In Which We Have Concepts of a Plan to Unpack....

 

Before I forget, happy birthday to John Ashton, my other favorite fella!

As you can see behind me, it is a very dreary day today. And they are saying snow Tuesday, For real? When I said it seemed a little early for that, my person said it actually wouldn't have been, once upon a time. It was actually snowing earlier, but it wasn't sticking. It's just - a really "ew" kind of day.

We're starting to unpack, but I think there are a few things that somehow got lost in the mayhem. Nothing that can't be replaced in some way, shape or form, though. I think my person is annoyed about a couple of CDs she very much intended to bring and apparently didn't. She has them downloaded but wants physical copies. I think she's going to be hitting up Bandcamp again very soon. And yeah, that behind me is something she's working on. She writes the weirdest things. And speaking of birthdays, she's annoyed that she can't find when Mark Bandola's is. She's really itching to do his star chart. She has somehow settled on him being a Pisces because she said his aura reminds her of Mike Peters, and he was a Pisces, and my guy Rob Vandeven being a Scorpio. So - there's that. I was about to ask her if she was sure that either of them were still, you know - around - but given that the world lost Mike Peters at the end of April, I decided to keep my big mouth shut. She's understandably still sad about that. We all know how much she loves the Alarm. Really, I get it. So if they're not, don't tell her. But if you know either of their birthdays, please do tell. It's not like my Google-Fu to fail me, and even I can't find anything. 

Tim and Edward were pretty freaked out about having to ride in the moving van after the India debacle that led to them coming here, but that was one of the few things that went smoothly. They're here, along with Richard, Sohalia and all the others. 

We'll find everything. Eventually. 

This is nice on a miserable day. The poppy painting came from the Habitat For Humanity thrift store on Route 9. We went hoping for a floor lamp but ended up with artwork and a second office chair. And all for a good cause.

Please take note that we have a ceiling fan now. 

More to come. Our person has some projects in mind for after she gets a new sewing machine. I think one of them might be a me-sized version of my other favorite dark brooding guy.....

In which - a Siren. Like, for real....

Really, Her name is Harlow.

And she's cool. Like, really cool.

And yes, she can sing....

And like any self-respecting star, she has tattoos. 

And she's really sweet. And guess what? They don't just sing about sex, sex, sex. It's a lot more complicated than that. Because, as my person will tell you, desire doesn't necessarily mean sex. It can be a desire for - well, anything. Freedom. Justice. Equality. Education. A better life. A new start. Which, says Harlow, is why Sirens are so dangerous. Because they make humans want the things that perhaps, the Powers That Be, as she puts it, don't want them to have. They give us all the power to dream. To act. To believe that we can in fact make a difference. And when that power is held by a woman - even worse. 

But it's not just the Sirens who hold the power to speak directly to our souls. It can be anyone. Or at least that's what Harlow told my person when she asked if Mike Peters was one of Harlow's lot. She's been listening to the Alarm again. A lot. Because it was on a February night in 1984, in a music store in a mall that no longer exists, that she first heard a voice in the noise pollution.....