Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Nothin' on but the Radio

FUCK.

I just realized, just now, how little of my summer was spent in the bottoms of string bikinis and nothing else ("BUT THE RADIOOOOOO!", and, uh, a pair of sunglasses) and listening BROTHERS IN ARMS as loud as fucking possible on the turn table in the backroom leading into the garden whilst weeding my container plants.

(IT'S AN ANNUAL EVENT, YOU KNOW. DIRE STRAITS AND HALF PARTS OF BIKINIS AND GARDENING WITHOUT SUNBLOCK. HOWEVER, THIS YEAR, WE WEREN'T GIVEN THE PLEASURE OF HAVING WEATHER NICE ENOUGH TO WARRANT ANY OF THE ABOVE. SIGH.)

(GODBLESS MARK KNOPFLER AND THE EVOCATIVE, IMMORTALIZED SOUND OF ANTICIPATION THAT IS KNOWN AS THE BEGINNING OF MONEY FOR NOTHING. (IT AT ONCE MAKES ME FEEL YOUNG -AND- OLD, BLESS THE TIMELESSNESS AND DATEDNESS OF THOSE FIRST FEW BARS OF MUSIC!))

Our neighbors? They positively love me (especially when I decide to throw on W.A.S.P.'s Animal / Fuck Like a Beast).

("THAT'S THE WAY TO DO IT"? LULZ.)