 Catching Up |
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The Good
My new vacuum cleaner, which I bought myself for my birthday. I choked on the price at first, but, after doing my research, I realized that at that moment there were few things that would improve my quality of life more than substantially than ridding my home of a large proportion of its pet hair, which my old vacuum cleaner and I fear any ordinary vacuum cleaner simply could not do. And it was on sale. So I bought it. I have given it a nickname. I use it just for kicks when the floors and rugs are already clean just to watch the stuff swirl around in the canister. I don’t know about the rest of you pet owners, but I was so sick of vacuuming my area rugs and there still being visible pet hair all over them and my attachments sucking up nary a hair off of my couch and other furniture. So, even though it doesn't really go very low underneath things and I trip over the mile-long cord sometimes, I think it was worth it. Being able to sit on the furniture and not immediately lint-roll my butt is so gratifying. I'm trying to be more vigilant about keeping fucking Daisy off the furniture. She's the main offender. The cats mostly hang out on my bed, but Daisy just wants to curl up constantly anywhere she's not allowed. Luckily, the weather will be nice enough soon that she'll hopefully not be spending much time inside unless she's asleep in her crate. Zuko, strangely, is not that into furniture unless he's hiding under it during a storm. Anyway. I love you, Dyson DC07. The Tragic
The Fametracker forums are closing. I wasn't a poster, but I've been reading these forums regularly for years, and I don't think there's any place like them. Maryelizabeth and I are both distraught and basically inconsolable over this and take comfort only in the knowledge that we'll still have our own two-way discussions of celebrity minutia like we've been having for the past twenty years. This probably sounds very stupid, but there will be a definite void online without these forums and the posters who inhabited it. I have no idea where I'm going to read about scientology, plastic surgery, and obscure forgotten television shows of the eighties anymore. The Shocking
Are You My Mother? is not a Dr. Seuss book. What? Maryelizabeth, her husband, and I were lying around on their daughter's nursery floor the other night unpacking her books, and I read a very scary and disturbing and nonsensical one aloud about ten turkeys doing a noodle dance and falling off a fence and we were all like, "Crap like this only shows that Dr. Seuss was a genius." I commented, however, that Are You My Mother? always kind of traumatized me because what little kid needs to read a book about a poor little bird who can't find his mom? I mean, I realize that he (spoiler alert!) finds her in the end, but the entire book until then is just upsetting. That is the stuff of nightmares like getting lost at the mall. Maryelizabeth replied that Dr. Seuss didn't write that book, and her husband and I argued that of course he did, and she said calmy and surely that no, he most certainly did not. So we found the book and even though it looks totally Dr. Seussian, it isn't! So I called my mom to ask her about it, and she, like Maryelizabeth, knew immediately that it was not by Dr. Seuss. "It was by that other guy," she said, "P.D. Eastman." WHAT? Who in the hell is P.D. Eastman and why does this book look just like a Dr. Seuss book? What is going on here? The Confounding Ever since someone told me he was listening to the Libertines, I had a line in my head that I could not place, and it was driving me insane. INSANE. I knew it was from a showtune but I could not figure it out. It started to obsess me over the course of this entire morning. Then I figured it out. It came to me in a flash and untied the knot in my brain. Of course! The King and I. I have to be a slave or concubine -- You conceited, self-indulgent libertine -- libertine. How I wish I called him that! Right to his face! Libertine! And while we're on the subject, sire, There are certain goings on around this place That I wish to tell you I do not admire: I do not like polygamy Or even moderate bigamy (I realize That in your eyes That clearly makes a prig o' me) But I am from a civilized land called Wales! Where men like you are locked in county jails! In your pursuit of pleasure, you Have mistresses who treasure you (They have no ken of other men Beside whom they can measure you) A flock of sheep and you're the only ram -- No wonder you're the wonder of Siam! Love that song. The Entertaining The Amazing Race! It is back. I stopped watching last season because it sank to unexpected depths of suck, and I missed it, but it it is back, and it is good. I cannot stand the girlfriends who are always "MWAH"-ing and air kissing each other and saying "love ya!" and the on-again, off-again couple doesn't really do it for me and the gay couple's pulling up the rear-type jokes are getting kind of old, but I like everyone else so far. Especially Boston Rob and Amber. I know. I know! He has done it again. He won me over to his side on Survivor: All Stars last year. (Number of times I wrote about this show last year: disturbing). (Number of times I've watched it since: zero.) I agree with the ever-brilliant Miss Alli that Boston Rob is smart, that he is totally self-aware and plays his persona and bravado for winks, that he and Amber are cute together, and that his accent either grates on your last nerve or just kind of makes you love everything that comes out of his mouth, and I'm in the latter camp because I just cannot help it. I don't care how smarmy they are in their tactics; as long as they don't break the rules (and if they do they'll be penalized, presumably), I will cheer for them all the way. He more than makes up for his smarminess in his unsmarmy actions and strategies and skills, such as being cute and nice to Amber, knowing how to do things like pack 180 books into a wagon without screaming rageful things like "I'M PACKIN' IT!", and talking in that fun, fun accent. The Happy My sister and friend are coming home this weekend from the frozen tundra, and I will be happy to see them. There will be birthday gift giving, burritos, daiquiries, and dinner at the home of my friend's parents whom I love and who like to pour wine down our throats and provide us with an endless supply of cheese and crackers. I'm happy that my sister will get to run around her lakes and eat at her favorite bagel shop and see her old co-workers and their babies whom she loves and sleep as late as she wants every damn day. Springtime is pretty much here, and it's for breaks and parades and lovers and friends, and I will not miss winter, as unsevere as it is here, one tiny bit.
About this time in ...
© Copyright 2005 elb |
As is Melissa Ferrick. As is, possibly, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, but I haven't decided yet. |
