A week of no blogging?
Between connectivity issues and insane work hours, I fear we’ll see a bit less of me this week.
Damn, I’m sure you’re all crying into your teacups with tremendous grief…
Soundtrack for the week: Old punk from the dawn of time – Sex Pistols, Clash, Joy Division.
Food: Whatever I can grab
Reading Material: Rereads of novels I loved a couple years ago to justify keeping them in the house.
See ya.
Corbid
For those of you in the same town az Lizzie…The Silver Sea Ceilidh.
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Release the Bats – The Birthday Party (The band from whence came Nick Cave)
The Lovecats – very early, very frivolous Cure with coolass piano bits
Soap Commercial – The Psychedelic Furs dry take on advertising with apologies to Andy Warhol
Sympathy for the Devil – a rather odd little Roxy Music cover
Just Lust – The Buzzcocks empitimozing the spirit of pure punk
I’ve Got A Secret Miniature Camera – Peter Murphy is much more than goth
Julie’s In The Drug Squad – The Clash in one of their Ska moods
Dog In Sweden – Xray Spex “Iggy says I wanna be your dog, but I want you to be a demagogue…”
Career Oppurtutnities – The Clash sum up the redundancy of meaningless wage slavedom
Deutscher Girls – Adam Ant was my Elvis Presley, seriously one can never go wrong with hetero boys in pirate shirts, leather pants and eyeliner, at least in my book.
Punk Rock Girl – The Dead Milkmen sing the anthem of our erstwhile teendom…
Young Parisians – Adam and the Ants again, Adam and the motherfucking Ants!
House Of The Rising Sun – Nick Cave was born to sing this song, cover or no
10:15 on A Saturday Night – An old Cure ‘B’ side with one of my favorite understated guitar solos ever.
Little Know It All – The only new song on the mix. Iggy Pop is still the man.
The Strangest Party – INXS, awash in sexy Australianness
Stuart – “You know what, Stuart, I like you. You’re not like the other people here in the trailer park…” Dead Milkmen.
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…London Calling by the Clash. The entire album. Hadn’t remembered it being quite this good. Makes me wonder if I should henna my hair today. Nah. Maybe tomorrow. Definitely very soon, anyway. Slow simmering frozen chicken thighs slowly on the stovetop in a dutch oven in a mixture of Cioppino sauce and regular mushroom spaghetti sauce. Smells extroardinary. Playing with the gorgeous baby. Shall have to venture out into the wolrd eventually, I suppose. It is suddenly dawning on me that I’ll be working basically a day job soon, and will have very few of these quiet, lazy mornings to savor. So it goes the world, I guess. We adapt or we stagnate and die and that’s just not cool at all.
…shamelessly stolen from Davezilla.com
It’s the “We have No Heads” (audio/mpeg Object) song from Denis Leary. I for one have not yet failed to laugh my ass off at this song, but then I am admittedly feebleminded…
May the land rise again
Out of the ashes of Phoenix Park and the bloody streets of Belfast
May her soul rise again
From the ravages of time and the cruel course of history
And the jaded hearts of her lost sons and daughters
An Ocean away
Who dream of a home they never knew
And worship a Mother who welcomes them still
Dreamt of staircases and strange faces and things I thought I’d left behind…
Well, that was kind of a dumb idea. So I quit the temp job this morning, and plan on working my new job concurrently with my old job for a week or two as I’ve time for a nap between shifts. But we shall see how long that lasts. Mainly the new job is the new hotness. Or,well maybe not the new hotness but the nice refresshing change for the forseeable future. Better pay, more liveable schedule, time with my wee girls, less thankless job duties, and I’ll presumably still have some time now and then to see old friends:)
For now, I am just totally fucking exhausted, though. So it goes.
corbid/saillewillow/whoever…
Birch
A new beginning will change the situation dramatically when it arrives. Much will be different then, so it would be wise to anticipate this by resolving old business, enabling you to truly begin anew.
The first of the Ogham trees, and traditionally the first to have Ogham carved upon it, birch symbolizes beginnings. As both a protector and a gateway to the Otherworld, it also indicates good fortune. There is some risk of hastiness and rashness as well; while good luck can compensate, foresight is also of benefit.
Hazel
While you may not now have all the information you need about the situation, it will come. Gather it as the salmon gathers hazelnuts, and use your logic and your intuition to make a creative and wise decision.
Many Celtic legends involve the hazel tree, and hazelnuts which give wisdom- especially to the salmon that live in the pool under the tree and eat the nuts. Hazel symbolizes deep wisdom and insight, used to inspire creativity and resolve conflict. The hazel is the ninth tree of the Ogham.
Lady Jane Francesca Wilde [or ?Speranza'] 1821-96 Wilde’s tall and strikingly attractive mother was a talented linguist, poet, and Irish patriot, who had written six books and translated others. Her best-known work is a translation of Meinhold’s Sidonia the Sorceress. Lady Wilde’s nom de plume, Speranza (the Italian for ‘Hope’) came from her advocacy of the cause of Irish freedom.
In 1879, following the death of her husband, Lady Wilde left Dublin for London, where she was a central figure of the circle of Irish writers, including George Bernard Shaw and William Butler Years. She contributed her poems and articles to periodicals, including The Woman’s World, of which Oscar Wilde was the editor in 1887-9. Under his editorship, he raised its status (formerly called The Lady’s World) from a fashion magazine for society ladies to a culture magazine for new, independent women.
During the Wilde trials in 1895, while many of Wilde’s friends persuaded him to leave the country, it was Lady Wilde who insisted that he should stay and stand trial: ‘If you stay, even if you go to prison, you will always be my son. It will make no difference to my affection. But if you go, I will never speak to you again.’ After Wilde’s conviction, however, her health declined rapidly in her despair and sorrow for ‘dear Oscar’. She died in February 1896. Learning that she would not be able to see him again on her deathbed, she said, ‘may the prison help him’.