So perhaps on NPR this morning, or here you’ve heard about the blind man who regained his sight after 43 years? (he went blind at age 3) Anyway, it really is a neat and in many ways lovely account of his ‘new’ life with sight. And I found myself a little bit wrapped up in the story, and really intrigued over how this man is dealing with sight not only as a tool, but as a new source of entertainment. How new everything is for him, and how kinda neat all of that is until you know, I had to get all ridiculous about it and think, “holy shit, what if, upon regaining his vision, he found he actually could not stand the SIGHT of his very own wife?” Not that he would you know, find her unattractive, but the actual sight of her was unpleasing if only because it was so far off from what he’d been imagining all of these years together?
It’s a small and petty concern; obviously they’ve stayed together so their relationship goes beyond the mere ‘look’ of a person, only I think I really did find myself a little bit relieved when, upon writing about a skiing trip with his wife (this was one of their many ski trips together, it’s how they met) he wrote, “Jennifer was in front of me, guiding as usual, and she looked very good, just as I had always imagined, graceful and attractive.”
I mean, although “good” is still pretty vague, I was all, “awwh, that’s nice,” when discussing this very topic with my good pal Macy.
That is until she replied, “umm, hello! It is a public diary. What do you think he’s going to say? ‘Her ass, while still supple to the touch, is a hell of a lot bigger than I ever imagined?’”
Yeah. I know.
Why can’t anything just be good. in my head?
At any rate, it’s sticky, hot, and generally miserable here inside the studio apartment of the annfrankenstein household.
I am restless and bored and would just call it a night and go to sleep if a. I was sleepy and b. sleeping to avoid bored waking hours wasn’t like, a bad sign in terms of After School Special pop psychology. I do not want to go there.
Seriously, do you know how hard it is to reach my level of boredom when you are surrounded by books, cds, dvds, the telephone, AIM, and so much foot traffic beneath my window, I could just stick out my head and strike up a conversation if I wanted to?
A: ridiculously hard.
And so what activity do I choose to do to break the monotony?
Dishwashing. And the small stack has not even reached dangerous unavoidable unsanitary heights yet.
Yes, I am that bored.
So here’s the thing: lately I am way into the dancing. Not like the, “woot! Woot! Holla back!” kind of club-y dancing, where there are strappy shoes and skirts and peek-a-boo thongs involved along with the kind of grinding and pelvic thrusting done in public solely for someone else’s sake, that someone normally being some blockhead with overly-gelled hair (ewww), but I mean just the totally dorky for-the-sake-of-self-gratifying-fun-dancing.
And no, I am not trying to sneak any euphemisms in there.
It’s just that I literally can’t stop shaking something (again, no) whenever I hear music lately and after I got the sudden urge to Break it Down in front of the frozen pizzas at The Jewel the other day, I am kind of wondering if I’ve gone crazy from the heat or there is some sort of real imbalance here.
I’ve been trying to exorcise the dancing demon by listening to Junior Senior’s “D-Don’t Stop the Beat” almost non-stop for three days straight but the only thing I’ve accomplished by doing that is the ability to make statements like, Emo? What’s EMO? And this is The CD That Will Make Self-Aware Hipsters Dance Without Irony Again!
I was pretty drunk and dancing when I said that but honestly, I defy you to resist the Super Phun Super Half-Gay Super Danish Duo!
I am looking forward to seeing them live next month if for nothing but a sanctioned night of ridiculous dancing. Because if there is one word to describe the annfrankenstein Brand of Breaking It Down, it is ridiculous.
And that is all she wrote.
That is until I get up the energy to write about how incredibly annoyed I am by the Maddy/Missy Where’dyoogetthosejeans Gap Ad.
I am telling you - it is soul-crushing and you don’t even know it!
But that is hate for another day.