Sometimes, random words pop into my head. Today’s random word is:
In ancient Greece, hymn to the god Dionysus, choral lyric with exchanges between the leader and the chorus. It arose, probably, in the extemporaneous songs of the Dionysiac festivals and was developed (according to tradition, by Arion) into the literary form to be found, for example, in the dithyrambs of Bacchylides. In its later development by such poets as Philoxenus and Timotheus it became freer in its meter and more musical. The tragedy seems to have come out of the dithyramb, but the dithyramb was also cultivated after tragedy was invented.
Yup. So that’s today’s bit of edumacation.
On my walk back to the train station after work today, I walked by a woman who looked like she had two prosthetic legs. She was walking sor t of strangely, but not stiffly enough for prostheses. Upon further inspection, it turns out that she was wearing opaque tan tights. NOT a good fashion choice, ladies. Opaque black? Sure! Opaque purple? OK! Opaque brown? All well and good. But opaque tan tights are the exact same shade of sickly brown-beige that old school prosthetic legs are and it doesn’t look attractive on anyone.
Only a short while ago, I returned from a shopping trip with my mother and younger brother. We went to find him a suit to wear to his friend’s wedding tomorrow. Shopping with my mother is always a trying experience. Rather than giving you any sort of concrete criticism/opinion like, “That suit is too large” or “Those pants don’t make your butt look good” or “That color is wrong for you”, she opts for very vague comments that mean, ultimately, nothing.
For example, she decided she did not like the suit that my brother and I both preferred to the other suits. Paul asked her why she liked the other suit better. Her response was, “It makes you look younger. You know? Fresh and young.” This is not exactly what you want to hear when you’re 23 and buying a suit. You don’t want to look young.
My comment was that I felt the second suit (a Kenneth Cole) was more structured and modern-looking and that it fit him better overall, had a better flow of fabric along his back, and that he looked more comfortable in it. He agreed that he liked it better as well; my mother sulked for a while because I think she enjoys acting like a petulant nine year-old sometimes when she doesn’t get her way. But he got the suit and some nice shirts and some really nice ties. I have to pat myself on the back here – I excel at helping my male friends and relatives find ties to match their shirts and suits.
Anyway, he got the suit. We returned home and a war broke out since my father feels that the sleeves of the suit are too long and this became a representation of our collective female tendency to “Screw Up Everything.”
There was lots of shouting and insults flew betwixt my parents. I took the suit into Paul’s room and asked him if he wanted me to come with him to the store to exchange the suit, or if he would just go with my parents and be done with it. I ended up staying home in case his girlfriend needs someone to pick her up from the station… and here I sit. If they return home before his girlfriend calls, I can go and color my hair. If she calls before they return, I am doing that, I guess.
However, I can finish reading “Middlemarch” in either event and then I can spend part of tomorrow watching the companion BBC miniseries of “Middlemarch” which just arrived from Netflix today – both DVDs! Yay!
Since my sister works at the bookstore and is able to take advantage of the book loan program, I have asked that she borrow one of two books for me so I have something new to read – “The Beatles” by Bob Spitz and “The Historian” by Elizabeth Kostova.
I also have the RSS book that I should be highlighting and taking notes on. But I am not in that mood. That’s a tomorrow afternoon thing since my weekend is going to be entirely devoid of anything exciting or interesting or even mildly entertaining. I will be home with my father all weekend, essentially, and no good can come of it.
Thus, solitary creative endeavors which require intense concentration and note-taking and typing – and which proceed best when accompanied by a 1,327 song playlist in WinAmp on “random” and “repeat all” – will be my bread and butter for the next two days.
For the moment, I am going to make myself some hot chocolate with marshmallows and await the return of family or phone call from brother’s girlfriend. If my services are not needed, hair-color modification will commence. I don’t know why I enjoy putting volatile chemicals on my head so often, but I do.
That’s a lie. I know vaguely why. I can explain later when I’ve had a chance to mull it over and put it into words. Perhaps I will write about that while I’m waiting for the color to process and have 40 minutes of sedentary time…