HA! That’s just a tad over dramatic. Oh well.
Last night I sat here in a work-induced stupor watching old Guess Who videos on YouTube. Everyone needs a Burton Cummings fix every once in a while. This one suited my mood – staring at a record spinning. Wow.
My advice to you is to go there and type his name into search and that should effectively write off a large part of your day.
I needed to go to my ‘calm’ place, as opposed to the place where a control freak ego maniac (who also happens to be stupid and forgetful with a bit of meanness and spite thrown in to foster insanity) rules a few odd hours of my life. Ever notice how the people who make up all the dumb rules also make themselves the exceptions to them? Funny how that works. And how impossible it is for me to change anything except the way I react to it all. Or refuse to react. Stupors will either save or kill me.
Normally I bite my tongue (or tape up my typing fingers) to avoid complaining about work here. Sorry that slipped out, but exploding was the other alternative. And hopefully everyone has been so mesmerized by Burton that they’ve not read this far anyway.
And I think I’m over it. Life’s too short.
Red is the color of hot hot hot.
Flickering flames in a fiery knot.
Sails in the sunset, roses and hearts,
Fire engines, fire bricks, strawberry tarts.
Blood and valentines, cardinals, barns,
Redwoods and poppies and crimsony yarns.
Spirited, shocking, the color of lust.
Foxes, cherries, rubies and rust.
Chili, persimmon, hollyhocks, wine.
Rage and happiness, burning desire.
Tomatoes and rosewood and embers of fire.
Candy apples and raspberry hisses,
Terra cotta and lipstick kisses.
Red is a door and a heady perfume.
Bittersweet, bloodroot, blushing in bloom.
Punch and passion, pizzaz and zest.
Of all earths colours, red is the best.
We’re in the middle of an early morning thunder-storm but I am bravely/foolishly continuing to use my laptop in spite of the fact that I could be electrocuted at any moment. It’s called grabbing life by the balls. Or reckless self endangerment or courting peril, or some made up word that no one has heard of before, like hazardariousness, depending on your point of view.
I’ve been reading some of the writing and editing articles on http://prdaily.com and thinking how wonderful it is that language evolves. And how there will always be die-hard stubborn stick-in-the-muds who oppose its evolution. In the interests of keeping it pure and boring.
Take a minute and check out the article here : 15 ridiculous new terms that might make the dictionary Yes, some of the terms may seem laughable to many of us – mantyhose, for instance. But maybe I’ve centered that one out because I find the whole idea of tights in general somewhere this side of loony. Could stem from recalling how I wrestled with them as a child trying to get the crotch to stay above my knees. There are some experiences that stick with you forever.
Twitlit could be the new haiku. It’s not easy saying everything you want to say in 140 characters or less. Unless your name is brian and what you’ve got to say is simply “every single one of these terms are retarded.” Sad to think brian might not realize how the term “retarded” evolved to mean what he intends it to mean here. And that he might be taken more seriously if he were to use “is” instead of “are” in this instance. No doubt he thinks cranky old English majors are also retarded.
Horsefeathers and applesauce were expletives in the 1920’s. A joint used to be a club or a bar. The cats pyjamas, the cats meow and the bees knees were the greatest and the best of all things wonderful. In the seventies – wicked, gnarly, bitchin’, heavy and bad all meant good. Instead of taking an old word and twisting it’s meaning, why not create a brand new one? Or a catchy phrase that says it all?
A passage in the book I’m currently reading (High Five by Janet Evanovich) has Lula describing someone as a slime faced bag of monkey shit. That may not go down in the literary hall of fame as great literature, but it certainly gets the point across. And that’s what it all comes down to in the end – communication. There’s all kinds of ways to say things, and many different ways to look at them.
The thunderstorm is over already. So much for living life on the edge. Or should I say kamikaze style or balls to the wall, if that’s not too redonkulous for you.
This is an experiment in which I will attempt to prove that even old technologically challenged grandmas can figure out how to publish a post via phone.
The tiger lilies are gorgeous again. They do this every year and before you know it they’re gone. Today is a beautiful day and it will also be gone before I know it so I’m off to enjoy it.
Have a fantastic Sunday.
Yesterday was a day for reading. At least that’s the decision I came to around four o’clock in the afternoon when I realized I had done nothing else all day. By that time there was really no point in starting something new, and I felt I might as well just carry on. So I did.
I’m not saying Stephanie Plum has taken over my life or that I will die miserable and unfulfilled if I never meet a real life friend like Lula. I will say I’m nearing the end of Four to Score by Janet Evanovitch.
(The mystery of whether or not Stephanie and Joe Morelli will at last do what they’ve been wanting to do for three and a half books is finally concluded satisfactorily – thank God for putting me out of my misery on that ‘score’.) (But I digress.) (And that wasn’t really a spoiler, was it? I mean, it’s not like you couldn’t see it coming from the beginning.)
Anyway, although by all outward appearances it would seem I’ve been sitting on my ass doing absolutely nothing for a very long time, here’s the thing. I’m actively contributing to the authors happiness by purchasing her books. One after the other. Compulsively, with little debate and minimum hesitation. Because when I finish one book I barely take a breath, never mind a deep one, before downloading the next one and starting again. This is getting pricey, at eleven and some dollars a pop. So I’ve exercised incredible self-discipline today by doing a lot of other stuff that didn’t get done yesterday and leaving my kindle untouched and plugged in to give it a much deserved rest and some time to rejuvenate.
I’m here to tell you reading is a LOT more satisfying and fun than doing laundry. But you probably already knew that.
Living alone means never having to say you’re sorry for the total mess you’ve made of your house. Good thing no one has comes to visit me unexpectedly. If that happens and I don’t answer the bell it might mean I’m not at home, but it’s much more likely I’m pretending to be out rather than taking the risk of answering the door and then dying of embarrassment due to the state of myself and my surroundings.
Things are all straightened around today, neat and organized. I’ve showered and put on make up and fixed my hair. I can delude myself again for a while that I’m not a total slob, just a partial part-time one. I have a couple of errands to run which will involve actually leaving the house. And then (finally!) I can get back to my books. I can indulge myself in the incredible luxury of having the time to sit and read my heart out. I’ve been completely spoiled this summer when it comes to that, and I’m enjoying every sweet reading minute of it.