Holy Gravy, I Am [No Longer] in a Funk.
I started a post on Sunday about what a wretched mood I was in. I got bad news from three friends who lost loved ones over the weekend and I had just watched Atonement For two days I had unprompted crying jags and just generally felt the crushing, unyielding weight of the world. (It’s more in the chest area for me – not so much in the shoulders.)
But I can’t finish that post. I’m no longer in a bad mood. (Accidentally typed “mooed”, which made me snarf. Then “snarf” made me snarf louder.)
It is absolutely gorgeous outside. I’m typing on my porch in my bare feet and I just finished an éclair from the Oakmont Bakery. How could I possibly stay in a bad mood?
Speaking of porches, Saturday evening kicked off the porch beer season. If you’re in the area, my husband and I invite your for a cold one on our front porch on any given weekend evening in the summer. If we’re not out there, then go home. We’re not picky about beer, so bring your Iron or your Franziskaner. And, fair warning, we will judge your character by the four songs you play on the jukebox. Choose wisely.
I will probably quote porch beer conversations in this blog, but for the most part, what happens on the porch stays on the porch. Here’s a snippet from Saturday:
[Listening to the Happy Mondays]
R: Did you hear that Bez declared bankruptcy again?
M: Which one was that?
R: He sold the band drugs and shook the maracas.
D: Hmm. You think those’d be marketable skills.
[Still listening...]
R: Man, I wish I could get this guy to sing on my funk album. [referring to Shaun Ryder]. But you need clout to get someone like that. Where can I get some clout?
D: Target?
