Monday, May 09, 2005

Random things that occur to me this morning

1. We once left a van full of valuable personal belongings running with the keys in it on a side street in the French Quarter in New Orleans because my dad didn't have the heart to leave the dog behind and he didn't want her to get too hot. He reasoned that anyone who wanted the van would have to shoot the dog to get it and anyone who wanted the van bad enough to take it with a dog-blood soaked interior could have it. This is also the man that parked our old Buick Sky Chicken (Shug's affectionate name for the Sky Hawk) in a parking lot on the southside of Chicago unlocked, with ten dollars sitting on the dash ("for gas") and a note that said, "Please steal" only to return three hours later and find it undisturbed. Anyway, I often use the dog as a theft-deterrent device and I wonder if that's fair to her. 2. Amanda over at Pandagon has an entry about music that's interesting enough, but reading it made me wonder what lyric most moves Steve Pick. Steve's got a musical depth that awes me and so I wonder if there's still one lyric he hears that just does him. 3. Some dumbass accused Red of no longer being a redneck because she's got herself an education. She dismissed him with good humor. But it got me wondering, and not just if we could find out who he was and, as Bocephus says, "spit some Beechnut in that dude's eye." It's got me wondering again how one navigates the transition from poor to okay. I never thought so much about class in my whole life as I do living in Nashville now. I never worried so much about how much I might unknowingly be giving away my lack of sophistication, because, until now, I never felt like it mattered. It's true that going to college and getting lucky and getting a good job do make you different from other rural poor people. But those things certainly don't make you the same as other folks in your new-found income bracket. It's tough. Being rural poor is like a sack of rocks you carry around with you every day and, if you're lucky, you go to college and you get an okay job and it means you take some of the rocks out of your sack. People who don't have a sack of rocks like you ask you why you walk around so weird, and you're kind of dumbfounded that they can't see it. People who have their own sacks are quick to point out that your lighter load is a luxury they don't have. That's true enough. But it doesn't mean that I don't know what it's like to carry that load. And it doesn't mean that I don't remember the muddy stream full of tadpoles and dragonflies where I found the smooth stones. And it doesn't mean that I've forgotten the black earth torn open in the spring and that I don't know which of my rocks are from there. Ah, Aaron Fox, now I feel a little bad about giving you such a hard time.

10 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Seems that some of us just keep picking up rocks for no reason. Maybe we just like flexing our metaphorical muscle. Or maybe we're just stupid. Or maybe the weight of that sack is what keeps us grounded.

I'm humming a song from The Band.

5/09/2005 09:46:00 AM  
Blogger Aunt B said...

Aren't you always humming a song from The Band?

I can never tell when you're being wise or when you're subtly insulting me. I suspect those are the same thing to you.

5/09/2005 09:52:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Actually, it's just a case of Monday melancholia. It wasn't intended as wise or insult, though I do seem to confuse the two occasionally.

Sometimes I hum songs by Duran Duran.

5/09/2005 10:03:00 AM  
Blogger Aunt B said...

Steve, I've been listening to Sound Salvation every Friday morning on my computer. I have to keep it low so that I don't bug my office mates, but, god, I love that the internet means I can sit in my office her in Nashvegas and listen to the radio in St. Louis. That's awesome.

I'd be nervous about leaving the dog outside a restaraunt, too, but in a car? I rely a lot on her menecing look.

Elias, you do "melancholy" better than anyone I know. And, though I don't want to fight with you, I must say that I've been trying all morning and I think it's nearly impossible to hum any Duran Duran song.

5/09/2005 12:23:00 PM  
Blogger Aunt B said...

Anonymous,

Elias has come forward to say that he is not you. Maybe no one else finds this as awesome as I do, but to have two occassionally grouchy posters who hum music from The Band makes my whole day.

Anyway, sorry to guess wrong about your identity. My psychic powers fail me more often than not.

5/10/2005 10:56:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

After unintentionally stealing Elias' alias, I felt far too guilty come clean. However, I promise to never again post anonymously. After this one, of course.

5/10/2005 12:20:00 PM  
Blogger Aunt B said...

Hell, everyone should feel free to post anonymously or post drunk or post anonymously while drunk or whatever strikes one's fancy.

Not to insinuate that you were drunk while posting anonymously, but, now that Tiny Cat Pants has drink recipes, drunken posting is a little easier.

5/10/2005 01:29:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Where did this connection between me and "The Band" come from?

Elias

5/11/2005 10:07:00 AM  
Blogger Aunt B said...

Hmm. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure. For some reason, I have this idea that you were the one who insisted I take the Butcher to see "The Last Waltz," which led to my realization that Muddy Waters, Robert Plant, and Dean Martin can fuck anyone they want to even now, from beyond the grave (yes, I know Plant isn't dead, but he's showing up on NPR, and, in terms of street cred, isn't that the same thing?), which lead to you slagging on old people, which lead me to make my first snarky The Band comment.

BUT, if it wasn't you who sent us to "The Last Waltz" in the first place...

5/11/2005 10:36:00 AM  
Blogger rcm said...

Aaron here - no offense taken. I'll reply on the thread in question this weekend. Thanks!

8/19/2005 09:41:00 PM  

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