Valentime’s Day is an event. It typically costs money. It always costs money.

Before taking off to Nashville, we celebrated in thrifty style. This was a big change from last year’s Valentime’s evening at Chez Lulu. It was way cheaper. Way.
We celebrated Valentime’s Day evening on Thursday night. Upon the advice from my boss, we were recommended to the local Little Caesar’s for the $5 walk-in pizza. What a deal. Walk in. Pick up. Maul. Eat without breathing. Do not chew. Swallow. Nom. Nom. Nom. We didn’t even sit at the kitchen table or make it to the couch—that is how violently we both attacked the pizza, killing it like we were a pair of Roman

I also got an iPhone, but that was not for Valentime’s. That was simply because I deserved it and my Verizon contract had expired. My life is anew. It is fresh. I am connected.
Later that night, we packed our suitcase for Nashville with the goal of seeing Jean, seeing a museum, seeing the Schermerhorn Symphony Hall, and seeing a free wind performance at Vanderbilt. We accomplished a lot in Nashville. Jean put us up at the world’s finest guest lodging—the guest room at Richland Place, the retirement home where she and Harry first met. On Saturday morning, we ventured to the Frist Center for the Medieval art exhibit where we examined lots of reliquaries that supposedly contained pieces of saints. Yes. Pieces. Like bits and pieces of St. Thomas. An ear or tooth from St. Denis. Pieces. Awesome. And the boxes and containers were so magnificently decorated, that one forgot that they contained dead pieces. Pieces.
I really found this fascinating. I was genuinely cracked up over it. Clearly, you see this as evidenced in my repeating the “pieces” point. Driving it home, I am. Pieces. Jean and I would lean in and exclaim about the beauty of an object, and then we’d read the description. Oh! Oooh. Not so endearing and beautiful when the object d’art is something that is so lovely to look at in order to distract from the gruesome ... pieces. The truth—someone is dead in there, at least a piece of someone, and we’re supposed to revel in the beauty of its container. The pieces container. Seriously, I cannot use italics enough to convey our surprise and amusement.
Upon leaving the Frist, Jean asked us Granddaddy Harry’s favorite question upon leaving any type of museum or attraction: “what was your favorite part of the exhibit?” This was a no-brainer for me. Me, all mesmerized and giddy over the reliquaries and their various pieces that I could not see but was obviously deep in imagination land and living with deeper now. Mr. Husband, while not sharing my utter sarcasm-has-nothing-on-me-fascination with pieces, agreed with me about my favorite part of the exhibit: the world’s oldest known zombie hand. If you love video games, you can appreciate zombies.

Found: First known zombie hand chewed off by infected Saint Denis after his being compromised by a band of violent gypsy zombie artisans. The band of gypsies promptly encased their first zombie hand in precious metals and worshiped it with fervor, fever, and bloodthirsty hunger. You never can get enough zombie hand.
What we especially appreciated in this between-the-lines reading was the marketing grab for attention at the end. Those zombies! Always trying to get you hooked!
And that was our Valentime’s Day up until noon: 2/14/2009.
1 comment:
Are there other between-the-lines zombie hands in other museums? I'm thinking of a traveling zombie hand exhibit. Poster art: zombie hand series #12. Do they come back to life in the night to feed on the pieces?
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