Sinister, Wouldn't it be great if we could all eat packed lunches together (not in paper sacks, but rather, those large metal monsters that have hinges on them?) while balanced on a construction site beam? Inbetween bites of our stringy meated sandwiches we could glance at stolen blueprints that were sketched together by Mr. R.J. Gillanders who would be standing about 300 feet below us, looking up at our backs through shaded glasses. But anyway, I didn't want to really get into this as much as I did: needless to say, it's a cute image, all 1,500 of collective us balanced on this construction site beam. About eight months ago I met my great aunt Noni for the first time ever--I'd seen her around before, at funerals and weddings and crap, but I'd never met her: only heard about her. Apparently she was the beautiful sister, my grandfather wanting to marry her first but having to settle for Bead, my grandmother. So it was February, and had just snowed, and my family was pulling into the driveway of my Great Aunt Noni's house in Lincoln, Nebraska--her driveway cleaved bare, morseled in the midst of blankets of snow. Her house smelled like moldy trash and cats, beanie babies poised on every flat surface, waving flags, their ears flopping over from the heavy burden of store tags--her little black dog and her little black cat cycloned around my feet and I heard Great Aunt Noni shout from the kitchen: "Stevie! Oprah!" Their ears pricked up at her voice and they corralled into the kitchen. Photographs of Dick Cheney dotted every blank space on the wall--my Great Aunt Noni sat us down at her dining room table which was decorated with Little Debble Oatmeal Pies, and told us stories of living next door to Vice-President Dick--"Such a nice man, really," she'd said. She offered us the said oatmeal pies. "Why are your pets names Oprah and Stevie?" I asked her. "Well--because they're black," she answered, as if it had been completely obvious. Here is the problem with my telling of anecdotes: I don't know how to end them properly. I can either bring them to a sudden jolt and leave it up to you, or tack on some little scrap of narration to explain the point. I am no teller like Kirsten Kenyon, who somehow can tell anecdotes and end them perfectly--see, here I am, and I don't know where I go next. Seeing as this is, indeed, a Belle and Sebastian mailing list, I should probably, at least, take at least a time out to make some sort of connection with my anecdote to B&S--this could be a few things. For one, the dogs name was Stevie. The other pet I have no consideration for. "Oprah" I cannot juxtapose with Belle and Sebastian. Sadly enough, this seems to be the only connection to Belle and Sebastian in the anecdote--or maybe the snow, blanketed like it was, if only a wee fox could have jaunted across the yard at those few crucial moments, but.. sadly, no such thing happened. So. help me. ******** mandee m a y "inconsolably okay" +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+