Friday, April 10, 2009

Blog Fart Fridays

Jaci over at Ravings of a Mad Housewife, a great writer with a razor sharp sense of humor, has come up with this entertaining idea; that on Fridays whoever wishes to join can patch together all the left over scrap that didn't make it into a "real" blog during the week and post it as "Blog Farts."

1. I have finally found the perfect location for the litter box. Previously, it was in what I like to call the Den and what my husband persists in calling the "I-Love-Me-Room."

The problem with having the litter box down here is that the cat, after doing his business, then promptly carried bits and pieces of soiled litter and deposited it on every surface. Not only that, but the dogs discovered the fascinating depths of the covered box and decided then and there that it was their own personal snack bar. And stuff was always being made fresh!

So I ended up feeling as though I were typing in the midst of unthinkable filth, not conducive to great writing (Yeah! That's why I'm procrastinating on my writing! It's the environment!) I tried backing the entrance of the litter box to the wall leaving just a gap for him to climb in, but that just discouraged the cat from using it and me from cleaning it and let's just say that a bad, bad thing.

So now the litter box is in the bathtub. It's perfect. The dogs can't get to it, the cat can and I can clean it easily. When the cat tracks litter, I can just wash it down with the spray head. I'm not quite sure what we'll do when we actually need the second bathroom, but I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

2. I know I've talked about country music before, but I do listen to it on an almost constant basis now and it occurred to me that it's the only song genre that feels the need to constantly justify and celebrate its own existence.

For the sake of illustration, let's pretend there is a genre of song called "Suburban." Suburban song artists make up songs like "Two Grocery Chains within One Half Mile" and "Me and My Minivan." Also, "Sometimes I Don't Know Which Home is Mine" and "I Really Do Need This SUV" are classics.

In fact, let's all sing along with the chorus right now: "Ohhh oh oh, I drive the mountain ranges, I fly fish in Brazil, I'm employed by National Geographic part time on Sundays... and I get fifteen MPG on the freeway, I really do need this SUV."

Country song artists write songs about themselves talking on planes to random strangers about why they write Country songs. Because the world must know. And they do so because they are songs about their life. Good music alone is not enough, it must constantly illustrate for them who they are and why they live that way.

I suspect because not very many people actually do live that way. Raise your hand if you live in a town where the town clock has been stuck at two since you were a child? Who knows of a marriage between the quarter back and the home coming queen that survived the first three years?

I love Country songs, I really do. I just wish they wouldn't feel the need to sing about themselves quite so much. I get it; it's Country; they had me at the twang.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

You are so right about country music. The songwriters act like country music fans are a dying Native American tribe that must hold on to it's culture before it disappears. Country songs also have a corny formula:

1st verse: simple problem

chorus

2nd verse: same simple problem, but with a deeper meaning

chorus

3rd verse: same problem, but with GINORMOUS (perhaps religious) tear jerking meaning

chorus

jlc said...

So I actually thought of you in the car the other day when country music blasted on my radio.

I get happy! Makes me think of TX and being reunited with the hubbs again. Slowly becoming a fan....

Post Tenebras Lux said...

Hah! So true.

Our Crazy Life said...

I like all the new "funny" country songs! Always good for a laugh on my bitchiest days!

Brindi said...

So glad I visited from Jaci's. Your comment about the litter box being a snack box for the dogs cracked me up!