And Now For Something Completely Different!

I don’t know if it actually will be or not – I just like Monty Python, and this is the best method I’ve ever seen for introducing an irrelevant tangent.  See, watch:


See what I mean?  I look at that and I think, “Ooo!  This sounds very exciting!  I wonder what it will be!  Cookies?  A peacock?  A viable moderate political party?  It could be anything!”  With Monty Python, it’s usually a rude song or an even ruder cartoon of Margaret Thatcher, not that I’m complaining, of course.  But today, I am so ridiculously tired that I decided to just sit down and write and see what comes out.

I tend toward a train of thought that not only leaps the tracks but also folds space and time and comes out five sentences farther along than it started out.  It makes sense to me, of course – I was there for the thought process, and it makes perfect sense to me that I jumped from the topic of horses straight to how good blackberries taste when you pick them at the end of a hot summer day.  (Horses -> my childhood neighbors had horses -> we used to start by their horse pasture when we went “around the block” (which was a 2-mile trip) -> there was a great berry patch halfway between Sleater-Kinney and Abernethy Rd.  See, perfectly logical.)  But my poor listener can only think, “Whoa.  Serious ADHD there.”  So for tonight’s post, if I can tell that a mental Holtzman effect is imminent, I will give fair warning.


Gosh.  I had almost forgotten about those peacocks.  They were MEAN little suckers.  My parents and sister and I were on vacation near the Columbia River in Washington State, and we stopped at a historic home on the bluffs with lovely grounds, a fabulous view of the river, and peacocks.  They were so pretty, the males with their marvelous feathers, and we thought we’d just bring one or two home with us.  (The feathers, not the peacocks.  We got a dog once when it jumped into the car with us, but I think my parents would have drawn the line at hissing flightless birds.)  So we went out to collect feathers – and hotfooted it straight back to escape the Nasty Aggressive Birds of Terror.  I think my sister, deep down, still may be afraid of peacocks.

Alligators, though, that’s a weird phobia.  Fer real.  Not kidding.  I am afraid of alligators.  Not just live ones at the zoo (they don’t even have a LID on the cages, somebody could climb RIGHT IN THERE and get EATEN), and not just the digitized monsters in the movies.  All alligators.  Even little ones.  Even pictures of them, if they’re big and I’m not expecting them.  They’re just so TEETHY.  And they can eat you, or drown you and then eat you, or eat bits of you and then drown you and then eat you some more.  Look, I’ve got goosebumps just writing about it!


I’ve been insanely busy with work lately.  I counted it up – in the next fourteen days, I have twenty-six rehearsals and seventeen performances on thirty-four songs (more than that if you count all the mezzo-soprano solos of the Verdi Requiem Mass as separate songs), with one professional vocalist, seven high school students, eight college students, and a choir.  No wonder I don’t make any sense.  You’re lucky I’m even speaking English, instead of just typing a bunch of Italian musical terms and calling it good.

Have you ever noticed that Italian musical terms sound like a courtship ritual?  Ballabile, capriccio, viola d’amore, affretando, rallentando!  Mia bella, mia cara, ti amo!  Calando, affetuoso, bel canto, con amore, grazioso!  See?  Language of love, no question about it.  I wonder why the Language of Love is Italian, but the City of Love is Paris?  That makes no sense at all.


Because even I can’t figure out how writing about Paris suddenly made me think of chickens.  Live ones, with the feathers on.  Why are people are always asking why chickens cross the road?  How did that even become an issue?  Have you ever seen one try it?  Now, asking why the opossum crossed the road, that would make sense.  I grew up on a rural road where the speed limit was viewed as a mild (and somewhat humorous) suggestion, and I was nineteen years old before I ever saw an opossum that still retained all three dimensions, rather than the traditional two.  Why do they keep trying?  Don’t the parent opossums warn the kids about what happened to Great-Aunt Bess?

(I think my new facewash may be making my skin break out.  Rather counterproductive, don’t you think?)

I suspect that lack of sleep may be contributing to my more-random-than-usual thought processes.  It’s only partly my fault – I keep staying up late folding laundry and watching back episodes of Glee.  I mean, watching educational programs on the History Channel.  No, I mean Glee, I’ll admit to it.  (Only because I don’t get the History Channel, though.  If I did, I’d never sleep.)  But then the cat walks on my head at 4:30 and the sun comes up too early and my sheets are irritating me, and it’s all a lost cause.  Tonight, though, I’m actually getting sleepy.



(Yes, I know.  If I dream of Italian opossums wooing snarly alligators with gifts of blackberries and the Gloria from Verdi’s Requiem Mass, I have only myself to blame.)

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18 Responses to And Now For Something Completely Different!

  1. My dear, let me set the scene…I am minding my own business, drinking a fabulous margarita (which most likely is fabulous due to quantity rather than quality), watching I don’t even remember what, and thinking, “Damn, I could really go for some Snark and Cookies right about now.” And lo, and behold, my smartphone overlord informs me of your most recent post. And people think there’s no order to the Universe….

    By the way, it’s the geese you really need to watch out for. Spawn of Satan, they are.

  2. Oh, and according to my grandmother, geese were used instead of dogs to guard property in Germany. Don’t know if if that’s true or not, but geese are evil either way.

  3. Pingback: Be the Captain | totallytawn

  4. Cheryl says:

    Should I be frightened? I totally followed your train of thought…. LOL

    • Bee says:

      Don’t be frightened – WE’RE the ones who will take over the world after the zombie apocalypse!

      Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. I just have to think that a sense of whimsy will come in handy at some point in life, don’t you?

  5. Margie says:

    The parent opossums don’t tell the kids because, well, the parents don’t live to tell the story. At least, that is why we think the deer never learn…

    • Bee says:

      That’s as good an explanation as any. Maybe we should put up little road signs in Opossum Language that say, “ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE!”

  6. I had to go back for a moment and check, but I have used that Python expression for a post title, too. There must be a ton of us out in cyber space. I wonder if the Pythoners know how much we have depended on them in our moments of need. :)

    • Bee says:

      I’d suggest we write them effusive letters of undying gratitude, but they might think we were scary stalkers, and wouldn’t it just totally suck to have one of the Pythons mad at you?

  7. planejaner says:

    Ah, Bee…
    your mind works (or…doesn’t?) like mine…
    fun post, and funny…
    blessings and best.

  8. Opossums are actually pretty ugly, and that might lead to another phobia, so be glad you didn’t see any live ones as a child. They are not smart, and many are killed, as you point out. I suspect they must have enormous litters, or they would surely be extinct by now!
    When I was young we had outdoor cats, and I noticed that the cats were afraid of the neighborhood ‘possum. The nasty critter would come onto the back porch at night and eat the cat food right out of the bowl, and the cats would cower in the shadows until it went away.

    • Bee says:

      I agree! I saw my first live possum in college when it came waddling around the corner of the library building where I worked, and it scared the living daylights out of me. Nasty things!

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