Celebrity deaths cap a frantic pre-vacation week.
By Hannah Wallace
Being that this is supposed to be a Gen-X blog, I feel obligated to mention the death of Michael Jackson, and add to the din my own memories of watching the Thriller video and dancing (poorly) to Bad, and trying for years to moonwalk. His initial impact on pop culture was so powerful that even becoming a walking, talking PR nightmare who inspired a years-long frenzy of derision and pity couldn’t make a dent in the affection people have for his earlier accomplishments.
It certainly has been a weird week.
I mentioned on Monday that I was waiting for the fever to break—weather-wise, for the most part, but all the heat sets the tone for life in general. And since it got a little cooler mid-week, you could feel the rain coming, but until then life would feel like an ant colony scrambling madly before a flood. I got strung-out on projects—being in the final throes of not one but two massive databases means a lot of scrambling to tie up loose ends. Plus I did something stupid and got called on it by a stranger, which is always a real punch in the gut and makes me feel like I’ve reverted back to a chastised five-year-old. It’s been busy, and my brain is tired.
And then it peaked: Sitting at Cody’s last night, CCB and I waiting for take-out, the barflies began buzzing about Farrah Fawcett at first, then Jack-o, and the television was turned to CNN and strangers chit-chatted across the bar, and it was all a surreal bit of news to take home with a rotisserie chicken.
So a welcome steady shower soothed me between the door and my car this morning. Felt like things settling down a bit, something new, maybe, to look forward to.
I know for sure I’ve got some days off to look forward to. Saturday’s massive hockey party—which draws players from five different counties—still promises a bit of craziness, and I have to admit, I’m not sure how much more craziness I can handle. But Sunday’s single hockey game will be followed up with a chill barbecue at the Harribles, after which I can look forward to a long night’s sleep and a couple days off padding around the house, taking care of brainless little projects that always bug me in the morning as I’m headed out the door to work.
We’ll be in Toledo, Ohio, for the Fourth—my mother’s brother has organized a massive family reunion that’s attracted German/Scots-Irish descendents from all around the country. I’ll be out of the blog-o-sphere until the 7th (or perhaps the 8th, depending on how many panicked charities e-mail me in the next week). Until then, enjoy yourselves and have a happy Fourth.