Synaesthesia of the moment

The downstairs neighbours are playing their stereo. The sides of my head are concaving slightly in time with the drums.

Not literally, of course. ( <-- That shall be my default disclaimer).

Open Yo' Ass

I've been having a difficult time sleeping properly over the past few nights. I'm sure this is because of the excitement of leaving my job, and leaving eastern Canada. Last night, I didn't get to bed until the wee hours, and then I kept waking up in the middle of the night, certain it was time to get up and go to work. When it was time to get up and go to work, I didn't want to. It's a common complaint, isn't it? But now my head is paining me from the lost sleep, and the rest of the day looms ahead of me like the steepest face of Everest.

While walking home last night, I saw a bungalow in the midst of renovations. Painted lumber was stacked all around the house. At the forefront was a big piece of plywood with a painted message: "Good Woman Needs Husband. Apply Within."

It made me snicker to myself the whole way home. The sign was still there this morning, much to the delight of my fellow bus passengers.

I've been reading, with great relish, Jessica Mitford's Poison Penmanship: The Gentle Art of Muckraking. It's an excellent book, and it's a bloody shame it's out of print. Although the articles date from the 50s-70s, the writing is fresh, fresh, fresh! The book is set out as a collection of investigative articles followed by note sections describing the writing and research process. The subject matter varies from exposés on the funeral industry and the difficult birth of desegregation in the American south to life in an exclusive Arizona spa retreat and the censorship process on public service announcements on syphilis. Each of the stories is written with a delicious sense of humour.

From "You-All and Non-You-All: A Southern Potpourri" comes this:

Once you start out with the integrationists, they are likely to pass you from hand to hand and from town to twon without giving you much chance to peer at the other side. I mentioned this to a young attorney, originally from Jackson, whom I met in Nashville. He laughed and said, "You should tra meetin' Kissin' Jim Folsom. That'd open yo' ass." For a moment, I was frozen with astonishment--until I realized he was saying "eyes."

And...

The reaction of my Montgomery hostesses to the piece, as reported by Virginia Durr, was illuminating. She said they were not in the least disturbed by my remarks about their mindless bigotry--but were exceedingly offened by my description of the FOOD as being uniformly bland and creamy: "We didn't have cream sauce, we had roast lamb the night she came." "She never mentioned my lettuce-and-walnut salad."

If you can find yourself a copy at the library or second-hand shop, count yourself lucky. It's brilliant.

Chickens Get a Taste of Your Meat and Other Fun Links

School's 'Holocaust' Experiment Upsets Parents: Shades of Das Experiment. The idea may have been done with good intentions, but....

'How my husband died in our Shania Twain sex game' : The redneckiest story I've read in a long while.

Man Crashes Car After Snake Attacks Him: Snakes on a Plane Car!

'Berko' rooster pierces girl's throat: "Grace and her two sisters were 'feeding the chooks' when the rooster went 'berko'. 'It's gone off its tits. I don't know what it was doing. You hear of cranky roosters but I've never heard of one actually attacking anyone like that,' Mr Angel said."