Hopping to the Phone Like a Rabbit

Herewith an announcement I never expected to make: I have developed an affectionate attachment to a Dixie Chicks CD.

Tom lent me Home, which came out in 2002, and on which most songs were not written by them, and Taking the Long Way, which came out in 2006, and on which most songs were written by them. Home is horrible. Taking the Long Way is, considering it’s a genre I can’t stand, wonderful.

I don’t like every song on it, but I like a surprising number, and am crazy about a couple (in particular, “Silent House,” which is really gorgeous). One song (“Not Ready to Make Nice”) is about the brouhaha about Natalie Maines’ remark about President Bush (that she was ashamed he was from her home state of Texas).

In Shut Up & Sing, Barbara Kopple’s documentary about the Dixie Chicks, one of them says the fallout was the best thing that could have happened to them. Listening to Taking the Long Way, I’d say that was absolutely true. I was thinking I would actually buy this CD, but then realized it would be easier to call Tom and inform him that the Dixie Chicks CD that used to be his is now mine. (I bought him another this week. He hadn’t even heard it when he lent it to me! He’s awfully nice.)

I saw my acupuncturist Friday night for the first time in several weeks. I had been in a sluggish period where many things—taking a shower, washing the dishes, getting up in a timely fashion to go to work—seemed difficult, and going clear across town for any reason impossible. I canceled two appointment in a row, both with precisely twenty-four hours’ notice, which is procedurally correct, but I still felt kind of like a flake and faintly guilty when I finally arrived, though I’m sure it’s all the same to him. He has the air of one to whom it’s all the same, in a good way.

It was so nice to see his face, I was surprised I had stayed away. I scolded him, “It was horrible without you. Don’t ever leave me again.” He grinned, enjoying the joke.

During Car Talk this weekend, one of the brothers wondered aloud what the various radio stations use the two breaks in the program for. The other answered that they use the first break to apologize for Car Talk being on the air, and the second to tell their listeners that a real radio program will be on in 21 minutes and to please wait for that.

During the second break, the KQED announcer described the next show that was going to be on and said, absolutely deadpan, “This real radio program is just 21 minutes away, so please stay with us.”

I came down with a cold on Saturday and so didn’t do much over the weekend. On Saturday, I took P. to see Casino Royale, which I enjoyed, but I ended up irritated with him, as always, and think that was the last time I’ll be taking him out.

While we were riding in the cab down to the theater, we passed my house and I asked the driver to stop so I could run in for a bottle of water, which I’d realized I might need to quell coughing during the movie. When I got back in the cab, P. was smoking a cigarette. He quickly, and typically, laid the blame elsewhere: “The driver told me to smoke in the cab!” I did cough horribly throughout the movie.

I’d told P. that he would not be able to leave the theater during the movie, because his sister doesn’t want him wandering around by himself, and I don’t want to miss any of the movie, so I was also annoyed when he announced halfway through, “I have to go to the bathroom!” I asked him to wait and crossed my fingers that his bladder wouldn’t burst. It didn’t. Later, his sister said he probably just wanted to go outside and have a cigarette, which hadn’t occurred to me.

A teensy piece of a filling fell out of one of my molars today. The last time it was repaired, it was so horrible—I can’t stand having air blown on my teeth—I hoped I would go the whole rest of my life without it falling out again. Maybe I won’t even have it fixed, or maybe I’ll ask them to give me general anesthesia and remove the tooth plus its neighbor, to scare the others into compliance.

Several days ago, I telephoned Tom, who lives right above me. I could hear that he was up there, but his machine answered. His message played, and then I began to leave my message. Then there was a terrible crashing and banging overhead and I said, “What are you doing up there? Stop that.” Tom picked up the phone and said, “I’m hopping to the phone like a rabbit."