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Punk-Rock Sherriff.
Aug. 7th, 2005 05:47 pmLast night saw me out to the dreaded suburbs for a summer party at Pam and Ben's house. I sat in two parking lots (called, respectively, the Kennedy and Eisenhower Expressways), and then finally pulled off onto streets for the rest of the drive, arriving parched and thinking quite fondly of the Red Stripe I had purchased back in the city.
Soon enough I had one of those squat, cold bottles in my hand (alternating with Smirnoff Ice (hi, yanka!)), and I was giggling over the 50's Western kitsch decorations everywhere. There was cornbread and barbecue sauce and baked beans galore, and a wheelbarrow filled with ice and sodas. I sat in my portable lawn chair and chatted with near-strangers about acting and Meisner method and Chimpy and hot weather and cicadas.
There were Sloppy Joes and barbecued chicken and more beer and Cowboy Cookies and applesauce.
Early on, Pam showed me the dish of shiny plastic metallic Deputy pins, and she said, "But there is one Sherriff pin in there, somewhere!"
Found it, I did, and instead of a pin, it was a clip. And instead of hanging it on the collar of my shirt, I clipped it into my hair. I had my boots and cropped pants and pendants around my neck, so I declared myself the punk rock sherriff. All the Annie Oakleys in the place seemed to approve.
There was also lip-synching (just like last year), but unlike last year, I did not win. See, I tried to stand at the end of the line for the applause-o-meter, but Pam foiled me and started with me, so really, even though I got a very good reception, the guy at the other end of the line got the whoops and stuff, and he took first. I came in a respectable third, if you guesstimated the decibels of audience appreciation.
I did Patience and Prudence's "A Smile and a Ribbon," an absolutely treacly song that is just awful and cute and sweet and banal and idiotic. I even used a prop, too, a big old silk red ribbon, tied into a goofy-ass bow on top of my head during the one minute and 45 seconds of the song. I was damned cute. People fell into diabetic comas at my performance.
There were a few juicy mosquitos, but plenty of citronella candles, and then it was time for s'mores, so I indulged in some slight pyromania by lighting marshmallows on fire, and then eating the crusty shells until the carbonized sugar got stuck in my molars, and I was getting a somewhat-fierce beer-and-sugar headache. I called yanka, and I called jinxie, and the air got cool and sweet and we were ordered to take Cowboy Cookies home with us in little plastic bags. Ben tried to order us to take sloppy joe home in the same plastic bags, but none of us were takers.
Good times.
Today I even had a bit of a headache, which I fixed with some water and Advil and good, strong cups of Cafe Bustelo, before heading out to a birthday luncheon, and then the Oak Park Book Fair, and then to my mom's to do 'tech support.'
The cicadas are buzzing and chorusing loudly, and the sunshine is honey-thick and gorgeous, even though I want nothing more than to lazily nap, curled up in a patch of it, like a cat.
Soon enough I had one of those squat, cold bottles in my hand (alternating with Smirnoff Ice (hi, yanka!)), and I was giggling over the 50's Western kitsch decorations everywhere. There was cornbread and barbecue sauce and baked beans galore, and a wheelbarrow filled with ice and sodas. I sat in my portable lawn chair and chatted with near-strangers about acting and Meisner method and Chimpy and hot weather and cicadas.
There were Sloppy Joes and barbecued chicken and more beer and Cowboy Cookies and applesauce.
Early on, Pam showed me the dish of shiny plastic metallic Deputy pins, and she said, "But there is one Sherriff pin in there, somewhere!"
Found it, I did, and instead of a pin, it was a clip. And instead of hanging it on the collar of my shirt, I clipped it into my hair. I had my boots and cropped pants and pendants around my neck, so I declared myself the punk rock sherriff. All the Annie Oakleys in the place seemed to approve.
There was also lip-synching (just like last year), but unlike last year, I did not win. See, I tried to stand at the end of the line for the applause-o-meter, but Pam foiled me and started with me, so really, even though I got a very good reception, the guy at the other end of the line got the whoops and stuff, and he took first. I came in a respectable third, if you guesstimated the decibels of audience appreciation.
I did Patience and Prudence's "A Smile and a Ribbon," an absolutely treacly song that is just awful and cute and sweet and banal and idiotic. I even used a prop, too, a big old silk red ribbon, tied into a goofy-ass bow on top of my head during the one minute and 45 seconds of the song. I was damned cute. People fell into diabetic comas at my performance.
A smile is something special,
a ribbon is something rare,
So I'll be special and I'll be rare
with a smile and a ribbon in my hair.
To be a girl they notice, takes more than a fancy dress,
so I'll be noticed because I'll dress
with a smile and a ribbon in my dresses...
The bigger my toothy grin is, the smaller my troubles grow,
The louder I say I'm happy, the more I believe it's so!
So I'll have that extra something, because I know what to wear. So I'll be special and I'll be rare.
I'll be something beyond compare. I'll be noticed because I'll wear a smile and a ribbon in my hair.
There were a few juicy mosquitos, but plenty of citronella candles, and then it was time for s'mores, so I indulged in some slight pyromania by lighting marshmallows on fire, and then eating the crusty shells until the carbonized sugar got stuck in my molars, and I was getting a somewhat-fierce beer-and-sugar headache. I called yanka, and I called jinxie, and the air got cool and sweet and we were ordered to take Cowboy Cookies home with us in little plastic bags. Ben tried to order us to take sloppy joe home in the same plastic bags, but none of us were takers.
Good times.
Today I even had a bit of a headache, which I fixed with some water and Advil and good, strong cups of Cafe Bustelo, before heading out to a birthday luncheon, and then the Oak Park Book Fair, and then to my mom's to do 'tech support.'
The cicadas are buzzing and chorusing loudly, and the sunshine is honey-thick and gorgeous, even though I want nothing more than to lazily nap, curled up in a patch of it, like a cat.
