The competing titles of this entry were:
Another Saturday Without Sarah and the Ensuing Boredom Antics
The Møøse is on the Løøse
“Help! Help! I’m Being Repressed!”
After searching determinately for quality Saturday morning cartoons, knowing beforehand about unavoidable and upcoming dismay, but looking anyway, I decided to watch a movie. Since Sarah left for work, I was left to play with the cats and clean. Unfortunately, I’m not going to clean immediately.
So, why not write?
I could be doing many things, including playing music. This will most likely happen and determining my level of boredom, I may be dancing around with one of the cats, or a broom. This is to simply fulfill the cliche moment of a movie or television show where one character may do this. It looks awful out, Sarah said it was awful out, and I am torn on what to do. When someone tells you not to do something, the first thing you want to do is the opposite. I just don’t know what I’d like to do.
Since there are no more quality cartoons on Saturdays and I’m trapped inside, reflecting on the not surprising sudden change in weather… Wait! An idea. There is only one thing that can relate to Syracuse weather: Monty Python and the Holy Grail!
Hence the title: “In the frozen land of Nador(/Syracuse) they were forced to eat Sir Robin’s minstrels. There was much rejoicing.”
Following with: “A year passed. Winter changed into Spring. Spring changed into summer. Summer changed back into winter. And Winter gave spring and summer a miss and went straight on into autumn. Until one day…”
They have obviously been to Syracuse. This is typical though. Yesterday’s second entry, I mentioned the instability of weather around here. I am not surprised and you shouldn’t either about the return of Old Man Winter’s revenge.
I must digress. One of the dreams I had last night involved my going to Sarah’s parents’ house to help with snow removal while she was at work. I told her father I’d be over and like time in many dreams, the drive only taking 38 minutes shorter than the usual 40. As I turned down the side street, it was clogged with snow and a devastated shed. The road slowly narrowed to a point where I could no longer drive and I had to get out, climb through the snow and over the debris. Her father was looking on, his hands on his hips, and wearing a grin on his face. I look up at him, smile and call out, “What the hell? Aren’t you supposed take care of your side roads around around here?” He laughed and the dream ended.
I, also, dreamt of playing guitar with Jack Johnson. I don’t know how and why that came about, but there was a show and I got to play with him. However, due to my lack of practicing, I was not ready and insistent that I did not play. Jack and my mom encouraged me to play and not to worry, because I knew what I had to do. Fin.
There is nothing funnier than the comical troupe of Monty Python. I don’t think there is. The only exception, an exception which is not comparable by any means, considering that comparisons should be of the same genre of troupes, being in this case Monty Python relating to sketch comedy and the only rightful comparison would be a forever changing Saturday Night Live cast, being not consistent like the Python crew (“GET ON WITH IT!”)… sheesh, okay, fine: The Three Stooges. I can watch The Three Stooges and Monty Python over and over, having the same reaction of uncontrollable laughter.
Saturday Night Live is flat out terrible now, with dismal sketches and few laughs, and the hosts play themselves most of the time. Long live English humour!
This Monty Python and the Holy Grail was consistently watched, discussed, analyzed, and reminisced and quoted several times through the years. This is especially true with the one and only Zach Parrish, whom I have talked about several times, an upcoming American Poet Laureate, boasting of his talent of poetry and prose and his love of the arts: music, literature, and movies. Where sitting and chatting is encouraged, being ridiculous is necessary.
One of the things I wanted to do was fix my laptop with the unreadable CD drive. I have no idea what happened with it, but this being necessary to burn mixed CDs for people.
I also need to retrieve my Michael Palin book of journals, purchased months ago at the now closing Borders for $6. The book is of all his journal entries during the Monty Python years, justifying the humor and love of the craft, defining Monty Python’s purpose.
I’m going to do that now.