Ramen, my siblings! Ramendan is truly upon us. Ramendan, of course, is the entire month of September when all good Pastafarians feast upon noodly goodness and remember their poor college days. Poor college students should continue as always, but perhaps with more noodles, beer, or wenches (whatever your poison). Fasting or prayer is discouraged as that will only get in the way of the religion's flimsy moral standards.
The height of Ramendan is International Talk Like a Pirate Day, September 19th. Next weekend is also the first weekend of the Saint Louis Pirate Festival. (We probably won't go that week as that's the same weekend as the Pig Out and the Apple Festival, but we do intend to go.) Basically, it's a Ren Faire with a pirate theme instead of a Renaissance theme. In other words, exactly the same but with slightly different costumes and probably more tickling o' the wenches. Yar, and tis a good month to be a Flying Spaghetti Monsterist.
Unrelated to pirates and noodly appendaged, but I was thinking about it, so I may as well invent a segue to try and make my thought process more seamless. My half birthday present was the first two series of Ballykissangel, a BBC show that I realise now is ten years old. The first three series are my very favourite show of all time ever. The last three, not so much; they lost the original writer and pretty much by the time the last series came around, there were hardly any of the original cast left. It wasn't the same show.
It first aired in 1996, but we didn't get it on IPTV until 1998 or thereabouts. I was so devoted to the show that I put a bunch of episodes on VHS and would get up at six in the morning on the weekends to watch three or four episodes. This was the period of time that I was watching everything with the repetition of a pre-schooler. I watched Nightmare Before Christmas, Much Ado About Nothing, The Princess Bride, The Music Man and Camelot (among others) at least once a week back then. I don't know where I found the time or dedication.
So, it was something of a shock to watch the show and realise that it's dated. Probably moreso if I lived in Ireland and actually knew anything about the country other than what I pretend to know, but the women are definitely, subtlely, dressing in another era.
It's as though, suddenly, I've gotten older. I have, but this is another way of driving home how much time has passed to make relatively normal looking clothes appear slightly out of place. I expect the 80's to look dated, I'll even stretch as far as to say 1993 is a different world fashion-wise, but for two decades to attempt this... I know I've said it before, but I'm not adjusting well to this growing up thing.
The Boy went to Cape G today to see the theatre Big Jeff, who graduated this past year, is working in now. It's a brand new building because the university there is expanding its programme. He's acting as TD and SD ("Why don't they call him the STD?" I asked.), but Little Jeff hopes that when he graduates next year he can go down and become TD and Big Jeff can be SD. (The S is for Scenic, the T is for Technical and the D is for Director or Designer, you work it out from there.)
TB says that on the way back, Little Jeff took him through Bald Knob (yep, Bald Knob) to see where the cross is. The cross is a huge affair built back in the 70's, I think. They have an Easter sunrise service every year, I gather. The cross is showing its age, but the real reason to go up there is (especially if you're not the type to get all worked up over a giant cross) that it stands on a bluff overlooking the whole river valley. I tried to get TB to go up there with me a couple times and he argued that he didn't want to go see a derelict cross. Neither did I.
So, he came home and said he wanted to go back when the leaves change colours because Little Jeff took him up and it was all pretty already and stuff. Sigh. If he'd just listen to me every once in a while. I'd like to get him to the Giant City and the Little Grand Canyon too. I've been to the LGC, and I'd like to go back when I've got more time and someone else.
The thing about the country down here is that it's bluffs. Three of the four poisonous snakes in the state prefer our corner of it. And snakes like bluffs. I'm not stupid enough to spend a lot of time wandering around alone where I know I could get bit by snakes. Hooray for pit vipers, says I.