laguera25 | Entries tagged with nashville star

( Nashville Star, Week 5 )

I haven't listened to either Reise, Reise or Rosenrot yet because I can't bring myself to remove Mutter from the CD player, but I have them. I also have two new German workbooks. One is a comprehensive overview and review of the language, and the other is a preposition workbook. Yes, German prepositions are complicated enough to warrant their own workbook, and if you don't master them, they will gleefully ruin your chances of not sounding like a slavering moron with a tourist's dictionary every time you open your cakehole. You can conjugate verbs in every tense like a virtuoso, and you will still be fucked like a Berlin whore with no lube if you don't remember if "mit" requires the dative or accusative ending. Prepositions single-handedly borked my attempts to write complex essays auf Deutsch and brought my progress in the language to a grinding, pathetic halt.

My interest in the language would have remained dead if I hadn't discovered Rammstein. In fact, I was on the verge of dropping the German half of my major just to end the pain of being kept from graduation by a single grammar course. But I've been reinvigorated, reminded of how awesome the language can be, and I'm determined to bring prepositions to heel. I'm going to put myself through the paces in the summer and fall, and if I can make progress, I'm going to take that last course in the spring. Booyah, bitches.

I've done the first two chapters, which are simple greetings, questions, statements, and definite/indefinite article exercises. So far, I've scored 100% on all sections.

But the prepositions are waiting.

Tags:

My grandfather died on Sunday evening at the age of 81. According to my mother, he wasn't in any pain and did not recognize those around him. His wife, Grandma Helen, is understandably devastated even though she is grateful that his suffering is over. She and the rest of the family are making funeral arrangements and will let me know what's happening when.

It hasn't sunk in for me yet. The brain understands and parses the meaning; the heart does not. It keeps insisting that dead doesn't really mean dead; no more; gone. It just means that he's gone for a while and will be back. I suspect that my heart will resist the truth until a sliver of memory or a remembered bit of conversation smashes through its fragile wall of denial and reminds it that dead is dead, no matter how much I wish it wasn't.

When my father died, it took several days for that reality to set in, and when it did, I was a wreck for days. I still wish for my father sometimes, even though he's been dead for eleven years. When my ex dumped me in 2003, all I wanted was for my big, strong daddy to hunt him down and dribble his ass like a basketball until he regretted every rotten thing he ever said to me. I don't think daughters ever stop looking for their fathers when life goes sour. I doubt I'll stop looking for my grandfather any time soon, either.

I know the worst is over, but the aftermath feels pretty damn rotten. Words are inadequate, and gestures seem impotent and useless, so I'm just going to do what I always do: wrap my arms around the nearest metaphorical eucalyptus tree and cling to it like a koala on a meth and PCP cocktail.

In other "You want some fries with that shit shake?" news, the financial guru in charge of my father's estate changed firms(again), so I'll be $400 short until I trudge down to the bank and get a(nother) goddamned authorization letter for the monthly funds transfer. Apparently, my trustee couldn't be assed to tell me ahead of time about the change so that I could have the letter ready. You know, because cripples on fixed incomes can take a $400 shortfall in perfect stride. And a trip to the bank on short notice is no problem for someone with no car and a dwindling bus fare cache. We'll be all right since I'm paranoid and fret about such calamities every month, but I'm tired of having my budget, such as it is, wrecked because the bean counter who cuts the checks got a case of wanderlust.

( CSI:NY S5 SPOILERS And Speculation )

The resultant noise from that endeavor will sound eerily similar to the godawful performance of Laura and Sophie on last night's Nashville Star. In other words, like a cat being artificially inseminated with a gold-plated Garden Claw.

Tags:

Because this week has been so stressful, Roomie is taking me out tomorrow for teriyaki. Before the news of Grandpa's decline, I'd planned to see Wall.E next week, but since it's now a matter of days until he leaves us, that will likely have to wait. The teriyaki is the closest Roomie can get to comfort food, and the poor thing is out of his element in terms of grief counseling. I think he'd build me a Wall.E and buy me a Japanese chef if he thought it would help me cope.

As for me, I've been coping by existing within the world inside my head, have explored and discarded several fic scenarios and tinkered with possible scenes, offshoots, and B-Sides. I've played with my Tommy Dowd dolly and paired him up with his beloved Molly Donovan; I've had Flack fly to L.A. in a bid to set things right; I've had Rebecca return to New York out of homesickness. I've had them scrap like cats and dogs and pine and canoodle. I've had Flack drive eighty miles hour to Coney Island to buy a Nathan's Famous dog for a pregnant and peevish Rebecca, who will then bitch that it's cold by the time he gets home. Until she sees his face and tells him he's the best husband EVER. I've had Flack say something insanely stupid to her over the phone and then bring her a cheesecake with chocolate ginoche in the middle of the night in an effort to make amends. I've had them bonk in 543,785 various positions and locales. I've done everything but think about the inevitable.

And it works. Except for when my mother sends contradictory emails about his condition. Three days ago, he was alert and able to read letters and accept calls, and I was told he had a few weeks to two months. This morning, I'm told he does little more than drift and sleep and won't last a week. I'm frustrated by the ever-changing outlook and wish my mother would just admit that no one knows when the end will be. But this is her father, a man with whom she's had a contentious, bitter relationship, and I suspect she's dealing with a great many unresolved and conflicting emotions. She's allowed to be a little crazy.

( Nashville Star, Week 3 )

Tags:

( Nashville Star, Week 2--SPOILERS )

And oh, my God, I've just spent several paragraphs holding forth on the countrified version of American Idol. I'm officially losing my mind.

Well, it was either that or rattle on about Miss Piggy as the prototypical domestic abuser...

Tags:

nashville star,
tv

The 35th Precinct

Welcome to the CSI:NY Bullpen

German Revisited and Nashville Star, Week 5

The End, CSI:NY S5 SPOILERS, and a Note on Nashville Star, Week 4

Avoidance and Nashville Star, Week 3

Nashville Star, Week 2

Profile

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags