I meant to post this video a few weeks ago, but more important blogs posts came up. Or, if you’re interested in something called “the truth,” I plumb forgot.
Until I Googled that phrase, I thought it was “plum” instead of plumb. So I feel just a tad bit silly.
But I was going to go into a rant that sounded something like this:
I don’t really get the phrases “I/he/she/they plum forgot” or “I’m/he’s/she’s/they’re plum crazy.” Why would you “plum” anything? How do you “plum” anything? Is is a verb? No. An adverb? No. I don’t “apple remember” or call people “kumquat stupid.”
But ah, the Internet – such a treat in this day and age, no? Because as one definition of “plumb” is an adverb meaning “directly or squarely,” I suppose it makes sense.
Just want to give a big ‘ol shoutout to Google for pointing out that I’m completely stupid. As well as just plum dum.
It still sounds super uneducated, though, just for the record.
But onto the real purpose for the initial paragraph of this post.
In addition to Efterklang’s “Modern Drift,” which I’m still completely (some might even say “plumb”) obsessed with, I’ve also had the song “Ho, Hey” by The Lumineers on repeat for the past month or so – and have no immediate plans to retire it. So here you go, brought to you by Big Sister.
In other news.
It’s storming, right as I type. Halle-freaking-lujah.
Take that, drought.
I really used to hate storms. No, sorry, that’s an understatement – it was up to, like, loathing or detesting status. I think it stems back to when I was in the second grade and we had this two or three-week period where it stormed like every day, and one particularly horrible day, we had to sit in our coat hallway-thing for about two hours after school should be out for the day, waiting for the all-clear post-tornado sirens to sound. And I knew, even as a little-bitty seven-year-old (yes, seven – I’m young for my grade), that sitting on the ground floor of the building – albeit a dark little alcove-esq, coat-clad hallway in a building made of brick – would most decidedly do nothing to protect us from the potential detriment of a tornado. Except maybe shatter shards of brick into our little seven- and eight-year-old eyes and skin.
Great visual, right?
And then Big Sister made me watch Twister. And then, I took all of my most prized possessions (including, of course, my Muppet Baby and Tweetie Bird blankets, numerous stuffed animals and an overplayed Chipmunks in Low Places cassette tape) down to the basement and slept there every night for at least two weeks because of that one scene where the tornado comes in the middle of the night and no one’s up watching the weather report on their local TV station or hears the distant tornado sirens so they don’t have time to make it outside and down into their cellars (which are honestly pretty creepy themselves. The cellars, not the people. I mean, they could be, but 1. I don’t know them personally and 2. they’re actors. So they’re either creepy in real life and bring that into their acting or they’re delightfully normal and play very believably creepy people. You decide.) and then all die.
I really didn’t want to die.
In all honesty, I’m really much better now. I mean, I still don’t really care for middle-of-the-night storm cells that just decide to pop up uninvited, and I still sometimes grope around for the remote to flip on the television at 2am to make sure we aren’t about to get annihilated by a rogue cyclone during a particularly hey-I’m-coming-through-Indianapolis-now storm.
Alright, actually, if our basement wasn’t crawling with questionable species like earwigs (I’m going to go ahead and apologize for hyperlinking that. It’s in your best interest not to click on it. But just know: It’s a myth that they crawl inside your ears. From what I’ve read, they don’t. Usually.), I’d probably still sometimes take all of my most prized possessions (including, of course, Boyfriend, Puppy and whatever wine bottles are lying around) downstairs to save us all from such catastrophe.
Fine, you know what? I still hate storms. Actually, I kind of abhor them. And if it was acceptable to hide in the bathroom with Puppy until they subsided, you bet your ass I’d be curled up on the rug right there beside him.