letting the days go by.

10 February 2008

because the sun is shining, because ich bin verliebt.

Yesterday the gaw-damned internetz was completely busted, so I sat in the kitchen for far too many hours looking at the photo of young Orson Welles I tucked into my wallet. Yes. Orson Welles (CIRCA The Third Man and not the Muppet Movie) is in my wallet, smoking a cigarette and looking OH SO COY. Reason the First why yesterday was pretty good. But the point of this paragraph is that I just woke up, the sun's out for the third or fourth day in a row, and all the thoughts I thunked yesterday are murky in my groggy, 11 a.m. mind.

But here's the main one: I know I've done a Fervently Eclectic show about "Home" songs, but there was a big one missing. All Hail West Texas is probably only bearable if you're a fan of the Mountain Goats, and it's probably only enjoyable if you know what West Texas is like, but "Riches and Wonders" is a pretty poignant song. And I've listened to it around a dozen times, because the refrain is simple: "I wanna go home, but I am home." And that is about the summation of my attitude when we tromp back to the Wohnheim with our groceries in tow, Lucky Strikes in our pockets and Haaler Loewenbraeu six-packs under our arms. It's a sad and a simple fact - I want to go home, but I am home.

On the other hand, cars are really fucking cool, as proven by the Mercedes-Benz Museum in Stuttgart. Someday, when I make my bajillions, the first completely exorbitant purchase I'll make is some souped-up old car that gets horrible mileage and holds only two people but is red and curvy and basically the sexiest thing on the road. And yes, I saw THE POPEMOBILE. Photos to follow. Further proof that insane things are always happening to me (see also: my parents and that night my Dad and I had Diner Breakfast at our own kitchen table when we were drunk, my run-in with the Nazi, basically everything ever), I was ambling around the basement of the place which has a Benz dealership in addition to the usual museum gift store when some old man comes bounding over to me, pumping my hand, saying his name was Walter and he built rockets, he was on some list to go to Mars soon, was I English, no American, what was I studying, Writing huh, like Shakespeare, to be or not to be that is the question, did you know women couldn't write back in those days, oh my name's Rachel, like the Beatles song Baby You're A Rich Man which he proceeded to sing to me. Walter from Transylvania. Transylvania is full of insane people. It would have been hysterical if I wasn't already late to catch back up with the group.

I'm off to caffeinate myself and get some sunlight drilled into my skin.

p.s. Annie's blog is still LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME.

EDIT: Mike just walked into the kitchen with this incredible German eagle tattoo all over his back. Holy cannolli. This tattoo business is intense. Actually I just wanted to edit and add a few Oscar-esque thank yous.

To anyone who is reading this, thanks for putting up with me and my sporadic wordifying.

To the Tulsa chickadees who fbook m'd me (that's awesome-talk for sending a message via facebook), I love yer faces, wish you was here, we will have ourselves a time in Oklahoma come summertime. Vanilla Coke will be had a-plenty - something tells me it goes pretty great with booze.

To my ridiculous parents, who are not reading this because I haven't sent them the link, thank you for being absurd. I called them tonight and spoke to my mom in the first time since I've been here - within a moment, she was swearing she wasn't drunk, even though I have never accused her of being so, and then she asked if I'd ever had a Buttery Nipple. This is my mother, by the way. My mother wants to make me a Buttery Nipple because it's apparently delicious. Also, my father is awesome, and promised me we'd go to Senor Tequila's when I got back, considering I'm legal tender these days, and if we all got too Rochestered on liberally-liquored margaritas in tropical flavors, we'd take a cab home. We live approximately one minute away from Senor Tequila's. Basically I am going to be hammered in a cab in Tulsa, Oklahoma with the people who created me. HYSTERICAL.

A big UN-THANK YOU to the IMF for booking awesome bands while I'm away. Whatevs. I'm gonna go see Jens in Frankfurt, thank you very much. (No, really, I'm glad the IMF is alive and well, but damn I am jealous.)

And anyone who isn't on this list and wants to be, hell, thank you too.

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