All queued up

What’s up with the ‘author name’ Susie-queue?  Do you know/remember the group  Spandau Ballet?  Ever hear their song True?  The lyrics start off as follows: So true ~ Funny how it seems~Always in time, but never in line for dreams …   Well besides Spandau Ballet coming into their own, again, this lyric has been an excellent tag line for a number of cliff hanger conversation moments.  Let me give you an example, when someone tells me something like, “I never thought life was going to turn out like this …” – I reply, “So true … funny how it seems … always in time, but never in line for dreams.”  This tends to confuse whomever I am speaking with and interestingly enough distracts them from their original tale of woe.  I ask them if they remember Spandau Ballet, we sing the song together.  It’s all good.

Still not getting the queue in Susie-queue?  Duh.  I’m always in time but never in line (queue – get it?).   It’s time for me to get in line, so to speak, so that I can realize some of my dreams.  I agree, too esoteric (or Precious Moments ) or stupid for a Wednesday morning.

Wishing things undone …

I finished the Julie/Julia book I referenced in yesterday’s blog.  I can’t believe that an extra 25 pages could make me go from being disappointed in a book to being utterly disgusted,  but it happened and I cannot undo reading them – although I wish I could. 

Julie Powell upon learning of the death of her “mentor” (Julia Child – they never met and Julia only found out about Julie Powell’s blog tangentially and called it uppity and crass) manages to (albeit poorly) refute the existence of any afterlife, relegates Julia Child’s immortal soul to nonexistence and professes that she can only live on in Julie Powell’s mind and the collective memory of her fans (and I suppose loved ones – although they are not mentioned).  Julie P. is an arrogant B. 

She ends the book with an awful excerpt from her upcoming novel about becoming a butcher with a disturbing delight in vivisection, cutting up animal organs and professes her sympathy for the likes of Jack the Ripper because there is poetry in dissecting carcasses – yikes. 

Julie Powell comes across as a disturbed individual but as long as I try to picture her as Amy Adams it helps to dispel the horror.  I’m thinking as far as the movie goes that Nora Ephron has hopefully left out the protagonist’s proclivity for saying f**&k as a form of punctuation for all of her sentences and withholds the part in the book about Julie Powell discovering a maggot covered drip pan in her kitchen.  I may never want to eat again – was that the point of the book?

Monday morning fidgets …

Mondays are fussy days for me, no matter how much preparation goes on prior to my catapult out the door.  Fresh linens, vacuumed carpets and swept floorboards over the weekend do little to make me feel put together on Monday morning.  Into work I go and I’m like a sleepy Princess and the Pea … my work chair doesn’t feel right, my ears itch, my skirt has wrinkled up in the most odd way, my co-workers get on my nerves appearing calmly comatose; I can’t settle down.  I think I need a nap. 

I read three quarters of the way through Julie & Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously this weekend … I have high hopes the movie is better than the book.  It’s not that she doesn’t have some charm and appeal but she goes places where she just shouldn’t … like an S & M operation.  Is that really necessary?  Somehow this image she jauntily includes in her story grotesquely coupled with her description of cutting up a lobster while still alive – ick.   Don’t be concerned that the reading of this book will set your appetitie off like an amuse bouche, it will more likely keep you out of the kitchen and on your high fiber diet.  

In any case it’s a fun (i.e. dumb) read.  As I mentioned I have higher hopes for the movie.  August 7th here I come.