So. As you may have gathered from reading my previous posts, I’ve spent more time recently playing guitar and writing songs than I have blogging, but I thought I’d do you the decency of a catch-up post. I am cyclical with my hobbies–for months straight, I will make more jewelry than the entire town of Bellingham could wear in a year, and then I will drop that in favor of novel-writing and blogging, which will hold my interest for, say, six months, before losing me to music.
I am now lost to music.
As well as playing a few shows and open mics around town, I have been teaching myself to play the harmonica, which was a hobby picked up last summer and then dropped until last month. For this, I’m sure my neighbors hate me. In case they can tolerate the harmonica, I’ve also picked up the spoons.
That’s right. The spoons.
Yesterday Morgan came over and we made breakfast and then we sat around for something like forty-five minutes, teaching ourselves to play the spoons. It was glorious.
Speaking of breakfast, Mitch and I saw V for Vendetta on Friday, and I am now all about making “eggy in the basket.” Formerly, my favorite weekend breakfast has been two eggs fried over medium (I’ve gotten quite good at this: the yolks should be just barely runny, and slightly salt- and peppered) with a cup of black coffee.
Now I love “eggy in the basket.”
And I do really think you should see V for Vendetta. Very good, I thought, though you never could accuse the Wachowski brothers of understatement. If you’re expecting lots of action, you’ll wait until the last, oh, ten minutes of the movie but then–goodness. You’ll get it.
Since we’re on movies, I finally (finally–this is shameful) saw the extended versions of both The Two Towers and The Return of the King. We had an honest-to-nerdliness LOTR marathon with some friends last weekend, and even though we skipped The Fellowship and started with Towers, we still logged something like eight hours in front of the TV, drinking and eating too much fancy cheese. It was great.
And at last, it’s here. My birthday month. I’ve been making jokes all weekend about kicking off the “thirty days of Thea” celebration, but nobody seems to be buying the idea that we ought to start celebrating now. My mom, whose birthday is two days after mine, actually told me the other day that I was getting old. Twenty-three. She said that’s almost twenty-five, which is almost thirty. I’m not scared of thirty.
I did point out, though, how old she‘ll be.
In closing, I give you a photo of the kitties, who are precious as ever, and big. And, apparently, alarmed.