Song for a Crappy Tuesday

Rice Krispies are not a good hand-held cereal.

There are some breakfast cereals that can translate from milk-in-bowl to dry-in-hand with ease. Life Cereal, Frosted Flakes, Frosted Shredded Wheat and Coco Puffs fall into this category, with their limited crumbles, easy to handle size. (There might be some debate on this. Coco Puffs have the roll under the fridge factor, and, as one reaches the bottom of the box of Frosted Flakes, the easy to handle flake size reduces to unmanageable dust.)

Cereals like Fiber One, Fruity Pebbles or Honey Smacks are less adaptable. The individual pieces don't stack well so it's like carrying a fistful of instant avalanche. And good luck getting all of the Pebbles into your mouth.

Rice Krispies fall into this second classification. (In addition to being almost cruelly taste free.)

The Ides of September Tuesday does not seem to care about this. She has brought the box from kitchen and is now sitting next to you on the couch, her toes tucked between the cushions.

Moments before, you could hear her rattling around in the kitchen. The cupboard would open and then shut. The rattle of old ranch dressing bottles would chime out as she pulled open the fridge. You could feel the chilled air escaping as she stood, idle, in front of the glowing shelves. The fridge door would shut. And then open again, thirty seconds later.

"Do we have anything to eat?"

You don't answer. You have been trying to read this same Atlantic Monthly article for 45 minutes now.

The question comes again, with a hair's breadth more emphasis.

"Do we have anything to eat?"

The exhausted refrigerator motor clicks on, begging her to close the door.

You try not to sound irritated. "What you see is what we have."

"Jeez. I was just asking." The fridge closes. And there is silence. Then it opens again.

"Are we out of milk?"

You do not change your position, though your eyes shoot tranquilizer darts at the direction of the kitchen. "I guess so."

She sighs and closes the fridge door again. Then, a rustling of cereal boxes.

TIoST appears in the living room, carrying her box of Rice Krispies. She joins you on the couch.

"You're gonna eat those without milk?"

"Uh-huh." She shoves her hand into the box. "Want some."

"No thanks."

"Okay." And with that, she produces a little mound of puffed rice and whips it to her mouth. Ricey pebbles shoot all over the place and into the cushions of the couch. From throat she utters the sound of uh-oh, which sounds like "mm-mm".

She then crawls close to your ear and her lips part. "Yisten. Oo cam still heayoo da Smap, Kwackle amd Bop in mah mouf."

You close your magazine. There is no way you can read with the deafening and unmistakable roar of Rice Krispies in your ear.


I was never a swooner for Patrick Swayze. The year Dirty Dancing came out, all my girlier friends were falling all over themselves. (Dirty Dancing also caused a stir in my youth because it was filmed on location at Lake Lure, situated about an hour away from my hometown. A few of my older friends were extras.) I had just discovered the Lost Boys and was more inclined towards Jason Patrick or Keifer Sutherland. (I was not a Corey girl.)

Swayze seemed nice enough...if a little long in the tooth to be cavorting around a bunch of college kids. But I never dreamed of the day when he would Meringue me off into the sunset.

Even so, I can appreciate his icon status, and I'm a little sad to see him go.

I'm afraid my experience with the song "Unchained Melody" has been hampered by its relationship to the movie Ghost.

When Ghost came out in 1990, and was nominated for Best Picture, I think was joined by many around the world in my total confusion. Whuh-HUH? I suppose it makes sense. Almost every Best Picture nominee is a variation on our favorite topics, Death and Sex. But Ghost? Really?

The scene when Demi Moore and Swayze are overcome with desire next to the potting wheel has been the subject of some well earned parody (they're just so into it.). The fact that "Unchained Melody" underscores the wet-clay seduction has been a factor in my avoidance over the years.

But I gave it a listen last night and the Blue Eyed Soul of the Righteous Brothers can transcend previous notions. It's quite a beautiful song.



Rest in Peace, Mr. Swayze.