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It's three o'clock in the morning and I just got back from Benito's Tacos. They make the best burritos around and they're open 24 hours. That's good for me because I'm as nocturnal as they come. I love the dark! When I was six years old, I wrote a song called "Dark Dancing Parade," and my sister and I turned off all the lights and marched around the house, singing and banging empty Folgers coffee cans with wooden spoons. We also liked to put our little girl underpanties on our heads, pull our long pigtails through the leg holes, and sing in squeaky unison, "We're the Panty Head Punk Rockers! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" That's not the only fun we had with coffee cans though. One time, when both of our parents were out of town, a sixteen year old girl named Pattie came over to babysit. I was about eight, my sister Mary was six, and my brother Charles was only three, but we put our little heads together to contrive a plan that would get rid of the babysitter for good. So we took all the empty Folgers cans from the garage (my dad used them to store fishing stuff), we filled them with water, and put them on top of every door. When the babysitter opened the doors, these huge coffee cans fell on her head. She was soaked, and thinking back, that had to hurt. But we thought it was hilarious. Absolutely, positively hilarious. That was until our parents came home, anyway, and mom decided to blame every bit of the chaos and destruction on me! And why not? Mary and Charles would never pull such a devious prank, unless I was the mastermind behind it all, right? Mastermind. I always liked that word. mas·ter·mind n 1: Someone who creates new things [syn: originator, conceiver] 2: Someone who has exceptional intellectual ability and originality ["Mozart was a child genius"] 3. A highly intelligent person, especially one who plans and directs a complex or difficult project [the mastermind of a robbery]. It wasn't until years later that I realized this wasn't a compliment. But enough reminiscing. What's happening these days? Well, I went out to Indio for the Coachella music festival. The desert was so hot. It was 107 degrees, and I don't know how anyone survived. Okay, that's all for now. I think I'm gonna go mastermind myself a cup of coffee. xoxo Christine
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