Oh, looky here. Gracie feels a 'bitch' comin' on!

Anyone familiar with Smell The Fart musicians? These are people who simply cannot make their music without also making their silly, contorted, I'm Pushing Out A Rilly, Rilly, RILLY Big Fart faces, as well; typically during a solo.

I'm sure I've spoken about this before, but I just noticed it again the other day and I've decided that I'm going to make fun of it until it STOPS.

I've noticed that it's mostly guitar players who do this. Case in point: Diana Krall's guitarist during their Montreal Jazz Festival performance that I caught on television this weekend. I adore Diana's music and was thrilled to see a concert being shown on t.v., but it was definitely lessened due to her goofy guitarist. They get so into their Music (oh yes, it MUST be capitalized) that they are swept away and transformed into jiggly messes of swaying twitch-fests. It's so silly. I've pondered this a great deal, as many musicians do this Smell-the-Fart (STF) crap in their performances (Jessica Simpson and John Mayer are two that drive me the craziest with it) and because I am an OCD nutjob, I simply have to root out patterns and reasons for various behavior. So, in all my psychoanalysis of said STF musicians, I've decided that they do it because they feel that a) so many other great musicians did this and were beloved and if they don't? Well...they won't be taken as seriously and may not be as beloved; and b) they think they just aren't giving their audience Thuh Musikkuh Luuuuuuv if they don't act like they're absolutely possessed on stage. I can't imagine why else they would do this (or, further, why they wouldn't try NOT to do this). Regardless, any and all reasons for doing so are patently incorrect. ...Cause I SAID so.

I'm a pretty creative person, I think, and I get into my 'zone' when writing sometimes, and I get that whole "losing yourself in your 'craft'" crap, (and it IS crap, especially if you ever, EVER use the word 'craft' when describing something you do) but I've gotta tell ya, I... NEVER make faces while writing what I feel sure is a particularly good entry. I just don't. I never feel that urge and worry that my lovely readers just won't be moved...won't get my humor if I don't suddenly break into a twitching-face-fest while writing an entry. No Smell The Fart writing here, I promise.

Musical People, hear me! It's not only stupid-looking, but distracting as HELL. We LAUGH at you, and your musical genius is lessened in varying degrees (and is directly proportionate to the frequency of your asinine facial expressions). Mmm-kay?

So...you know...QUIT IT!! Cause it's just STOOOPID.

Having said all that snotty crap up there, I do feel the need to inform any of you who are unaware of Diana Krall's charms: If you are in need of an escape from today's pop and hip-hop crap that they claim as music (despite the fact that most of it is ripped off from genuine artists from Back In The Day and the rest of it? Is utter SHIT), do yourself a favor and check out Diana Krall, a beautiful woman with a beautiful, throw-back-to-the-forties, voice. ANYTHING by her is sure to restore your faith in music, but especially the one linked below. My absolute favorite Diana Krall song is on this album and it's called "Gee Baby, Ain't I Good To You" and I could hear it over and over again for the rest of my life. See? I'm singing it right now. Hear me? I'm almost as good as her, too. Am too!!

All for You: A Dedication to the Nat King Cole Trio
Diana Krall

Sadly, the 'Gee Baby' sample they offer on Amazon doesn't include her singing the song, though it does give the sound and tempo. Trust me, though, if you appreciate a terrific, husky, blues-tinged voice? You won't regret this album.

And I have to add one more thing. I just can't talk about the blues without talking about Dinah Washington. I know she may not be as popular as Billie Holiday or Nina Simone or Nancy Wilson even, but Wishing Well and Teach Me Tonight are, quite possibly, two of the best songs ever sung. I listen to her and am convinced I was born in 2 decades too late.

So I was at Publix the other day, picking up a few groceries. I'd like to point out before we begin, though, that my son (thank GOD) did not inherit my fat-ass gene and instead has the metabolism of a freakin' greyhound in tip-top racing shape. He is healthy but on the thin side, so I don't worry too much about getting a few fattening snacks for him at the grocery store once in a while. Especially since he's taken up sports in the last year, in addition to walking several miles 4 - 5 times per week (until he gets his license and/or stops feeling the need to be somewhere, anywhere, far-far away and all-all the time), so it actually wouldn't hurt if we could fatten him up a bit.

There is a point to this and I'll be there in just a sec.

One of the snacks he just loves is corn dogs. Luhhh-hhhhuuuuhhh-HHHUUUUVS them. So I picked up all the items I'd need to cook a lovely pot roast for my boys, a few miscellaneous items, and ...the beloved economy box of 856 corn dogs. I bring my items to the cashier and, as always, the bagger in-freakin-SISTS on chatting me up. I do NOT understand what about me n' my face alerts any and all baggers to my apparent need for chitchat (especially and frequently to the detriment of their bagging speed) but...it always happens. Aaaaand, today was one of the less enjoyable chat sessions. Care to share in my joy? Tough. You're hearing it anyway.

The cashier boop-boop-boops* my items across the scanner and slides them toward the bagger (side note: ever notice how you can tell just how much a cashier likes or dislikes a particular bagger based solely on the force with which they fling the items in their direction? Yeah, me too). And the huge-ass box of corn dogs comes hurling at Bagger Dude and his eyes glaze over and he actually picks them up and sort of... hugs them. I realize that I'm in trouble now.

Bagger Dude: *while lovingly stroking the box of corn dogs* "Mmmmmmm...CORN. DOGS!"

Gracie: *And, because I'm retarded and can't stand the idea that someone might see me with a super size box of corn dogs and may just think to themselves "ohhhh, RIGHT, like YOU need some of THOSE with YOUR ass!", I feel the need to clarify the intended recipient* "Yes, my son LOVES them."

Bagger Dude: "Ohhhh, me TOO."

Gracie: *Wonders why he can't bag AND talk*

Bagger Dude: "How old's your son?"

Gracie: "16"

Bagger Dude: "Ahhh, yup, yup" *as though this makes perfect sense*

Gracie: *smiles and slides debit card through reader for payment, hoping to get the hell out of there in the next 15 seconds because she plans her trips down to the minute since she knows exactly how long her back will last before locking up and sending her into painful spasms and subsequent crying jags*

Bagger Dude: "So. He's 16."

Gracie: *Nods rapidly and begins bagging items herself, hoping he'll take the hint...something I do often and which...never works*

Bagger Dude: "Does he go to [insert high school name]?"

Gracie: "Yes, he does, actually. [Gives The Kiddo's name]."

Bagger Dude: *Return of glazed look that denotes thought and decreased bagging capability* "That sounds...familiar."

Gracie: *Needs to speed this along, so she offers helpful descriptions of The Kiddo to help jog his memory while she simultaneously begins tossing the bags into her cart* "'bout six feet tall...came to school this year with blue hair?" *rolls eyes and laughs to denote, for benefit of other parents nearby, that while she has a sense of humor about this, she doesn't necessarily approve of it*

Bagger Dude: "OOO! Wait! I think I might know him!"

Gracie: "Really?"

Bagger Dude: *Much more excitedly than Gracie feels this situation calls for* "Yeah!!"

Gracie: "Cool."

Bagger Dude: "Is he sorta thin?"

Gracie: "Yes."

Bagger Dude: "Wears glasses?"

Gracie: "Uh-huh, sure does."

Aaaand, here is where he makes me die a little inside....

Bagger Dude: *Loudly and within earshot of at least a dozen people* "...sometimes wears a TAIL??"

Gracie: *Eyes close involuntarily and shoulders sag* "Siiiiiigh."

Bagger Dude: *a little TOO happily* "That's him, RIGHT??"

Gracie: *whisper-hisses* "YES."

Bagger Dude: "Heh! He's in my world history class!!"

Gracie: "Great."

I look around and see quizzical looks on everyone's faces from the cashier, to the woman adding her items to the conveyor belt behind me, to the grandfather two lanes away, and they ALL clearly want to know just what the hell THAT meant, but I refuse to explain or even acknowledge this. I simply grab my cart away from Oh-So-Helpful teen, yank my sunglasses down over my eyes, bow my head and hurry out the door, muttering "friggin' TAIL. I am NOT EVEN discussing this with you people. ....Sometimes Wears A Tail. inDEED. GOD. Just...just kill me now, okay??"

Ohhhh, WHAT?? YOU want to know, too? Fine. I'll explain.

See...Kiddo impresses the hell out of me with his self-confidence and his utter lack of concern for what others think. I truly envy this characteristic. I can't imagine how freeing that must be and would give various and sundry body parts** to learn HOW to be that way.

However.

This envious lack of concern of his also sometimes baffles me because he likes to go to wild extremes in his self-expression and he doesn't just choose to save it for his personal time, either. Oh, no, he likes to display it aaaaall over the place and, mostly, at SCHOOL. Blue Hair Debacle was just one example. The Tail episode? Another, more baffling one. He went to a 3-day Anime convention in Atlanta recently and came home each day wearing various items he'd purchased at the convention that made absolutely no sense, of course, to George and me, such as the huge, solid (and, let's face it, ODD) metal throat collar that strangely reminded me of Wonder Woman's bullet-proof bracelets, yet silver instead of W-W-Gold, but we kept our mouths shut and congratulated ourselves on our Progressive Parenting Patience.

Until. Ohhhh, until. The Kiddo walked in on the last night of the convention wearing... that's right. You guessed it. A TAIL. It was long, down to his knees, it was fuzzy and it was apparently attached under his shirt and to the back of his pants and he didn't think it was funny AT ALL. Nor did we, of course. Nope. Uh-uh.

He came in wearing this...thing and looked at us with that face that says "Ga-head. SAY something. Go riiiight ahead and make fun of me. Why not? You obviously don't love me and CLEARLY don't GET me...so go ahead and twist that knife a little harder, giving me something to whine to my friends about while we're shooting up heroin, giving me my only blessed escape from you cold, black-hearted, ancient friggin FARTS!"

We declined to engage that look. Oh, but not cause we wanted to. We just...couldn't. We stuttered and tried not to laugh. And tried to determine, inside our heads, WHY this makes sense and might be a new fashion statement, but our dusty thought processes apparently took longer than he was willing to wait for a fight, so he walked away, saving all of us from another long discussion of Teenager = Brilliant and Edgy....Parent = Stupid Ass-Clowns.

And just what the HELL does a fuzzy black TAIL have to do with Japanese animation you might be inclined to inquire? NO FREAKIN' CLUE. But I tried to remain unfazed, choosing not to inspire within him the need to roll his eyes and deem me a Stupid Old Person with much sighing and flouncing like I did to MY parents, remembering (with equal parts fondness and embarrassment) my foray into odd fashion choices that are a teen's rite of passage. I recalled that, in my thin, cutie-pie, teenage years, I actually wore tight, screaming red parachute pants, studded, metal-spiked double-wrap belts, half shirts, hooker-stilettos with lacy socks (ala ZZ Top video girls), and had big ole, sprayed-to-the-hilt triangle hair. So I GET the whole fashion-rebellion thing. At least...I thought I did. I always expected to have my child wear things I simply didn't understand and I thought I would chuckle a bit at it, but wouldn't give it much thought.

Yeah, that was before the TAIL came home with my son.

And LONG before I would even conceive of a day where I would hear the school bus arrive and turn to look out the window, just in time to see my SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD SON hop off the bus while wearing his inexplicable (and SO NOT Wonder Woman) metal collar and... the TAIL, which he had apparently worn ALL. FREAKIN. DAY.

And was CERTAINLY absolute EONS before I ever even dreeeeeamed that, in a town of tens of thousands of people, where you almost never run into people you know, the GROCERY BAGGER would recognize my son, based solely on a box of corn dogs and the color of his HAIR and would announce to the store that he is known to him and his classmates as Sometimes Wears A Tail.

I, too, am amazed that I didn't have a dozen more just like him. What was I thinking??

Here are some (loose) examples of the '80s triangle hair, though none of these are me (and, thankfully, no pictures were ever taken of said Gracie Triangle):

http://backintheday.blogharbor.com/80s/images/jon_bighair.jpg

http://trapine.org/f8foto/seizures/images/hatchet.jpg

http://www.evolutionofsound.org/images/80s-big-hair.jpg

http://www.theprimates.com/images/ginnie.jpg (Wow. This is shockingly close to my hair. In fact...if she had a thinner, perkier nose and the hair was longer? That could me.)

** = Yes, I know it's redundant. Leave me alone.

* = Shut up, Ry! It is NOT a *beep*, it's a *BOOP*!

La-la-la-la-la-LAAAAAAA LAST WORD!!!

Someone Arrived Here Searching For....

what are men so dumb?

i change the car battery and the alarm will not stop

humorous misuse of words

fucky boobs

sex at night [ohhh, it's WAY different than sex at day! totally.]

biker nicknames [cookie? poopsum? sir?]

nancy grace needs a spanking [oooo! me too! ME TOO!]

"burger king" research fries

what causes black soot inside my freezer

pregnant pantyhose [i predict...the sweat-socks did it...and won't pay support. heh. get it? SUPPORT! aaaaah, I KILL me!]

"biggest dick of the world" [oh, the list is long, the list is wide...and completely --and anatomically-- unbiased]

smacks of ass

did hong kong have any movies shot in it? [Never, not ever, not once. Nope.]

would you like an apple pie? [mmmm, okay!]

sexy picture of old woman [oxymoron much?]

disturbing cigarette commercials

when fries are done

swats nude or naked or bare

"snot eating girls"

"wynnton stocking strangler"

my nude pusy babe along on the bed [bet you swolly toughed her beasts, too, didn'tcha?]

burn victim pumpkin

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