When wonder calls your name while doing menial household chores

I remember when I was younger (and by younger I mean a couple of years ago) and I still believed in magic  (and by when I still believed in magic I mean of course I believe in magic I’m wishing for a unicorn so I can make a wish on its horn for a fairy),  I used to crave Narnia. This severe, almost tangible longing for a land of magic and beauty and heroes and ADVENTURE would rise up, usually when peering into the dark realms of a wardrobe, or catching sight of a fir tree or you know, anything else.

I knew that it wouldn’t happen (because one of my faults is the ability to produce logic in situations where it is not desired) but I would want it SO. HARD. Wish just for a moment, a long moment where I wasn’t quite ready to exhale that I was wrong. That small but weighty belief that surely if you squink your eyes shut a little tighter, reality will be replaced by lovely, purpley wonder and you’ll be the one, you’ll be the kid who gets an adventure.


While sweeping my house just now, a similar longing popped out of the secret garden of whimsical and stupid desires that will never be realised and said “Look at me! I’m freaking glorious!”. This time it was the often unacknowledged but always present wish that life could just once, JUST ONCE be a music video.


And you know what? How hard can it be? It’s not like I’m asking for an alternate world full of talking beavers and scary-ass ranga queens any more, I can still be sweeping my kitchen, just then we all take turns singing and have better lighting and are intrinsically cool and detached and stuff. And always know the lyrics.

… Sigh.

The bar of haunted heroes..

It’s been a no good day. You sit, your arms resting on the bar, hands resting on an empty glass. It’s late. The barman walks past and you push the glass toward him with a nod.

“Not your night?” He says in a voice that says he doesn’t care as he pours.


You take the glass without meeting his eyes and he moves to your right and says “what’llitbe” to shape slumped over the bar next to you. You barely register what the shape says in return. Something about the voice, though…

In a couple of drinks time you know for your own sake you should hit the road. As you turn away from the bar you look around you and notice the lump to your right is still there. It moves and a head lifts, bringing with it the smell of bourbon. Large white eyes blink and focus, blue, matted fur sticks up at odd angles. He sees you.

“bruuh..” it wobbles on its stool “uh.. hu..heyyous.. Iknow you…” the voice is cracked and raspy but still familiar, still the same. A shock runs through your body. You never thought you’d see him again.

“Oh. Hi.” You respond, looking at your feet.

He seems to suddenly be aware of his appearance, looks down at himself, his paws self consciously touching his head and chest.

“I.. you werend meand to see thish..” he begins, staring fixedly at a bottle behind the bar, but still swaying on his seat. He opens his mouth to say more but you cut him off.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. It’s late.” As you stand he touches your arm and says “wait.. please”

“What?” you ask, your voice colder than you first intended.

“Jusht.. jusht give me a second.” He looks up at you, squinting as he tries to focus.

“I need… Oh man… I need to tell you… to exshplain”

He belches and the stench is enough to make your eyes water.

“You need to take a shower, that’s what you need.” You try to leave again but he holds your arm tighter.

“But.. buddiiwash.. I wasshh.. and we were.. You ushed to love me…” at this statement he seems to slide into a sort of reverie and his paw slips from your sleeve. His eyes half close and his head nods forward. You shake your arm completely free, turn and begin walking toward the door, disgust on your face.

Suddenly he’s at your side, grabbing your jacket, looking into your face, his huge mouth contorted, pleading.

“Please. Please. Tell me what I can do.. Please!”

Mildly panicked, you try to pull free but he’s holding fast and the barman is nowhere in sight.

“There’s- There’s nothing you can do.. you’ve got to let me go.”

“But.. you.. you weren’t meant to see this. And (hic)now you hate me.”

Fury suddenly rises within you and you smack his blue fingers off of your lapels.

“Now? NOW I hate you? Are you kidding me?! I did worship you, man. I did. I WORSHIPPED YOU. And you…”

He looks bewildered and hurt at your shouting but you can’t stop yourself.

“I trusted you. And you betrayed me!!”

“Please, stop. I’ll do anything.. don’t-“ he is crying now, huddled beneath you as you stare down at him in contempt.

You start to walk towards the door again, but the years you’ve wondered and cried and missed him and hated him for that all rise up in you and make you turn back before reaching it and scream across the empty bar at the small blue mess now propped against a table.

“Cookies are a SOMETIMES food?!”

You shake your head, your confusion and anger blurring your vision.

“What the hell happened to you?”

He is looking at you with horror in his eyes and one paw over his mouth. With a broken sob he crumples to the floor, emptied.

You stand, breathing fast, then you wipe your eyes and pull your jacket tighter around you as head out into the night.

You are shaking your head as you walk away from the bar. At the end of the block you pass four shapes that are oddly familiar and pause and let your eyes follow them as they hesitate at the doorway to the bar. One of them looks back at you and slowly lifts a three fingered hand to wave. Turtles.

Definitely a no good night.

Things I’m average at No. 365: Liking the right stuff

I was having a little Facebook tete a tete earlier, via the comments section on a link a friend of mine posted. Apparently the video, an allegedly hilarious clip of Cowboy Hiphop as yet unwatched by me, has been removed from YouTube because of a violation of its use… or some such . Anyhoo, a friend of the original poster commented that he had seen the video briefly on Glee before violently throwing up and passing out, a response to his obvious hatred for the show. I wrote that I was bummed that not only had I missed the original video, but an episode of Glee too to which he replied (in a sort of companionable tone, one show choir hater to another) that Glee is the worst thing in the world. At this point I had to confess to him, and also to anyone who is reading this, that I was in fact, serious.

I love Glee.

There. I’ve said it. And actually I’m completely unashamed. It’s fun and light and involves singing and dancing, which I love (except when involving children under 12 as that is only creepy and uncomfortable) and it doesn’t take itself too seriously and I am ridiculously entertained by it.

Now, the crowd I run with (side bar to state that I don’t run, am not a character in The Outsiders and am not sure at all why I chose that phrase) are often a little bit cool. They’d deny it, say surely I’m talking about someone else, but they know deep down, that a lot of their opinions and tastes are the “right” ones to have. They hate Muse now that they’re doing songs for the Twilight soundtracks, they love Arrested Development and use text lingo ironically. I say all this not to make fun of them, I share a lot of their loves and their disloves, but to point out the kind of people I’d be offending if I came out as a Glee fan. As it happens I don’t actually care and most of them are interstate which means the subject doesn’t come up much, but if it did I’m sure I’d get some heads shaking. That’s just the way I roll. I’m a maverick.

More things I shouldn’t love but do:

Kevin Costner

Romantic Comedies

Possibly Beyonce, although she hovers over acceptable sometimes. So hard to tell.

Vampire related books, movies and TV shows

Kevin Costners Field of Dreams

Friends, the show not the people, although of course I love that kind too.

Rod Stewart

John Denver

Guy Sebastions Like it Like That

Some R’n’B


Some Hip Hop

Kevin Costners Waterworld

And I could continue. I used to say (as recently as last week) that I’m allowed to like some shit because I like so much good stuff, but it’s more accurate to say who the hell cares.

When it comes to film and television I’m supposed to like Seinfeld and hate the Vampire Diaries. I’m supposed to love the indie music, except when it gets too popular, and hate the Miley (I do, hate her, by the way..). I’m supposed to roll my eyes at misspelled text messages and if I’m really good, I’m supposed to forsake Facebook all together because of its obvious affiliation with all that is naff and its clearly pro-Stephanie Meyer leanings.

I don’t do all that very well. And this post is actually a good reminder to myself to quit once and for all taking social currency so seriously. Liking shit along with the not-shit keeps me in fun pretty much constantly. It is almost inconceivable how easily entertained I am, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Cool means too much work, not enough show choir.