Ah, the first summer storm. So welcome, after last year's drought, so wonderful to know that we won't be a total dustbowl. All those tasty ions put everyone in a good mood. I like the first storm.
But that was yesterday, when I got caught brollyless and took shelter in that home of refugees and wayfarers, the Starbucks by the Metro, and that would've been all fine if a guy sitting next to me had not decided to lay an infinitely dreary line on me. Dude, I'm sure you meant well, but if your opener is that I look like Jamie Lee Curtis circa "True Lies," your game is epic fail. Shoo and let me read my book. No? You must keep talking? You will keep on and on asking me about my book, the paper, whether I ever just sit and watch people, am I local, did I go to school here? So apparently I must now walk home before the rain stops, amusing whatever section of the universe is tickled by tormenting anyone both umbrella-less and clad in a white shirt. Still: First storm! All is forgiven!
Today, though, SOGGYCLIPSE. Three thunderstorms in four hours, power to mi casa completely fried, I join the huddled masses at a local coffee shop, which is doing rather well out of the meteorological madness. Lacking real news, I will instead provide a link to a vid of some friends singing a song we used to do back when I was singing with the choir. I was trying to explain the conceit to a guy from Sonora—the song is about a hunter who sees a deer with silver antlers, and just as he's about to shoot it (as you would), it tells him that it knows he's about to be married and that it will, if he forebears to shoot it, come to his wedding and illuminate the party with its silver antlers. I dunno. It's ethnic. Possibly miffic. Presumably the guy accepts the offer, although the song really never makes that clear. But Sonoran guy just shook his head. "Horns at a wedding. Bad sign for the groom." That particular cross-cultural signifier doesn't seem to have crossed the River Don. Anyway, these singers do a lovely job. Urals-style music isn't for everyone, and I know to my cost that the tones can peel paint at a hundred paces. But, like good bagpiping (settle, peanut gallery, SETTLE), it can be gorgeous. Also, it dun't half take your mind off the storms. Of which there is another moving in from Ohio. To arrive at 2 AM. Farrrrrrk.
Wherever you are, huddle up and stay dry. It's crazy out there.
"O villain! O rogue! O slave! O rascal!"
"I dare say that when I get out of this bed I shall do some deed of an almost terrible virtue." —G.K. Chesterton
3 comments:
Had to get to ballet rehearsal earlier than I had planned, so didn't have time to go home & get the car. Therefore walked from Capitol South Metro to the church. All of four blocks, but got soaked anyway.
Later, after rehearsing, I had to walk home while Dawn sprinted ahead on her bike. I made the fifteen blocks fairly dry, luckily during a respite in the weather carnage.
I was wearing a white shirt too. But I had an umbrella. And not really so much of a problem anyway for a boy, I suppose?
And, no, Jamie Lee Curtis ain't got nothing on you. Puh-leeze, dude.
Song appears to take a humorous turn at second to last verse, judging from the singers, so: perhaps the stag turns up at the wedding and carries off the bride? Now that would be miffic.
Heh, that would be proper ethnic. I think but can't be sure that the giggling is because Standing Guy, the choir's director, messed up a word. But the group had sung together long enough to have a lot of nonverbal jokes.
STILL no power. Also no hot water in the shower this morning. Those storm systems didn't mess around.
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