I've been thinking about this for awhile, now.
You know; when I'm not thinking about quantum physics or global warming or molecular biology...
I never hear any Air Supply songs any more.
Why IS that?
I mean, all sorts of awful things from the 80's has "come back" to haunt our children as retro-cool, but Air Supply hasn't shown back up on the culture radar. (That, and banana clips, which I'm hoping NEVER do.)
I'm telling you, if ever we needed syrupy, sentimental love songs, it's now!
There's angry rap, get-offn-my-truck country, political reggae for heaven's sake, alternative Indie music that I really can't seem to define, and yes...bless their hearts...Bon Jovi is still alive and well. There's still teen-idol music, blue grass, the blues and the Black Keys. There's gospel music and contemporary Christian music...good stuff there....but no sappy love songs.
What I think is remarkable about Air Supply is that they put out love song after love song....whole ALBUMS of them...and people kept buying it. I don't know about you all, but when I've heard one Air Supply song, it holds me for a while. A LONG while. I'm not sure I could handle 8 of them in a row or whatever they put on an album. It would take me a year to get through.
But still, I kind of miss them, you know?
When I hear an Air Supply song, I'm INSTANTLY eleven years old again, listening to Brenda Thomas's boom box in her room in their trailer, it's hot and we're bouncing off the walls from all the Mountain Dew. Nothing touches a dramatic girl's pre-teen heart like a good, overdone love song. Except maybe a horse.
So, for your listening pleasure, and because I really think they need to be heard again,
here is a link to one of my favorites...well, it was one of my favorites when I was eleven:
Enjoy!
Don't watch the videos...just close your eyes and sway.
:)
Lost in Love
AND....
just in case you're feeling REALLY nostalgic and can handle buckets of drama...
All Out of Love
You're welcome.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Rancherese...additions to the glossary
1. "I think we'll let 'em stand for a bit..." -translates to "Get on your wheeler and get those cows moving, now!"
2. "You wearin' THAT?" - my choice of corral garb is either a. too light for the conditions, b. too heavy for the conditions, c. too bright for the conditions or d. not enough pockets for all the shtuff I'll be needing to tote around.
3. "You said you were goin' to town? Right away?"- I sure hope you didn't have anything planned because I need you to stick around until I get the part off the swather and my list of gotta-have-by-5-p.m. things.
4. "Stick your head out once in a while and look for...(smoke, the white pickup, the cow with the #148 yellow tag, cumulonimbus clouds)" - bring your dishes outside, because you need to be scanning the horizon with your Leupolds every 3.68 minutes. Conservatively.
5. "Be here at 8 or so..." - be there by 7:25 and ready to roll.
6. "Have you heard from...?" - call them and find out what the h-ll is going on, then report back to me around 8 or so.
7. "It's no big deal." - I'm trying not to wring your neck with my bare hands, so step back and don't say a word. (This one is mine. Seriously. Out in the corral, everything is a big stinkin' deal.)
2. "You wearin' THAT?" - my choice of corral garb is either a. too light for the conditions, b. too heavy for the conditions, c. too bright for the conditions or d. not enough pockets for all the shtuff I'll be needing to tote around.
3. "You said you were goin' to town? Right away?"- I sure hope you didn't have anything planned because I need you to stick around until I get the part off the swather and my list of gotta-have-by-5-p.m. things.
4. "Stick your head out once in a while and look for...(smoke, the white pickup, the cow with the #148 yellow tag, cumulonimbus clouds)" - bring your dishes outside, because you need to be scanning the horizon with your Leupolds every 3.68 minutes. Conservatively.
5. "Be here at 8 or so..." - be there by 7:25 and ready to roll.
6. "Have you heard from...?" - call them and find out what the h-ll is going on, then report back to me around 8 or so.
7. "It's no big deal." - I'm trying not to wring your neck with my bare hands, so step back and don't say a word. (This one is mine. Seriously. Out in the corral, everything is a big stinkin' deal.)
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Day 17: Technology
Love my MP3 player!
Right now, (not in this picture) my new download is the Uncaged album by Zac Brown Band.
Particularly, The Island Song.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I hear a pina colada calling my name...
*Guess what tomorrow is? That's right folks; the one I've been waiting for....SHOES!!!*
*Stay tuned!*
We're FIREMEN!
It's fire season, here, in a big way.
There was a fire last night at a neighbor's house and fires on the news, everywhere. Montana burns, with the incredible heat and lack of rain, lightening storms and sparks from machinery. We're all jumpy and cautious; any little wisp of something in the air causes phone calls and concern.
This morning, Maggie spotted a tiny little smoke plume in the south and ran in all breathless to tell me about it. I tried calling the Farmer, but he was moving cows and couldn't answer, so we just kept an eye out for a little while.
In the meantime, Maggie got organized and formed a fire fighting crew.
I KNOW.
I had the hardest time not laughing at these very serious fire fighters with helmets and everything!
The helmets are very versatile...water buckets when finding a flame, lunch bucket when needing refreshment.
Yes, that's a cowboy hat on top of the helmet.
You're never fully dressed without a cowboy hat.
Especially in times of peril.
Oh, do you see the war paint?
I have no idea why they did that, but it really is black ash from campfires past and seems to lend them a note of authenticity.
The plan is this:
Spend the night out in the yard, taking turns being on guard watching for fires.
They're gathering "supplies" right now.
Updates to follow...
Fat girls running
Our Irish Setter, Twilla, has started running with me in the mornings. This is remarkable, because Twilla is notoriously, royally lazy. And when I say "royally lazy", I mean that her favorite pastime is to lounge upon the sofa like an Egyptian princess, sleeping and glaring at us when we walk by too loudly. She has to be ORDERED off the couch and even then, she steps down in slow motion, indicating her displeasure by her reluctance to move. One does not rush a princess...
And because she's so indolent, she's also tubby. Most Irish Setters are lean, lovely dogs, bright eyed and energetic, almost irritatingly so. See example 1.
Not our Twilla! (Remember, she's not an Irish Setter, she's an Irish Sitter...) See example 2.
When we run, she's like a tail-propelled red ottoman bouncing down the road. A very HAPPY ottoman, but overstuffed. I feel lean and graceful, running a quarter of a mile behind her, but I can't match her zeal for the moment...not in a million years.
She's excited about funny shaped rocks. She points antelope droppings. She dances around what may or may not have been a piece of a tarp strap, lying in the road. She crashes through the weeds, waiting for me to catch up, emerging with twigs bristling, pink tongue lolling. She dashes to the top of the butt-killing hill, watches me grinding up, then runs back down, a portly, but enthusiastic Richard Simmons-ish personal trainer, encouraging me to kick it to the top. Mostly because she wants her bowl of chow when we get to the house, 50 yards past the peak of the hill.
My little old grandma dog, Molly, runs with us most mornings, but it's getting to be too much for her, especially in the summer. She and I run about the same pace, born of miles and miles of gravel traveled together. Twilla drives her nuts, because she just magnifies how slow we really are. Neither Molly or I like to be in second place. We always try to beat each other to the top of the hill. It's completely discouraging to watch the red ottoman not only beat us, but come back and limp the geriatric joggers to the top. So Molly only goes when she thinks Twilla isn't going, or when it's cool enough to frisk her up. It's kind of sad, for me, to watch but I'm glad that I won't be without a running partner when Molly decides to retire.
Right now, 15 minutes after our run, Twilla has completely inhaled her bowl of chow (because the cats want it, you know, and we can't share a morsel) and is sacked out on the deck, trying to find the motivation to stagger to the couch to rest up for a busy morning of...well,...more sleeping. She's shot. Blown all her energy on 30 minutes of morning adventure.
It's a good life.
And because she's so indolent, she's also tubby. Most Irish Setters are lean, lovely dogs, bright eyed and energetic, almost irritatingly so. See example 1.
Not our Twilla! (Remember, she's not an Irish Setter, she's an Irish Sitter...) See example 2.
When we run, she's like a tail-propelled red ottoman bouncing down the road. A very HAPPY ottoman, but overstuffed. I feel lean and graceful, running a quarter of a mile behind her, but I can't match her zeal for the moment...not in a million years.
She's excited about funny shaped rocks. She points antelope droppings. She dances around what may or may not have been a piece of a tarp strap, lying in the road. She crashes through the weeds, waiting for me to catch up, emerging with twigs bristling, pink tongue lolling. She dashes to the top of the butt-killing hill, watches me grinding up, then runs back down, a portly, but enthusiastic Richard Simmons-ish personal trainer, encouraging me to kick it to the top. Mostly because she wants her bowl of chow when we get to the house, 50 yards past the peak of the hill.
My little old grandma dog, Molly, runs with us most mornings, but it's getting to be too much for her, especially in the summer. She and I run about the same pace, born of miles and miles of gravel traveled together. Twilla drives her nuts, because she just magnifies how slow we really are. Neither Molly or I like to be in second place. We always try to beat each other to the top of the hill. It's completely discouraging to watch the red ottoman not only beat us, but come back and limp the geriatric joggers to the top. So Molly only goes when she thinks Twilla isn't going, or when it's cool enough to frisk her up. It's kind of sad, for me, to watch but I'm glad that I won't be without a running partner when Molly decides to retire.
Right now, 15 minutes after our run, Twilla has completely inhaled her bowl of chow (because the cats want it, you know, and we can't share a morsel) and is sacked out on the deck, trying to find the motivation to stagger to the couch to rest up for a busy morning of...well,...more sleeping. She's shot. Blown all her energy on 30 minutes of morning adventure.
It's a good life.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Alternate image
This was the alternate image for the 13 things, but I don't think it really represented the theme suggested for the day. I played with it in Picasa; usually I don't like to edit much beyond cropping, but this was fun to goof around with!
Both images were taken with a self-timer...tricky.
Both images were taken with a self-timer...tricky.
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