Pink Floyd, Ummagumma 1969
Confession: I am enjoying this entire "Pink Floyd Song Titles as Blog Post Titles" thing far more than I thought I would. At first, I just figured it would be a silly thing to do, but I am finding that so many song titles simply fit. I also enjoy playing the albums as I write. A few months back, I was tempted to sell off all of my Pink Floyd CD collection as I have already burned it to iTunes. I am so relieved I did not because I can play the CDs directly on our incredibly awesome sound system (the Bose commercials do not lie, folks.) Also? I think we have a Pink Floyd fan in the making because Arun really enjoys them, too. And I could not be happier sharing one of my favorite bands with him.
So, first up, I forgot a very important snap for yesterday's post and it must be included. This is quite simply the most awesome of Halloween house decorating I think I have ever come across:
Team Chaos LOVES this house and begs for a daily viewing. I wonder if the owners are weirded out by the gray Acura that creeps slowly past their house and sometimes even parks across the street while rolling down its windows.
So, it is that time of year. The time when it gets chilly and the effing squirrels start clamouring for ways into my house in the style of Children of the Acorn. All morning long I hear
Those of you new to this literary rave may not know that I have a long, sordid history with squirrels which began while I was nine months pregnant with Arun. In short, do not mess with a woman while her husband is out of town and she is mere weeks from giving birth. She will dance barefoot with unabashed glee in her front yard while squirrels flail in agony in traps set amongst her gutters. Feel free to check out my "Tastes Like Chicken" archive where I describe in great detail the glory that was the Great Squirrel Sagas of 2005 and 2007.
Oh and I should make a particular mention that both Sagas happened while I was gestating, so imagine my fright when a few months ago, I heard some banging, then scratching. I thought it was a cat, but instead discovered this:
Nothing is more ominous than seeing your shyest of your cats lying in wait like that and I swear my uterus quaked in fright. Fortunately, the scratching and banging ended, so it seemed the creature returned to its lair. And no pregnancy tests were harmed in the process.
But this recent spate of roof thumping has me nervous. I really, really hope we are not getting squirrels again. Not to sound dramatic, but squirrels are certainly on the short list of Things Kelli Does Not Really Need At This Moment.
Truthfully, I am so tempted to scoot over to Wal-Mart and buy a damned BB gun. You think I am kidding? I come by it honestly. After all, I am the daughter of the man who has declared the NRA to be too liberal an organization for him.
Pray for the squirrels, folks.