We had a nice time at Monument Park today. It was breezy and about 70 degrees. The sun was shining and all of the flowers were in bloom. And since a picture is worth a thousand words, here are 3,000 for your pleasure...
I've never really been a fan of radio. For the most part, I listened to NPR or Howard Stern. Since Howard went off the air, I don't listen to radio at all anymore, opting for books on tape instead. As far as I'm concerned, trying to listen to music on the radio is an exercise in agony. Radio stations rarely play the kind of music I like, they over advertise, and they hire the most inane idiots to talk me through the next Zep Set, give me their take on the whole "What's the deal with airline food, anyway?" spiel, and generally make me want to crash my car into the nearest pylon.
However, recently, I've discovered a radio show so amazing, I find myself thinking about tuning in on a regular basis. It is the eponymous John Tesh Radio Show. I know what you're thinking, what could this alien on earth and infotainer have to say that could hold the interest of an urban sophisticate such as myself?
Well, let me tell you. I first heard him interviewed on the Howard Stern show and found him to funny, interesting and a really good sport about everything that's ever been said about him. I find I end up having an extra affection for celebrities that hold up well under the interrogation of Howard; to me, it shows a great deal of grit and groundedness. Ever since then, I've ceased to be annoyed by his new age music and his squeaky clean image. But, for the most part, my life went on, relatively unconcerned with all things Tesh.
Until last week, that is. Doc and I were driving home from Madam E's house and decided to turn on the radio. Recently, the antenna on my car broke and I haven't yet replaced it. Therefore, the only station I can get in with any real clarity is, sadly, WHBC, the blandest radio station there has ever been in the history of time. Mariah, Elton, Sheryl, Rod, Mellancamp, Bon Jovi, the presence of whom drags down the cred of those artists they play that I do like such as Kelly Clarkson and Rob Thomas.
As it happens, we weren't treated to the song stylings of Celine Dion, as we switched on the dial. Rather we heard the enchanting voice of John Tesh and he was trying to teach us a lesson: Don't drive when you're tired. He must have spent a good five minutes extolling the virtues of getting some rest, even for 15 minutes instead of trying to power through behind the wheel. He also cautioned that driving while tired is as bad as driving drunk, which, he said, "I'm not going to talk about it, just don't do it."
For some reason, this advice filled us with mirth. We both were kind of staring alternately at each other and the radio in amased amusement. We giggled and continued on our way, as some bland, gray pop replaced John Tesh's voice. When he came back on, he started right back in with the importance of washing your hands and advice on handwashing technique. Apparently this is a regular feature of his show called "Intelligence for Your Life". Intelligence? Really, it's like radio for morons.
Doc and I entertained ourselves by inventing our own nuggets of wisdom:
Make sure when firing a gun, you point the gun at the target, not at your head or the head of a loved one.
Shoes are important. They protect your feet from dangerous detrious and they protect others from the potentially deadly odors your feet may emit.
Doors and their handles: a blueprint for entrance and egress.
How to flush.
Honestly, it's such a refreshing delight. It is irony-free and full of good intentions. Seriously, it's like a hygene film from the 50's, which I love beyond all reason. And really, he's doing us all a service. Just think of the poor morons who may listen and reflect upon his advice, thinking, "maybe it's not such a good idea to jump into a body of water when I'm not sure of its depth..." Perhaps they will think and make the wiser decision to grab a long stick and test the depth of the water, realize it's only four feet deep and smartly go in feet first instead of head first, all the while thinking, "God bless John Tesh and his Intelligence for my life."
Then again, perhaps Mr. Tesh is doing the gene pool a disservice...
I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth Recently, I have lived through an event that has changed me forever. So much so, that the name Princess Greenpearl no longer suits me. I no longer have the false swagger and attitude that brought me to choose such a name for myself as "Princess". I am no longer the self-declared expert on all random things.
However, unlike Hamlet, I will find my mirth again. And that is why I didn't change the name of this place. I am prone to whimsy; I always have been. I will not forsake that about myself, no matter what. Even if I'm too blue to lift my head from the pillow, I'll force myself to find an amusing shadow on the wall or to find the hilarity in my misery (or somebody else's, if I happen to be watching American Idol at the time).
So, if you are looking for a change of drastic proportions, I'm afraid you will be genuinely disappointed. Changing my name has been a sort of molting for me. I'm still the same old snake, just with a new skin. Or, rather, I'm still the same old can of Diet Coke, but now I'm decorated with bubbles. It's just an upgrade to the image.
In the parlance of Dungeons and Dragons: I've gone up a level. You can expect me to write about things that strike my fancy. You will still learn about my girls, my Doc. Whenever I have a triviality I must deconstruct, it will be here. But it will be delivered not by a princess, but rather by a sassy dame with too much education and more life experience than she bargained for.
Yesterday, I bought myself a DVD of a TV show called Wonder Showzen. Let's just say that it is not for children, despite the cute logo. This is a puppet show that is atheistic, vulgar, naughty, obnoxious, and absoulutely like nothing else I've ever seen. I'm not sure I'm glad I shelled out $21 for this.
The show starts out with a warning sayining, "If you let children watch this, then you are a bad parent or guardian." I like the way they say this. I think the makers of this show have kids. In fact, I think one of the producers is John Lee, Supertaster of They Might Be Giants fame. Although, I can't prove that. However, he does do letter songs for the Disney Channel. Maybe he snapped and made this show? I can't blame him.
I'm not really sure how I feel about this show. Some if it is amazingly brilliant. Some of it is amazingly coarse. And some of it is just down right uncomfortable. I particularly loved the segment of the show celebrating white people. It skewered the tactics of those people who are trying to set up diversity for the sake of appearances. I'm not so comfortable watching a young child of about 8 taking a tour of a butcher shop and interviewing butchers. I can't even watch the opening credits; it's too awful.
I am willing to watch it again. Perhaps it will grow on me. Afterall, puppets have an amazing power over me that I cannot explain. And, I've found, being uncomfortable is good for me on occaision. It helps me grow. Besides, I've listened to enough Howard Stern that I shouldn't be bothered by watching the letter people getting it on. Then having a baby. The letter N is on a bender after rehab and she's sad because no one Needs her. She meets up with letter S. They have a night of debauched sex. She gets pregnant. They have a baby: little i. Their family portrait: SiN.
I don't know. Maybe I should sell this disk on E-Bay. Maybe I should give copies to all my friends. Maybe, I should show it at the next Lodge Meeting. Hmm. Maybe I should watch it again now...