November appears to be crazy blogging month around here. Many insane people are committed to posting something every day for the next 30 days, and even crazier people are holding themselves to a loony tunes word count goal.
For awhile this morning I considered joining them, but have since come to my senses. I’m afraid I know myself too well, and when something sounds like work to me, I avoid it like the plague. You might notice how I just proved my point by taking all day to say anything at all. I like to write every day, but no promises. Or threats. Or obligations, even if they are self-inflicted. Or maybe especially if they’re that.
I would love it if our November here looked like the above picture, but we’re supposed to get about 20 cm of snow this weekend, so everything except the landscape will be that lovely shade of blue. Time to dig out the scarves and mittens I guess.
Found this picture of myself on Facebook, waiting for some kind of ambition or motivation to knock me off the couch. So far neither have materialized to disturb my state of bliss.
There was coffee to drink, I-pad games to play, books to read, and a spouse to annoy by not cleaning up my mess in the kitchen or folding my own laundry. Even though it’s November I’m not blue yet, and it’s been a marvelous day.
A comment by gooseyanne (The everyday ramblings of Anne and her Goose) sent me on a bit of a wild goose chase to find the poem she quoted, and I’m delighted to share it back in its entirety. Is this not what friends and google are for – helping us to add to our personal massive piles of random information? Well, yeah. So here you go.
Antigonish, by Huges Mearns, 1899
(Inspired by reports of a ghost of a man roaming the stairs of a haunted house in Antigonish, Nova Scotia.)
Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away…
When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door… (slam!)
Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away
In 1939 the poem was adapted to a song called “The Little Man Who Wasn’t There” and recorded by the Glenn Miller Orchestra. It was on the Hit Parade for 11 weeks.
This innocent little poem has appeared in variations in literature, film, comics, television and music for over a hundred years. Amazing! Imagine some small thing popping out of your head and becoming the stimulus for further creativity, awakening and motivating future generations! Well, it’s a nice thought, anyway. We all have our delusions of grandeur.
Hope you all have a happy Tuesday. Stay away from those staircases.
Would you ever participate in a food eating contest? What kind? How much do you think you could eat?
Well this is one of the weirdest prompts ever. The only reason I’m answering it at all is because it will be my 198th answer and I would like to see “You’ve written 198 answers” under the “Your stats” heading. Then, for all you math impaired people out there, what that means is that I will have two more answers to go to reach the magic number of 200 answers written. One hundred was a mind-blowing accomplishment, so I expect double that to be doubly so. I’ve always suspected that I could blather away ad nauseam on any number of topics, and I think 200 posts is certainly proof positive that I was right about that, if nothing else.
And here’s another ‘stat’. Approximately one out of every 7 questions has actually been worth answering. That means I have made 28.1429 posts which have been vaguely interesting and worth reading since my relationship with Plinky began. You could go back and read them all and figure out which ones they are if you want. I can’t seem to drum up the motivation to do it.
So, let’s discuss this hypothetical contest. What kind, they want to know. Are there really different categories of competitive food eating? Like speed eating, the eating disorder challenge, the cheesecake tournament, the dog eat dog match of the century? And how much do I think I could eat? Oh, I don’t know. My weight in frozen yogurt maybe? I guess I could say any bizarre amount of anything since it’s supposed to be what I ‘think’ and therefore there can be no wrong answers.
But let’s be serious for a moment. The terms and conditions under which I would participate in a food eating contest are as follows:
1. I have not had any solid food for a week and I am starving. To death. To the point where dead bugs are starting to look tasty.
2. The prize for winning is a bazillion dollars and a dream home in the Galapagos.
3. The prize for participating is a million dollars and a beach front villa in Lemery Batangas.
4. The food is not hot dogs.
5. The event is not televised and my real identity is never revealed.
So, I guess what THAT means is – the answer is no.
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