am and started cleaning. I made a pitcher of iced tea -mostly earl gray with a bit of black tea, and went on a Caberet Voltaire infused bout of deep-cleaning. Frenzy is not a big enough word.
OK. First I popped in the vid of Tori Amos' complete videos from 1991-1998, listened to that through twice, then in went the Talk Talk videos which I do dearly love- Mark Hollis is still the most fetching bloke ever even 22 years later, no matter how he pronounces "trousers," and at last came the dvd of Cabaret Voltaire live from the Hacienda ( a club in Manchester ) 1983 and 1986, with a couple of vid extras thrown in for the slavish devotees. (ME! ME!) This includes a live version of "I Want You" my favorite song EVAH. Sweet. I will CLEAN THE WORLD!
You know, you may not have cut your teeth on hardcore industrial like I did in the early 80s, but trust me when I say that a lot of the rot-gut-shit that I'm in love with has filtered down to be consumed piecemeal by the public, cause the public can't handle it whole-cloth, but it's too immaculate to be ignored. It's funny to me that listening to vintage CV I kept thinking that George Clinton was rassling with the same musical ideology about 10 years later, and trust me when I say George Clinton is about 15 years ahead of the mainstream pop. It's just too good to be enjoyed on a mass basis, ya know?
I'm not biased or anything. Just honest.
Hey! I'm like the teenage cheerleader in the T Mobile commercial. Isn't that sad - she's the one person on TV I identify with, and that only because she aspires to be like me.
Anyhoo - had a brush with death in my mad cleaning frenzy and I'll tell you about it.
I got into the pantry and pulled out everything, throwing out all the stuff in cans that were out of date. How sad is that?
About 3 years ago I was in a cooking phase and getting into all sorts of things British (and why not?) and I bought a couple tins of treacle, one of them black( a lot like molasses). You never know when a guest will bring a pudding by that wants topping, do you? Anyway, they'd been lurking at the back of the pantry since I moved from my last loft to the house exactly 2 years ago.
I pulled the treacle tins out and vexed over how to open them. They have pop-in lids like the powdered chocolate for milk in the USA used to have - only these were heavy-duty tins which would not be prised free of their lids with a mere table spoon. Oh no. I had to call in the heavy artillery.
I used a lemon zester from the utility drawer and made minor progress, but grew impatient. I saw a slab of stainless steel lying on the counter from the IKEA expedition yesterday, and began to prise away the lid. At last it popped free while leaving a gloppy smear on the steel, so I stuck the steel thing under the tap of super-hot running water.
This is smart, right? Why did MIT never invite me to dampen their bathmat?
So next is the tin of black treacle. I try the zester, to no avail. Genius that I am, I grab that steel thing.
Not thinking how hot it is on the end. The merest tap of the molten hot steel on the black treacle tin and the lit EXPLODED into the air, festooning me with a dusting of treacle freckles. Even my glasses had the little brown spots. The sound was deafening, and I heard the lid land with a decisive *sploink* into the trash bin across the kitchen.
So there I was, hot water running to clean out the other tin, half-deaf, strange industrial music blaring from the other room, spots all over the lenses of my glasses (which I almost never wear - freakish, that!) and wondering WTF just happened.
So now I'm obsessing, envisioning the lid of the treacle tin embedded in my forehead and not being found for days, the hot water tap running and "sex money freaks" blasting from the dvd player.
Just how I wanna go. And I missed out on it.