Fandango? Please?

It snowed today. I'm not happy about that. I'm even unhappier that it rained before it snowed. I'm downright miserable that the rain became sleet. I left beautiful Phoenix, where the sky was blue, the weather was warm, and the women were scantily clad, just the other day. And now, I'm dealing with the birth throes of winter. This must be some cosmic justice meted out because I spent a week in warm weather when I should've been shivering and complaining with the rest of Central Illinois. If that is the case, I wonder what will happen when I finally move to Phoenix. Will winter chase after me like some kind of demented banshee? Will I sit in my white, plaster house and hear the belated howls of a million snowflakes yearning for the chance to turn brown under the soles of my soaking sneakers? Will I watch Phoenix drivers spin stupidly through streets filled with smashed sedans? Will I ever stop alliterating when the use for it has clearly passed? Questions leap at me with the fury of frenzied fanatics frantically fawning fastidiously (Alright already!).

Can't you tell that I haven't had much sleep in the past three days. When sleep shies away, my mind turns quite vapid. I stutter in class. Teachers call on me and I answer with very blank stares. I lust after girls that are better left men with six-packs in their stomachs. I titter. I simper. I write poorly and use words and language antics that probably amuse only myself and the voice that jabbers somewhere to the left of my frontal lobe.

In any case, it snowed. I wasn't happy. I told J., I wasn't happy. J. seemed surprised. Wasn't I impressed with the big, fat flakes floating (I know!) through the air? It was so quiet too. Believe me, that's a big admission for a deaf person to make. Generally, most things seem quiet to me, although my super-duper machine of a hearing aid can increase the ambience quite a bit. Actually, I probably should not make such a comment. I don't hear enough to know whether or not the ambience has been properly increased. For all I know, I've gone through clicks of sound, when I should have gone through clacks of sound. But, my quiet is familiar to me. The snow brought a different kind of quiet; a soft quiet that resonated through out the quad and filled it with the quintessential being of winter. Really, I wax poetic about something quite simple. Frozen water wafted through the air and we all goggle about it as if it were something more than frozen water. I suppose the sheer majesty of its simplicity is all we need to simply savor the holy moment. Ah, there is a G-d, because snow exists.

Thus, J.. She did have a point. It was beautiful. I still wasn't happy though. The peaceful white snow that I saw was quite cold and wet. I walked a mile through it. That, alone, is a small thing. I can tolerate a little cold and wet. Hell, I ride motorcycles in the winter for the fuck of it, although this year, I put mine away because I don't have health insurance. Yeah, you read that correctly. I don't have health insurance. Please don't hurt the Jon. He's so very pretty and will wither quicker than a starlet's movie career if you so much more than tap him.

Pretty as snow is, it quickly turns to slush. Slush is an implement sent by the devil to beguile us and uglify everything. Slush is just so slushy. I know. My vast command of the English vernacular allows me to appropriate the appropriate adjective to the appropriate noun. Hence, slush is slushy. It's also black, or brown, or even yellow. It slushes when you walk on it, and it slushes when you look at it. That, combined with the cold and the nasty gray sky sucks the happiness out of me. Sometimes, on a rare morning, when I wake up happy and ready to go, I venture outside and the slush on the ground sucks out my will to live. Then, the bed feels so compelling and the world is safe from Jon's dominion for a little bit longer.

I'm telling ya, though. I'm going to miss the snowfalls. Luckily, if I desire to see snow, I can drive two hours north into the mountains. Plenty of snow in the mountains. And, if I see slush, I can simply turn tail to warmer environs. Ain't that grand?

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I listen to The Dresden Dolls every so often. My sister kind of turned me on to them while we were driving from Phoenix to somewhere southeast of Los Angeles. They're an interesting band. I'm not really sure how to classify them. I guess you could say they're goth-cabernet. The lead singer has a beautiful voice, but tends to sing off key in order to add a sense of whatnot to her songs. But, the backing band consists of a piano-drum combination, which has to be one of the most rocking combinations in rock history. We're talking 88-keys and a very punchy bass line. Hey, it works for greats such as Ben Folds, Rufus Wainwright, and Leonard Cohen. But none of them are goth-punk-cabernet. So, ah, give The Dresden Dolls a listen. Sure, most of the songs are girl oriented, but they're so damned catchy.

I also chanced to catch a whiff of the newest Jason Wilber CD. Wilber plays a mean guitar, but a friend ruined a very pretty song by detailing the lyrics for me. They are, as K. said, very cheesy. She topped off her insults by calling him a cheeseball.
Yeah, you know you can't write good songs when you're being compared to a puffed corn chips covered in succulent, savory, sumptuous, salacious powdered cheese (I know. I got carried away again. Cut me slack, willya?)

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I didn't mean this entry to be about snow and music, but that's how it turned out. I think I might write something a bit more meaningful tomorrow, but only if I can snatch a semblance of sanity, or at least enough to write something meaningful. It's hard to be coherent when your eyes galumph gleefully in your head and bits and pieces of Lewis Carroll fly madly about the room.

I'm out like the Chesire Cat.

All was mimsy in the borogroves, and the mome raths outgabe...