Nebulous Mooch

The other day we decided to be brave and walk through the field of cows that is at the beginning of one of the public footpaths we wanted to explore. We quickly traversed the path that led to the field. The cows where there. They were happily eating grass, laying down, standing around, and doing whatever else cows do. They looked safe, so we decided to go for it. As we stepped into the field, they all lifted their giant cows heads and looked at us with menacing expressions. My husband decided that this wasn’t the day to walk with the cows so we turned around and left.

I kept looking behind us to make sure none of them were following us down the path. They weren’t, but I’m sure they were thinking about it. To make matters worse, when we got to the end of the path we found that someone had tied up their pit bull there while they popped into the store. Cows at one end and a pit pull at the other what is a pit bull and cow phobic person such as myself to do?

When we finally got home, I decided that the best way to deal with this problem was with education. So I did some research about how to deal with cows on public footpaths. I thought I would read some nice reassuring articles, but instead I found things like this and this.

Then I found this helpful video about how to walk through a field of cows safely.

You know what? I don’t feel any safer after watching that. I’ve actually decided that I’ll wait until the cows have been moved to another field before exploring that walk.

We watched a really good movie the other day. It’s about driving dump trucks really, really fast and features lots of sped of footage of dump trucks going really, really fast. If you haven’t seen Hell Drivers yet, you’re definitely missing out.

I love blog comments. This blog doesn’t get many and that’s fine. I’m not complaining about my lack of comments, I’m just saying that I love comments. Don’t feel guilty or like you’re being pushed into leaving a comment. Seriously, don’t.

Sometimes I get really funny comments from people who are spamming my blog. That means they’re just trying to get a link for their website, but they haven’t actually read the blog post they are commenting on. Just the other day I got this funny comment on my Santa Mouse post from someone named Destiny.

I don’t know where you get your informatio-n but the Grand Hotel in Jerome, Arizona was NOT a former insane asylum — it was a hospital. I should know because I was BORN there (1939). Like most hospitals it did have a pyschiatri-c ward but it was primarily a hospital not an Insane asylum!!

Thanks for clearing that up, Destiny. I really appreciate it. Next time I travel back in time to 1939 to have a nervous breakdown in Jerome, Arizona, I’ll know not to go to the Grand Hotel.

I just looked up a picture of the Grand Hotel and I have to say that it does look like it might have been an insane asylum. Something about the red roof is screaming padded rooms and straight jackets to me.

I partied like a rock star this New Year’s Eve–a rock star who does yoga and watches made-for-TV movies. Someone once told me that how you spend New Year’s Eve determines what you’ll be doing during the upcoming year. If that’s the case, I’ll be very flexible and I’ll know a lot about serial killers.

This year is bitter sweet for me. You see I love the number 12 because it is one less than 13 and because 1 plus 2 equals 3 which of course is the magic number. That’s the sweet part, in case you couldn’t figure that out. The bitter part is this whole end of the world thing. I’m not sure why people are putting so much trust in the Mayan calender, I mean what have the ancient Mayans done recently? I don’t even think they managed to mark my birthday down on that thing.

If the world is really going to end this year, there are a bunch of things I need to get done before 12-21-12 (that’s 21-12-12 for my UK friends). I should go through my important papers file and get rid of the papers that aren’t really that important. I’m sure there is something else I needed to get done too. What was it? Oh yeah, I really should back up my computer. Other than that I think I’m all set for the end of the world.

Christmas in our house isn’t very eventful, but this year something tragic almost occurred. My mother decided to retire Santa Mouse. When my sister found out she was not very happy.

“I don’t care if you have to take something out of the trash and put a yellow ribbon around it, we have to have hear the Santa Mouse story,” my sister said and she was serious.

With that my mother disappeared into the bedroom for a few minutes. When she came out she had Christmas tree ornaments wrapped in yellow napkins that she handed out to all of us. She told the story. Santa Mouse isn’t going into retirement yet, not if we can help it.

For about two years now, my husband has been doing these South Indian rhythm exercises called Konnakol. They involve some unusual clapping and repeating of various syllables. This post is named after a few Konnakol syllables.

He loves to tell me about how much Konnakol exercises have helped him develop his sense of time. He’s not talking about time of day. He doesn’t wear a watch and is never late so I guess he does have a good sense of that too, but for this purpose we are referring to musical time. This is a really important sense for a bass player to have and apparently he used to worry about his quite a bit…but then came Konnakol.

The other day at dinner, my husband told me that Konnakol has also helped him in other aspects of thought–I’m not sure what that means–and he thinks I would benefit from learning it. Konnakol hasn’t helped his thinking process very much because he knows that I can’t even clap and sing at the same time. How could I possibly learn some complicated rhythm exercise.

I think he wants us to start having Konnakol conversations like these guys.

The week before I decided that I was on death’s door something very exciting happened. My naturalisation application to become a British citizen was approved. When they said I’d get my picture taken with the Queen I thought she’d be there in person.

Sunday was Pioneer Day. It usually goes completely unnoticed by me, but I decided to post something in honor of it today. It’s a little late, but late is better than never.

Doves and Serpents put up a post about the hymn Come, Come Ye Saints. The authors of the blog posted their favorite versions of the hymn. That’s how I discovered this version by David Johansen and Brian Koonin of the New York Dolls. Apparently the bassist from the New York Dolls, Arthur “Killer” Kane, joined the LDS church in 1989. Someone made a documentary called New York Doll about him reuniting with the band. I haven’t seen it, but it looks fascinating. Arthur Kane died of cancer on July 13, 2004 and his band mates did a version of this song as a tribute to him. Anyway, I wanted to share it with you. Enjoy!

Yesterday I found myself thinking about olives. Yes, I think about olives. Don’t front, you know you think about them too.

I love olives in salads, in tagines, in oil, or even as a snack. Whether they are pitted or pitful, jarred, canned or from the deli counter, black, green or kalamata, stuffed or unstuffed, they bring me joy.

That’s why it distressed me so much to realize that I had no olives in the house. I checked the refrigerator and all the cabinets. No olives. How could something like this happen? I was in the mood for a salty late night snack. I had to settle for a piece of cheese, but somehow that’s just not the same.

I have a tumultuous relationship with spell check on the Mooch. It’s British and we don’t see eye to eye. It’s always wanting me to do things like add an “o” to fetus or diarrhea–two things I write about often. I’ve taken the ignore-it-and-it-will-stop-nagging-me approach to remedy the situation. The problem is that sometimes spell check just shouldn’t be ignored. Like when you’re not quite sure how to spell aluminium. That’s the British spelling of aluminium, but I don’t know the American spelling so it will just have to stay that way.

Anyway, Wikipedia has a fascinating article about the difference between British and American spellings. In this instance, the word fascinating is used loosely to mean mildly interesting. Here’s the article for you word nerds out there.