Lampshades

Don't worry about me. I am shielded from the giants because I am in the center of a building built during the Cold War and that is probably capable of withstanding nuclear blasts and very big things.

I am referring again, of course, to events from The BFG.

It is late and I am tired. What better time for a blog post? What better time to discuss the essential matters in life? Sleep and clean water fit that characterization. Why our species has not evolved to require sleeping for less than one-third of our lives I am not quite sure, but, in our current evolutionary state, it is quite necessary to go to bed.

For instance, I am going to go to bed tonight. One obstacle stands in the way of my much-needed embrace of warmth and oblivion: a checklist. You see, on Friday evening I made a weekend checklist. There remain on this list several items that have not yet been completed: note-typing, fellowship-applying, practicing the violin...

All will get done! I swear, checklist!

Lampshades are an interesting phenomenon, for sometimes an ugly lampshade will conceal a quite striking lamp. I'll stick that in my mental collection of trite metaphors.

"Trite" is a useful word that can dismiss just about anything. That novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez? Trite garbage! Impressionist art? Trite, and absolutely inchoate to boot! The words of Martin Luther King, Jr.? Well, I consider them rather trite if I do say so myself, dear lad. Yes, mmm, yes. Indeed.

The Beach Boys

I am used to slander, lies, devilish tales and other generally duplicitous acts such as auto body surfing. I am thus not fazed by _____'s supposed "exposé" of my alleged connections to the organisms that populate Hipster River. In fact, I welcome his "exposé," since the flawed arguments he makes undermine themselves rather conveniently.

Other than that, I don't really have anything of import to say. As I promised in my introductory blog post, however, I shall treat such a circumstance as only a minor setback. So here are some things that are not important! Enjoy:

If you would like to browse within the interweb in lieu of finishing a knitting project, prank-calling a pet grooming business or brushing up on your idiomatic expressions of French origin, I recommend this website (Isn't the welcome graphic grand?) which I found after Googling the name of the author of my one and only sticker book, Cats at the Beach. Or you could peruse this webpage, a news item that might prove interesting to you if you are a twelve-year-old girl.


As you can tell, I'm still not well
It makes me sad to say
But when my strength returns, I'll bay
at the waxing moon and ring some sort of bell.

(That poem is my apology to you, especially for the second web link.)