I realized earlier this evening that in the course of one day, I have heard new music on the radio from Depeche Mode, The Cure, and Morrissey. For a moment this realization made me want to paint my nails black, don a pair of black and white horizontally striped tights, and contemplate my intellectual superiority to all of the girls on my high school's prom court. But then it occurred to me that the respectable and irony-free return of the music that shaped my formative years was made possible maybe not just because the talent and appeal of these aging gentlemen miraculously stands the test of time and cross-generational tastes, but because we are currently living through an extremely strange and uncomfortable (for me) period during which anything and everything from the 80s is welcomed back with open arms and no questions asked. Yes, I have new music from Morrissey, but the tradeoff for this gift is the return of leggings and bubble tops. It's a mixed blessing, obviously.
I remain wary of how far the phenomenon will stretch. If there truly is no limit to the resurgence of all things 80s, has anyone notified Weird Al or the creators of Punky Brewster yet? Let's hope not.
This was going to be a post of bulleted randomness, by the way, as I have several thoughts on my mind but none of them are noteworthy or important enough to expand into a full post on their own. I have noticed that my bullet points often become full paragraphs, however, which renders the bullet essentially useless. How do you feel about full paragraphs of transition-free randomness? Are you OK with that? Good. Moving on.
For tonight's post, by the way, we can all thank Stephenie Meyer. Not because she has anything directly to do with it (or because her unparalleled success with crappy writing is an inspiration to me), but because the annual Minneapolis-St. Paul International Film Festival is currently in full swing, and I had planned to be at a showing of How to Be this evening, rather than at home typing a blog post. Amazingly, however, although Rotten Tomatoes knows almost nothing about this film at this point, tonight's screening of it at the festival was completely sold out at least a day in advance. What does this have to do with Stephenie Meyer? Not a lot, except that I suspect at least a portion of the surprising popularity of this particular festival entry might be related to the fact that it stars Robert Pattinson, and I may have underestimated the Twin Cities' involvement in Edward Cullen Mania when I neglected to buy my ticket in advance. My bad.
Speaking of strange mistakes (that was my half-hearted attempt at a logical transition for at least ONE new paragraph in this post), my phone rang twice in quick succession on Saturday, both from the same unknown number. Surprisingly it was not a sales call or a charity or a political organization, however, all of whom were the reason I let both calls go to voicemail instead of answering. No, the message the caller left on my voicemail went something like this: "Hi, if this is Colleen, I'm calling numbers out of the phone book at random. This is Al [LastName]. Could you give me a call at home, at 612-###-####?"
I almost wanted to call Al back and introduce him to the wonder and usefulness that is the Internet, because I can only assume that searching for Colleen on the Internet has got to be at least as successful as dialing numbers AT RANDOM from the phone book. Also, who still uses a phone book? People who don't know how to spell "Colleen," apparently, because if I were, in fact, using a phone book to locate someone by that name, I would probably skip right over all listings where the first name is the initial "S." Then again, how many people are even still in the phone book these days? Those of us with land lines are a shrinking minority. Maybe the logic is that we all must know each other. Come to think of it, I believe there was a Colleen at last month's meeting of Luddites Anonymous. I'll have to keep an eye out for her next time so I can pass along the message.
And finally, one more random thought. I have realized recently that I seem to be incapable of slicing open an avocado without smiling and proclaiming out loud (What? I live alone, remember?) how very much I love avocados and how I might even actually marry one now that Iowa's acceptance of gay marriage has paved the way for us to marry our pets and inanimate objects and anything else we might decide we cherish and covet in a potentially inappropriate way. I may have to move someplace where polygamy is legal, of course, as we all know I'm already betrothed to my blue yoga pants, but I like to dream big, people. I know this can happen in our lifetime.
ANYWAY. Back to avocados. Obviously I am a big fan. Love their work. Yay for avocados is what I'm saying. But it occurred to me tonight as I was slicing one into a salad that my love for the avocado is relatively new. I don't remember when I first had avocado in its whole (not guacamole) form, but I'm certain it was post-high school. Likely even post-college. Did I even know avocados existed when I was a child or teenager? Does the rest of the tiny town where I was raised know about avocados yet? I didn't have a bagel until college either, though admittedly that was because my mother simply never bought them, not because my town didn't know they existed. I have always been a late bloomer; what else is still fully off my radar? This whole avocado thing is making me wonder what other foods I love but don't even know exist yet. And don't say wasabi peas or Hapi mixed rice crackers, because I am already in full addiction mode with both of those at the moment. And don't say "pan-seared skate wing," because we already know how that worked out for me.
Yes, these are the big questions that I ponder during the mundane moments of daily life. Isn't there anything of little import that you're thinking about today?