Adventures with Dr. Lady Cutie Troublemaker

I’ve been struck down with a really annoying cold this week. I’ve spent most of my time in my apartment, watching bittorrented movies (I know, I know) and sleeping. After seeing Marion Cotillard win the Oscar, I was curious about La Vie En Rose. I’ve always liked Édith Piaf, and I knew that this film was about her life. What an astounding transformation. To see this pretty young thing at the ceremony, you’d never think she’d be able to alter every little thing about herself to create this flawed, fragile, deeply wounded character. Édith Piaf’s life was heartbreaking, every step of the way. After seeing the movie, I did some research and learned that she was only 4’8″. While she was married twice, the true love of her life was a world champion boxer named Marcel who was married with children. At one point, a movie was made about their love affair called Édith et Marcel. In this film, the part of Marcel was played by his real-life son. Weird, isn’t it? A man playing the part of his father while he was in an adulterous relationship? I wonder if his mother was still alive at the time of the film’s production? Anyway, I digress. My point is that I highly recommend this film.

Here’s Édith Piaf two years before her death, singing the song seen in that clip: “Non, je ne regrette rien” (No, I have no regrets). It’s clear in this video how utterly tiny she is:

A rough translation found on teh internetz:

No, nothing at all. I regret nothing at all. Not the good, nor the bad. It is all the same. No, nothing at all, I have no regrets about anything. It is paid, wiped away, forgotten. I am not concerned with the past, with my memories. I set fire to my pains and pleasures. I don’t need them anymore. I have wiped away my loves, and my troubles. Swept them all away. I am starting again from zero.

No, nothing at all, I have no regrets. Because from today, my life, my happiness, everything starts with you!

So after a French-tastic beginning of the week, I decided to go ahead and meet up with some friends to see Keren Ann and Dean & Britta. These are tickets I’d had for some time, so I loaded up on cold medicine and drove to Carrboro for the show. I’m so glad I did.

Keren Ann has an album that I’ve loved for a few years, but somehow I’d neglected to recall that she is, in fact, French. I thoroughly enjoyed her set and will definitely be spending more time listening to her.


This clip is very brief and is her singing a song in French at her show, but my favorite song she sang was this one, called “I’m Not Going Anywhere”

Dean & Britta are new to me. My friend Ayse is a big fan, and I’ve heard of his former bands Galaxie 500 and Luna before, but only in passing. I was pretty undecided about them during the whole set, but I kept feeling like they were very reminiscent of the legendary Serge Gainsbourg. Then, at the end of the show, they blew me away with a cover of the Serge Gainsbourg classic “Bonnie & Clyde”. Perfection! While I’m not a new massive fan, they sure have my respect for their performance of that song, as well as at least one other song that I really enjoyed.

This isn’t the best writing I’ve ever done. I’m still pretty out of it, but I’ve decided to try and pull myself back to help starting tomorrow, even if I have to fake it. Maybe by the weekend, my brain will work properly again.

Happy Birthday, Abby!

Originally uploaded by DottieboBottie

Whoops! I forgot that as a blogger, I am supposed to say something witty announcing my birthday so that people can tell me Happy Birthday. Thanks for reminding me, Nicole! I’m such a slacker lately. I am, indeed, a year older. Big THREE EIGHT. Eeek!

But as Shannon said just yesterday, I can run circles around most 20 year-olds. Yeah… It’s true. I can. Go me!

This picture was taken by one of my very favorite photogs on Flickr. If you don’t know her stuff, go take a look at her photostream. It’s DIVINE!

My reunion was amazingly wonderful. Couldn’t have wished for a better time. My high school was a pretty special place. I’m writing this from Crescent Moon in Decatur (a great town in metro Atlanta). Yes, I’m still here. That wasn’t supposed to be the plan, but plans change. I have about a million pictures to process over the next few days. If I owe you a call or an email, I promise I’ll get back to you SOON. Just haven’t been online other than about two 2-minute logins to upload pictures since Friday morning.

I found this in and amongst my study files, collected from all over the place over the last year. At least I’m not alone in this, although it usually feels like I am:

Oh EPPP agony, thou hast made muppets of more clever men than I.
Dangling the keys to salvation before our army of starving soldiers
Hungry to conquer the territory of a golden age, we reach ever so high
Awaiting the enveloped blessing from the standard score satchel tossed across your shoulders.

Oh EPPP, you’ve made a monkey out of me, chanting acronyms, rehearsing nonsense rhymes!
Will there ever come a day when I can finally say I have finished this uphill climb?
Oh when all is said and done, will I be the only one beneath the cutoff score?
Unemployed among the overjoyed, bitter and confused, battered and abused, but coming back for more?

Oh dear EPPP — Don’t wave your wrath upon us, Don’t increase your fees a-gain!
Don’t leave us pennyless to wash the feet of the Computer Stewardess in shame.
Let us walk proud, with a dollar in our shroud, and your tapes blaring in our ears
Cast off that evil grin, the multiple choiced sin, and let us contemplate our fears

The sorcerers of the soul are we, a legion of mindful men, we will not rest until we reach our fated 140 shore
Keep in mind theories of Vygotsky and Bersheid, never forget what the Globus Pallidus is for
When in doubt choose “C,” take the post-test times three, but if you fail don’t blame me
Because as you may tell, I too am among you in EPPP hell, clawing my own way out of this bloodied well

Join hands, good friends, and let us go forward until the end
Memorize the little lies until it flashes from your eyes — then behold the golden prize
Oh EPPP — you may torture my friends and me, but you shall not keep us captive indefinitely.
Each of us will succeed, faces brazed but glasses raised,
and in triumph raise the plaque of licensee!

Good Luck! Go Forth!

— Perry Staltaro [presumably one of me, although one who has already passed – on hopes!]

I first looked for the nest. I couldn’t see one anywhere.

I fiinally took a good look. Yes, they are dead. Limp, shriveled, greyish. The paper towels were soaked with waste. The smell of death was there but not overwhelming. I went outside with the hat/nest to dig a hole, but the ground was so dry. With all the dogwalkers, I figured they would be dug up quickly. I went up to the ivy patch and put them there. They were so light. You would have to measure them in grams, not ounces. Poor little guys.

Now I’m inside, and momma bird is on the porch. I see her. She is flying around and calling over and over. I don’t that bird’s brains are small, but I know that she misses them and wonders where they are. This is sad. Nature makes me sad sometimes. Go down a few posts and listen to that Dolly Parton song for me. It’s a fitting dirge for the little guys.

I want to see this soon somewhere:

And I may need to buy a birdfeeder today for the poor momma who is still out there calling.