I had to work late yesterday at the day job doing super-secret stuff. So when I finally made it home, I was contemplating resorting to posting the video of my cat screaming at me for being late for dinner (it was impressive yowlfest to say the least).
Then I checked the mail.
And I found this.
To me, few things feel better than a productive writing workend. When I’ve put a huge chunk of words on the page, I am so beyond happy that even the Republican party couldn’t tug me out of my nirvana.
Then the alarm clock beeps.
And I realize have a pile of dishes in my sink as big as the Smokey mountains. The laundry pile is more like the Rockies. My cats’ litter box needs to be changed. I have no groceries beyond a rotting bag of Trader Joe’s salad and two Laughing Cow wedges. I didn’t check the mail on Saturday. There are takeout (salad) boxes littering my loft.
This blog isn’t even a year old. But even I noticed changes in my traffic when Facebook rolled out their Promote feature. And I’ve kinda been wondering what the hell happened.
I was thinking, heh, maybe my friends have just gotten lazy. But no, it’s Facebook itself that’s messed up, potentially on purpose.
Glasses are a recent development for me. Unlike my parents and my sister, I don’t need them to see straight. There’s no danger of me colliding with a mail box or mistaking a bush for a person if I walk out of the house without them on. I wouldn’t be able to read a computer screen without developing an obnoxious headache, but I otherwise don’t need them to see.
As a new glasses wearer, I’m discovering that there are more than a few downsides to relying on two pieces of glass for proper eyesight.
A steamy predicament.
I’m not nearly as grumpy as this cat is, although the writing cove (a.k.a., the loft in my apartment in which my computer and my giant dry-erase board reside) still lacks power. And I’m regretting my decision to put my internet router up there as well. I can deal with no power. No internet is an entirely different bowl of thorns.
Got only two words to say about The Hobbit: rabbit and sleigh.
Okay, I do have a few more words, but those two were semi-spoilerous, and it’s only going to get worse. So if you want to see The Hobbit in all its over-inflated glory, then I strongly suggest you don’t click “Read More,” and come back after seeing what happens when no one has the resolve to cut the fat from a script.
Dear Muscles of My Back,
It seems that all you do these days is cause me pain. Especially you right Pirifomis, and you left Lattisimus Dorsi.
At least I know what left Lati’s beef is. I went to IKEA this weekend. And thanks to their flat packing, I was easily able to stuff a whole apartment’s worth furniture into my Honda Fit.
Because I have a cold, I needed something short to ramble about. I’ve decided to start a little feature I like to call the OBV Files. We’ll see where these things go, but the initial plan is to describe things that a person of average intelligence should know or be able to figure out, yet somehow they have succeeded in making my brain do a tap dance of confusion.
Hopefully, what you’ll get out of these posts is a good laugh or a chance to learn something new.
The laugh is more likely.
Last week, I finally got a chance to go see Skyfall. I enjoyed about 99% of the film. Daniel Craig made for a dark and delicious Bond, Dame Judi Dench was in fine form as M, and Javier Bardem stole the show as a villain so twisted you might as well have slapped some white paint on his face and called him the Joker. The script was also well done, and I felt the story more than made up for the sacrifice-plot-for-action insanity that was Quantum of Solace.
But for me, all that wonderful acting, that beautiful storytelling, got mucked up by the last five minutes of the film.
Okay, that last phrase should have clued y’all in that I’m about to discuss the end of movie in this post. If you haven’t seen the movie and don’t want me to spoil it for you, DON’T CLICK the “Read More” button or read past this paragraph. You’ve been duly notified.
So I thought it was interesting that Joe Peacock, the author of this much-maligned CNN post, resurfaced in the wake of Tony Harris’s juvenile rant.
In a post on his blog, Mr. Peacock suggested that Mr. Harris might have just been having a bad day–that he used Facebook to get something off his chest, but that he didn’t quite mean what he said.