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the howling V: me and antonio (and daschle) down in the school yard

The wind is actually howling. I've never heard the wind howl before, only imagined it when reading a book where it is described as such. And it's not the howling of coyotes that I thought it would be. No, it is the howling of ghosts, a thousand angry ghosts whirling around my yard, stirring the leaves into a frenzy and turning over garbage pails and barbecues.

As I lay in bed, fighting the urge to just pretend it's Saturday and go back to sleep, I picture these ghosts outside my window; ragged white wisps with Halloween faces, a flock (a gaggle? that sounds better) - a gaggle of ghosts pissed off at the world for some reason. A lone voice rises out of the howling. What's it saying? Something about passion....

Oh, that's just Rick Santorum. I left the television on all night, tuned to C-Span 2. Amid the noise the wind is making, there's Sen. Santorum, screaming about passion and...something. I notice he's finally changed his shirt. Wow, they are still using those props, the damn blue posterboards. All the men still have their shirts buttoned up tight to the collar, their ties knotted, their hair slicked back. Can't they loosen up a bit? Take it down a notch?

I remember my dream now. The world was dark and I tried to make my way across the street to my mother's house - which was really the schoolyard - but I couldn't see anything. But I could hear. And what I heard was Anotonio Banderas strumming a guitar, even twanging it once in a while. I followed the sound of Antonio. And ran straight into Sen. Daschle. I knew it was him by the voice, which made my skin crawl. Antonio played louder - a Led Zeppelin tune, I think - and Daschle talked louder and finally, my sister turned on the lights and we were at a suprise wedding shower for me. Too bad I was only wearing a tie. A red one. Like Santorum's. I screamed.

Anyhow. The wind is still doing its thing out here, knocking around mailboxes and taking down trees. I read my email while the windows rattle and as I scan the headers I want to howl along with the wind. I don't want to deal with these words anymore.

I really don't know how much longer I can go on writing about war and politics and children behaving badly without running screaming around the yard with those windy ghosts. Naked. With Antonio Banderas. In a tie.

Ok, that's a better image. I think I'll lay off the whole railing against the world thing today. I've got albums to write about, stories to tell, games to play. I've got a whole wide world of words that will not have people banging down my inbox with their fists of fury (unless you are really passionate about the music of the 90's).

Soon. I need to take care of this Antonio Banderas thing.


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The wind, he is howling up here too. How stereotypically Canadian of the weather, I'm so ashamed.

Howling wind is about as rare as a non-dancing Baptist here in Oklahoma. We're all accustomed to it from birth.

I have no interest in politics today, either. Tonight I get to see my first-ever Groovie Ghoulies show, and I can hardly wait. I've grown to love this band over the past year, and am rueful that it took me so long to find them.

The Ghoulies represent everything that's good about rock & roll, as far as I'm concerned. They do it for the sheer joy of making music, and they have made a ton of great songs. It's virtually impossible for me to not smile when I'm listening to the Ghoulies...

"When everybody's let you down, all your friends are out of town, that's when we all come around. We're the Groovie Ghoulies, yeah, yeah."