10: one part lullaby

The subject lines of these little e-mails are fairly important — if they don’t tell you something about the content of the message, then they’re random words and phrases that keep popping up in my life. Things like “grip da flip”, “ahoy” and, my latest favorite, “mah bush!” Please see Michael Yarbrough or Kevin Bogart if you are confused about that last one, as it might be a bit obscure.

The above title, “one part lullaby”, is the name of a song by the Folk Implosion. The song itself is quite lovely (I’ve always been a sucker for lo-fi dance pop — hence my love for Stereo Total and Bobby Conn), and I’ve been listening to Folk Implosion mp3’s lately. Of course, it would have been a bit confusing if I had picked, say, “I Wanna Be Your Dog”.

You’re probably not nearly as interested in my music diet as I would hope. But you should be concerned, as many of you have pretty good taste in music and could probably turn me on to new stuff. For example, I saw Insta last week at Ida Noyes (sounds like “Idle Noise”) Hall — okay music, plagued by sound problems and a virtually non-existent. Better to go out onto the patio and chain-smoke with the hipsters. They’re so cool, with their chunky pixie haircuts and French cigarettes.

I’m still smoking Marlboro reds and growing my hair out. Anna Wintour has decreed short hair to be “in” this fall, which makes me happy. But given that I look like I’m fresh from the rice paddy with bobbed hair, I might have to reconsider following the new trends that far. It’s not that I look bad with short hair, it’s just that I shouldn’t have let Emily Crowe cut my hair in the first place. She did cut it first year, when nobody looks good, but I’m still reeling. Girlfriend actually had the nerve to laugh at me after she was done, but she stopped laughing when I *kindly* reminded her that it was she who gave me the fucked-up haircut.

Boy was I stupid then. I might be stupid now, but I’m not entirely sure. And I don’t mean stupid in the grand scheme things. I’ve always been a smart girl — I won the New York Daily News/New York Public School District 87 spelling bee in 1987, for crying out loud. I’ve got the blue satin jacket and everything. But back to my stupidity — I don’t hang out with stupid people, and I can only hope that my friends have the same policy. I have no patience for the stupid, as they refuse to accept the truth of their condition. “But Jasmine”, you ask. “Why do you work in tech support?”

Hmm, good question.

Similarly, I don’t hang out with guys who have long hair. It’s just that simple.

Back to that Oscar Wilde quote — I’m inclined to agree with his statement. Furthermore, I try to focus on the lullaby bits. I know I must sound like those sappy “Precious Moments” girls who collect angel figurines and wear “Winnie the Pooh” clothing. But dammit, I want to be happy. My life is drama-free but boring. My hobby (smoking cigarettes) is not nearly exciting as it was once was. So I need to branch out and find new entertainment.

The need to branch out is what brought me to Hancock Fabrics last night. I was on a mission for felt, styrofoam balls, and whatever else you need to make finger puppets. Why make finger puppets? Well, why not? I’m giving a presentation at work later today, and my co-worker Khloe listed the presenters as being “Jasmine and her finger puppet Surly”. Surly is the unofficial mascot in my department so he had to be involved.

It was at the fabric store that I found the materials for Surly — felt, balls, thread, hot glue, pipe cleaners, thread, and some velcro dots that I used for his mouth. I’ve made two puppets so far, and I think they turned out really swell . . .

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!

What the FUCK am I doing making puppets? Have I now gone COMPLETELY insane? I’m turning into my craft-crazed co-worker (whose name will have to go unmentioned), there is no question of it now. Pretty soon, I’ll be wearing flowered caftans and buying my shoes at the supermarket. I’ll be decorating my car with puffy paint.

I’ll be writing superbad poetry such as the kind found at http://pages.ripco.net/~eloise/poems-index.html.

Clearly, I need to be saved from myself. I could have been saved last week at The Young Fathers show, but I really didn’t need another coffee mug. And anyway, though my sins are many, they’re not major. All I need to do is listen to more music, as that “American Pie” song says that’s all I need — music and a levee to save my soul

Early happy birthday wishes to Stef DeLuca, who I hear will be celebrating with a bar crawl. I think it should start at the Hollywood Grill, as I like to eat a pile of greasy food before I start drinking. A cheesesteak, a cherry coke, and some fries — mmm, yummy. Then, we can all walk west, past the low budget liquor stores, hookers, and condos, to Damen and begin our reign of fierceness begin.

Cheers,

Jasmine

“Look for magic in the daily routine . . .” (Folk Implosion)

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