Friday, March 1, 2013

"and me, the chirp..."

The Marlinspike Hall gang is home from the wilds of the Lone Alp, where we did some x-treme camping.

Oh, okay, so "extreme" as it gets when hoisting and foisting all the livelong day with such a diverse (rapidly becoming my least favorite of the Progressive Vocabulary, soon to join such Coastal Suck Speech as "artisinal," and, maybe, "regional") crowd as The Castafiore, Cabana Boy the Unexpected Tenderfoot, Marlboro Man Wannabe Sven Feingold, Fred I-Can't-Leave-The-Fire's-Embers-Alone Vanderbuck, and me, The Chirp.

For the second time in elle est belle la seine's history, let me explain my use of "The Chirp." The first?  I had to look it up and it made me laugh so much I got sick. It's called, "Yay, Us!" Largely, it celebrates the wisdom of myself and Grader Boob in not procreating, in ending the line.  Of course, not everyone Born of the Blood was so pessimistic and our streak was ruined.  Still, "yay, us" for doing our darned level best.  Anyway, the previous reference to "The Chirp" came midst that family-fortifying affair known as the Casey Anthony trial down Florida way.  One day, exulting in my family's accomplishments, I wrote a friend:

kept the tv on and watched the trial every time i took a break... lordy, lordy, lordy. you know... my family is/was dysfunctional but i am slightly cheered to think that we never murdered anyone, or covered up major crimes. we had loads of denial, silence, repression, enabling, and our share of abuse. but we never murdered anyone.   yay, us!
Believe it or not, the past few days have uncovered more reasons to ejaculate another "Yay, Us!" but the prospect of relaying the story makes me want to... you know, puke some more.  So we'll save the Weirditude of my "family" for better times.  I'll give you a hint, just enough to imperil my bleeding stomach:  an oil portrait of the Mother-Unit, kept hidden for over 30 years, presumably from the Nazis, now in my possession.  It's beautiful, she's lovely, and she's about to hit the Underground Railroad of Mother's Oil Portraits.

Back to "The Chirp."  It's a phrase from  Joni Mitchell's Miles of Aisles, her designation for her role in The Band -- in that case, L.A. Express, back during the Court and Spark tour.

That reference drew a weird amount of ink, and I wouldn't waste time explaining it again but for that irritating Urban Dictionary.  Their chirp is rarely a noun, and is as far from referencing my chirp as chirp can get.

So yeah, we're "home," though squatters we shall always be.

I'll talk more at you when the meds kick in, the ginger ale is sipped, and Dobby gets caught up on belly rubs.  I threw this vid/song in when composing "Yay, Us!" but mean it even more haphazardly now than I did then.

The Chirp:

No comments:

Post a Comment

The Haddock Corporation's newest dictate: Anonymous comments are no longer allowed. It is easy enough to register and just takes a moment. We look forward to hearing from you non-bots and non-spammers!