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January 17 - Special 1 Week Batch
Golden Globes: Sandra Bullock, a purple finch. Fergie, lilac in an English field. Sofia Vergara, a stormy evening over the metropolis. Samantha Harris, tangerines. Rose Byrne, eggplant shines in the produce section. Carey Mulligan, fat raindrops on the schoolyard asphalt, watched from the window of boring math class. Glenn Close, night sky in Vermont, the Milky Way. Tina Fey, football refs running the field to confer. Kristen Bell, shiny white homemade cupcake icing. Diane Kruger, the raspberry swirl up from the bottom of yogurt. Jane Lynch, stacks and stacks of new crisp bills. Kate Hudson, tail feathers of a swan.
Dinner in Glen Rock. We brought the salad; they had chicken, potatoes, peas, carrots, broccoli, bread. I drank Coke, although I try to limit the soda. We were all talking about songs we used to sing in elementary school, and she brought up "Kookaburra," and I hadn't heard of anyone else knowing that song outside my singing group, where we use it as a round to warm up and as a way to torture the pottery students who are throwing next door. R had never heard of it, and so I sang it through, but he still didn't recognize it.
It's never a good thing when your spouse comes running into your upstairs office and tells you there is an emergency, to put your sneakers on, to rush downstairs. The sink that the washer drains into got clogged up with papers and forced the wash water to flow all over the basement. I just finished doing what I could to help mop everything up, and still much is wet. Including most of my Genesis record collection, which for some reason was down on the floor in a cardboard box. I'm never careful enough with things I love, can't you tell?
This new character that keeps popping into my head is Asian American, probably of Japanese descent; lean but tightly muscular, especially in the chest and arms; straight, shorter black hair; a bright, wider smile; a serious demeanor, focused and professional. He is some sort of engineer and is reserved and intelligent but rather funny. He is a master at some form of martial arts (what do I know about martial arts? I'll have to research). He is stubborn and needs approval, driven to appear the best at everything he does. He likes warmer beer and raw fish. He's in love.
At the pediatricianís office today I waited to check out behind a woman with a newborn and a daughter about 3 years old. The woman oozed wealth preppy: late 20s or early 30s; shiny black flats; perfectly tailored tan pants; a pink coat; black, thick designer sunglasses pushing back her bobbed, straight, pure blond hair. Her young daughter had the same blond hair in ponytails, a perfect little girl outfit. I got to the parking lot in time to see the woman getting into her shiny, black, new Mercedes SUV. I wondered briefly what being like that would feel like.
I sat next to the tenors for the first time during madrigal rehearsal. It sounds very different down there, hearing their part strong in my ear. It didn't help me sing this new alto part, though, and it didn't keep the director from being frustrated that all altos weren't singing that new part correctly and louder. I try not to get frustrated, because of course this is for fun, but I do try very hard to sing things just right and it is hard for me to sight read a new part when that part hasn't been played through first.
Down goes a building and up goes a bank. Up go townhouses in the middle of the borough. That natural pond might become an inground pool. That hospital might double in size. That historic house might be leveled by a builder. That guy might leave his wife for his girlfriend. Those people are trapped under buildings. This polar bear is clinging to an ice floe. Those people and those people are selling their homes. The astronauts wonder if the mission will go, if their program will stay. The health care bill may never pass. Everything changes. Everybody's fighting over something.
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