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GOOD MORNING SATURDAY WORLD.

And thank you to everyone who reminded me that Glenn Miller has two 'n's. I just destroyed any street cred I had as a lover of big band swing and jazz, but really, you can't mix the oldies with street cred anyway. And I bet very few of you have ever heard the album Electric Mud played.

And you should probably, really, be grateful for that. 'Cause what comes to mind when you listen is that someone had to actually hear Muddy Waters play psychedelic blues and then say to him, "This is great, but it needs more screeching cats. And some harp."

While it is fun to wail along to 'Manchild', I'm thinking of banning the album from R's playlist and insisting he replace it with the perfectly decent Fats Waller album he owns. Now that's my kind of music. I don't go out late, no, I don't care to go; I'm home about eight, just me and my radio -- ain't misbehavin', I'm saving my love for you....

R and I have musical tastes that are often parallel but rarely intersect, siblings of each other. Come to think of it I rather bookend him -- folk music on one side of the Blues spectrum, early jazz on the other. And then for some reason he'll break out the Iggy Pop, and I'll become very confused. :D

(no subject)

Groceries have been achieved.

We have steak; chicken, onions, mushrooms, bellpeppers, and kielbasa for kebabs; beef for burgers; portobellos for grilling; buns, chips, dip, and some macaroni and cheese for a side. Plus, while we did not get Everclear, we do have two types of whiskey, plus plenty of wine. R's godsister and her boyfriend are coming, as well as Rat Pack boy, two of R's fellow bluesmen, and the sisters M and B.

It's a little odd, because I don't really have a social group in Chicago per se, and these are all R's friends (M and B set me up with him as a roommate, and have known him a lot longer than I have). But they all know each other and most of them have met me, so they socialise well, and I'll be busy cooking most of the time anyway. All but the Bluesmen are at least a quarter Irish, including me, so it's a true St. Pat's get-together. The Bluesmen, both African-American, joke that they're Black Irish.

The checkout girl at the grocery store asked us what St Patrick's Day was all about, really, and then I made her eyes glaze over with a thorough explanation of the Irish history of the day and the function of the festival for early Irish-American communities in America.

"But really," R added, "It's about wearing a plastic green hat and getting hammered."

(no subject)

Oh R, you ass.

The internet and TV went out because R didn't have his shit together. The bill hasn't been paid since December.

It's not that he can't pay the bill, since it comes out of the account that my rent checks go into, so there's always enough in there. It's just that he never opens his mail. I'm tempted to open the gas and electricity bills to make sure we're not in danger of losing heat and light as well. He doesn't even need to bring the mail inside, I do that when I come home from work and sort his mail into a pile (ever-growing) on the kitchen counter. He just needs to open it and pay it. Ten minutes, literally.

I called and paid it and got it switched back on, since I'm in a position to do so and he's gone to Indiana till tomorrow.

He is not a gold-star student in my book this week. Love him to death, but honestly.