Monday, December 10, 2007
Mystery Monday: Oh, the humidity
This morning I saw a man standing in the street, curls of smoke unfurling themselves from the tip of his durrie into a cloud of dreamy fractals. There was "nary a breath of wind" (as they say) because after I had disembarked the bus and started my wander to work, I looked at every tree in sight for the slightest hint of movement; I could not detect even one puff.
This unusual, possibly uncanny stillness is partially to blame for the most disgustingly treacle-like weather of the day before, when it was too humid to move. Definitely not the right day to pick to be tossing and groaning in bed with a shitty little hangover.
Maybe that's what that guy meant when he sang "I wish I was in Wellington". Maybe.
...
This is the angel I got for our Xmas tree at home. It's a baby sock monkey from Wanda Harland. That's not how it looks on the tree 'cos it's not (umm) in situ, y'know? That's just a rather hastily assembled crop and cut-out and background paint Photoshop-job.
Also, that's a tail, not a third leg. Or a "third-leg", even.
Wasn't too keen to have an Xmas tree this year. "Oh no" I groaned when K one day enthused about getting one, thinking of a big ol' nasty, sticky, smelly, sheddy pine tree. "It'll be too big, and it'll drip sap, and the bark with scratch and scrape everything it comes into contact with, and it'll stink, and shed dead needles everywhere, and what'll we do with it when it's dead?". (Of course it would already be technically dead, so what I meant, I guess, was when the visible signs of dead-ness became much more obvious.)
Not sure I had made my position entirely clear, we retreated and collected our wits and gathered our arguments for a future round two -- or so I thought. A couple of days later she shows up with the most delightful little spruce tree in a bucket -- a living tree, a "sprucelet" if you will. It doesn't smell, it's not too big -- it's possibly even on the small side -- and it's not going to die.
Well, not for a while yet.
...
As usual, prizes will be awarded if you can tell me what/who this track is...
And if you are a maker of musical mysteries and would like to contribute to this feature, contact me offline to organise stuff.
This unusual, possibly uncanny stillness is partially to blame for the most disgustingly treacle-like weather of the day before, when it was too humid to move. Definitely not the right day to pick to be tossing and groaning in bed with a shitty little hangover.
Maybe that's what that guy meant when he sang "I wish I was in Wellington". Maybe.
...
This is the angel I got for our Xmas tree at home. It's a baby sock monkey from Wanda Harland. That's not how it looks on the tree 'cos it's not (umm) in situ, y'know? That's just a rather hastily assembled crop and cut-out and background paint Photoshop-job.Also, that's a tail, not a third leg. Or a "third-leg", even.
Wasn't too keen to have an Xmas tree this year. "Oh no" I groaned when K one day enthused about getting one, thinking of a big ol' nasty, sticky, smelly, sheddy pine tree. "It'll be too big, and it'll drip sap, and the bark with scratch and scrape everything it comes into contact with, and it'll stink, and shed dead needles everywhere, and what'll we do with it when it's dead?". (Of course it would already be technically dead, so what I meant, I guess, was when the visible signs of dead-ness became much more obvious.)
Not sure I had made my position entirely clear, we retreated and collected our wits and gathered our arguments for a future round two -- or so I thought. A couple of days later she shows up with the most delightful little spruce tree in a bucket -- a living tree, a "sprucelet" if you will. It doesn't smell, it's not too big -- it's possibly even on the small side -- and it's not going to die.
Well, not for a while yet.
...
As usual, prizes will be awarded if you can tell me what/who this track is...
And if you are a maker of musical mysteries and would like to contribute to this feature, contact me offline to organise stuff.
Labels: music, Mystery Monday
