Wilder by Far

A look at life with the Wilder family. Updated most weekends and some vacation days. You can contact me at movingnorth@gmail.com..

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Sunday, November 25, 2007

"I've heard a lot of stories in my time. They went along with the sound of a tinny piano playing in the parlor downstairs." - Rick, Casablanca


The Boy. At the Renaissance Fair a store clerk gave The Boy a “dragon’s tear.” In a fit of parental genius, I told The Boy that it was magical, and that if he concentrated it on for thirty minutes or so, while being absolutely quiet, he would be able to see the future. The Boy made it for fifteen minutes before he gave up. Fifteen blissfully quiet minutes. More about the Renaissance Fair Wednesday. If you’re good.

I’m sorry Internet. I missed you this week, but it was because we were busy as heck. Oh, sure, I could have posted last Wednesday night, but I’m thinking that everybody was making pumpkin pies and celebrating The Mrs.’ birthday. You don’t celebrate The Mrs.’ birthday? Don’t worry, when I’m Emperor Wilder I, you will.

So, we’ve been busy. The Mrs. ordered a turducken for Thanksgiving (for those not in the know, a turducken is a boneless turkey stuffed with a boneless chicken and a boneless duck), and we had that for Thanksgiving dinner. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to open my own boneless turkey ranch, since I’m pretty sure that having to feed them would be wicked hard, and they would all just blob around all day and you’d have to individually turn them over so that they didn’t grow into the ground. As for the turducken? I’m all about meat, but only wish that they’d have stuffed a roast or some ham into it instead of, well, a duck. Besides duck hunters (who eat it to justify duck hunting – sorry, Duck Hunter) who eats duck? Three different kinds of birds? Talk about a big ball of salmonella.

We didn’t have a meat thermometer, so I cooked it until the turkey had the relative consistency of the sole of a Merrill™ hiking boot, so that we didn’t all end up in the hospital.

But, Internet, tonight was the highlight of my weekend. The Mrs. is a huge fan of Tori Amos. I’m sure that some of you are saying, “who?” and that’s fine. As I said to The Mrs. tonight, Tori’s not unpopular, she just has selective appeal. Regardless, Tori pulls in a lot more green than me.

I must say that when The Mrs. bought the Tori Amos concert tickets, I cringed internally, because I have heard her music. Not to say that it’s bad, if you like hearing a bag of cats being strangled by piano wire. Me, not so much.

I went to the concert. It was a severe estrogen-fest, since about 80 percent of people there were woman-people. The majority of the minority of males (think about it) were there sitting with their significant other, who bought the tickets.

Several impressions: First, a Tori Amos concert smells waaaaay more like soap and perfume and less like stale beer and cigarette smoke than say, an Iron Maiden concert. Second, the fans (even the guys) are much more well behaved. I went to the bathroom, and men were using the sink. To wash their hands. At your typical Judas Priest concert (back in the day) social order would break down in the mens’ room and in the ensuing anarchy the sinks would still be used . . . but let’s stop there. Third, concerts have change a lot in (insert very long time here) since the last one I went to.

People brought their digital cameras, and were taking flash pictures. This caused a near girl fight in the row behind, as one woman-person (nosy girl with glasses) told another (skinny shallow girl) she was rude and low-class for taking flash pictures. The skinny shallow girl responded that nosy girl with glasses wasn’t a lawyer. When nosy girl with glasses got up, skinny shallow girl began berating nosy girl to her friend. From the conversation I overheard, these people ACTUALLY CAME TO THE CONCERT TOGETHER BECAUSE THEY WERE FRIENDS. Wow. I sure hope that skinny shallow girl doesn’t post those pictures she was threatening to post on Myspace of nosy girl with glasses. Is it just me or should I expect that women in their thirties wouldn’t act like they were thirteen?

Anyhow, Tori Amos started her concert. I had considered bringing earplugs, but thought that might really chap The Mrs. (and when The Mrs. ain’t happy, nobody’s happy). I was very, very pleasantly surprised to find that I enjoyed the concert very much. Tori Amos can sing, and can play the piano, both way better than me.

I was impressed. Here was this professional musician who made really good music. Despite the fact that I couldn’t understand a word she sang (think all the enunciation of Stevie Nicks) I greatly enjoyed the concert. About two hours in, The Mrs. leaned over to me and said, “I’m ready to go.”

I wasn’t. I was grooving to the beat, but, I thought, this wasn’t my birthday present. That was a cool gold ring I found on my birthday. Makes me invisible. I loves it. Oh, another story. Anyhow, we left.

The Mrs. says I use the word “irony” incorrectly from time to time. The true definition is when something happens that would be the opposite effect that you’d expect from experience. Me, a confirmed Tori Amos non-listener, came away humming the songs, after having thoroughly enjoyed the show (I’d go again). The Mrs., a confirmed Tori Amos fan, was severely disappointed (go to The Mrs. Myspace page, link at left, for her version). That, Internet, is ironic.

So, I vow this. When I assume the throne as Emperor Wilder I, Tori Amos will play the songs The Mrs. wanted to hear for her birthday. She’ll play them until she plays them right, even if it makes her fingers bleed on the piano keys.

Me? I’ll sit and hum along.
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Blogger Jeffro said...

Happy Birthday, Mrs.!

2:02 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thanks, Jeffro!

5:35 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

We didn’t have a meat thermometer, so I cooked it until ...

Wait a bleedin' minute, John Wilder! Who, exactly cooked the turkey?

6:41 AM  
Blogger John said...

the mrs.,
Well, if you call getting up at 6am, putting it in the oven, and slaving over it until I dragged my carcass out of bed about the time it was all cooked, I guess it would be you.

8:31 PM  
Blogger Jeffro said...

Good save, Mr. Wilder!

5:03 AM  

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