|Mmmm... drop biscuits...|
Anyway, the effect has been, as I was saying, that I have no time to write... And the effect of THAT is that I am bursting with crap to say. And the effect of THAT is that I'm not going to go into any one thought in a huge amount of detail. Instead, I'm just going to drop'em out a blob at a time like drop-biscuit dough... And you can just leave'em on the pan, or stick it in the oven, bake'em and eat'em with butter. So... Here goes...
|Kristen Wiig in Welcome to Me|
Movies I saw: The film Danny Collins presents Al Pacino as an aging rock star receives a 30-year-old, previously undelivered letter written to him by John Lennon. In it, Lennon tells the struggling young musician that he is there to help him deal with impending fame, gives him his phone number, and ends with "What do you think about that, Danny Collins?" Danny then sets his course to reform his dissipated, artistically bereft lifestyle. And I thought - God has written just such a letter, given us His phone number, calls us by name and begs constantly for our response... And this should be life-changing. Is it? Only if we let it be. And honestly, I don't always. Also, in the movie, Danny reaches out to a son he had never met and starts working on his own music as opposed to the pop drivel he has become famous for. These are both good things, but in the end he must choose one over the other, and while people like me place a high value on artistic integrity, I think it's maybe family and people who get God's vote. That's my guess anyway.
|Will Forte as The Last Man on Earth|
Sermons I heard: The best thing I heard in a sermon all summer was this concept: in the Old Testament, there were a lot of laws about what was clean and unclean. New clay pots? Clean. Carcasses of unclean animals? Unclean. And if the carcass touches the pot? Both unclean. But with the coming of Jesus, the cleanness of Christ cleanses everything it touches! So... Yay!
|BTO, baby - yeah!|
|Mavis Staples'll take you there.|
Tailfeathers I shook: At the Mavis Staples show, my son Bill kept trying to clamp my arms down to keep me from dancing, but I. Just. Can't. Not. Dance. As evidenced by this video my husband posted of me dancing on stage at a recent Southern Culture on the Skids show. Yes, I'm 53 years old, and I HAVE to shake my ass. I have to. It's nothing personal against the teenager I'm embarrassing - it just has to happen.
And that's all the drop biscuits I have for now - an even half-dozen. Bake'em. Eat'em. Wash'em down with a big glass of buttermilk.
|I work at Wallace Wade's house now!|
**Last night I dreamed that I lost Bill. I couldn't find him anywhere! It was a real nightmare... I thought at first that it was because I was worrying that With all this new stuff going on, I'm worried I'm being somehow negligent. But I thought later that I'm worried about losing him to adolescence. Wahhhh......!