Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

I don't know how I got so lazy with the posting (oh wait: I am so lazy) but let me catch up on some things:

• Firstly, from the other-people-say-brilliant-things-so-I-don't-have-to files, check out the ever-rad Evany holding forth on body image and vanity sizing in a focused yet funny way. She's so smart, that Evany.
  


• Secondly, Pitchfork does a nice write-up (so I don't have to!) of the No Doubt version of "It's My Life," to which Judy and I used to rock out all the freaking time in high school--the Talk Talk version, that is. When I hear it now, I envision her old Mustang and cruising by our crushes' houses. Things haven't changed much.


• The Punk Rock Prof: When the Russell Crotty exhibit opened at the Kemper in the spring, they did an astronomy-themed program with UMKC. Russell spoke about his work for awhile, then the KC Astronomy Society (did you know KC had such a thing? I did not) hosted a little observing on the roof of the parking garage. My mom and I were sort of in love with the UMKC prof, Keith Ashman, so imagine our delight when we saw him on the cover of The Pitch a few weeks ago. Oh yeah, and he's in a band.


• Fun with EKB: Having my sister around is always dandy, but the last few weeks have been especially great. We saw The Stills at Replay and loved every minute of it. We had an art moment last weekend, hitting this show (embroidery!) as well as another at the Late Show (emboidered gay porn!), which fit in well with our whole embroidery-themed afternoon, but the Late Show proprietor was mean to us (I guess we came by late) and was all nasty and then got all nice and offered us cake. Actually, what he said was, "Sorry I was all weird earlier. Want some birthday cake?" which amused/skeeved us to no end, and we've been saying it since. We totally did not want any cake, though. We (finally) went to Birdies, the punk rock lingerie shop, as well as next door's brandspankingnew Spool, where they are selling lots of hand-screened goodies and a killer puff-sleeve top with elephants on it that I gave Erica for Christmas. We went to my ice-skating lesson together and I almost fell over laughing because Erica was dancing around to the Christmas music blasting on the rink, doing her little jazz hands and wiggling. Next time you see her, ask for a demo.


• Fun with EKB, Part Two: I really need to start keeping a list of things my sister says. Here are a few choice quotes: "You should be a styler." Sleepily, after I woke her up one morning: "Who directed To Kill a Mockingbird? Hold me!" (then she scooted over in bed so I could get in next to her). And, my favorite, from yesterday, also sleepily, while still in bed, after I told her we needed to meet up with our dad: "I'm wondering what it would be like to be a black beetle." The kid slays me.

Motor City Blues

I'm back in Detroit for my second funeral this winter. Grandpa Frank, my mom's dad, died unexpectedly on Christmas Eve, and we started driving that afternoon. Please, no one else die for a while, okay?

It's weird--Matty was in town on the 23rd, picking up Emma at the airport, so we hung out for a bit and I was telling him about how I used to be all upset that we never went to Detroit for holidays, that I felt like I missed out on this large family thing, and then, poof, we end up eating Christmas dinner at my Aunt Fran's and playing with our adorable little cousins. I guess that's the plus side.

The only time my mom said she saw her father cry was when the Red Wings won the Stanley Cup in 1997. Erica and I watched the beginning of a Red Wings game the other night at a restaurant and said to each other, "Grandpa would be so pissed to be missing a game."