At four this morning, The Boy, bearing Oreos, wanted to talk about our collective future together.
I did what any normal person would do in a similar situation: I sent him to the store for milk and pretended to be in a dead sleep when he got back.
The Art I love doesn’t have edges or work in accord with prescribed boundaries. It’s not that. It’s all of it. (more…)
I don’t care what the CDC says; somebody on the MARTA gave me Ebola.
Or leprosy.
Whichever.
It’s official. As of January 27, 2008 my Christmas tree has been dismantled and stored until the next time they play Feliz Navidad on the radio twice an hour.
I didn’t intend to leave it up for so long, but one thing turned into another I never seemed to have the time or feel like dealing with it, so it just stayed up. The Boy finally offered me $20 to bring the Christmas season to an end and I suddenly felt inspired to do it and miraculously I was able to squeeze it into my schedule. Marvel that.
However, after accepting the twenty dollars I ended up spending six dollars at Ikea for two cardboard boxes to store the ornaments, etc. in so that dipped into my profits.
I’m not really entrenched in the whole Heath Ledger is DEAD! Details at 10! thing. I haven’t been to a candlelight vigil or participated in a Facebook prayer circle or whatever else has been coordinated to pay homage to the recently expired actor; I imagine there’s probably a gigantic greeting card made out of plywood someplace, but I haven’t made any plans to go stand in line for the chance to scrawl the lyrics of a Journey song above my signature so he will know in death that he was liek srsly hrtd[sic].
The situation, tragic as it may be, doesn’t have a direct or significant impact on me/mine so I think I’ll refrain from carrying out the grief process via the World Wide Weblogosphere.
Something that I do want to know, though, and cannot seem to make sense of is a little bit of news I heard on the radio while driving to work the other morning. I’m pretty sure I heard it correctly…
Apparently, the masseuse who discovered his body elected to use her Phone-a-Friend option to first call one of the Olsen twins.
Why?
In an emergency situation, and typically any time one happens upon an unconscious and/or otherwise unresponsive person in a setting where it’s expected he/she should be, for lack of a better term…not dead, it qualifies as an emergency, several different agencies spring to mind as viable resources for assistance. However, the massage therapist elected to eschew the old clichéd standby of 911 and/or another local number to reach the police, or paramedics or the fire department, or the local news and instead called Michelle Tanner. WTF?
I just don’t understand this particular kernel of celebrity gossip and it’s going to consume my already truncated attention span until someone is so kind as to clarify for the home viewing audience.
I understand 40 is evidently the new 30. When that was being changed, did the Olsen Twins become the new Chuck Norris?
Enquiring minds want to know.