Spitball Army

About a week ago, on the Facebook website, someone posted an event entitled “Election Day.” Members were asked to choose whether they were “attending” or not, much like R.S.V.P.’ing for a dinner party. I selected Yes, and added a note: You would have to kill me to keep me from attending. I haven’t always felt this way.

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I received an e-mail from a daily reader of this blog. In it, the reader complained of this blog’s recent infusion of political content. The reader’s note referred to it as a “disgusting trend.”

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Just recently, I heard – on one of the reality shows I occasionally watch (I think this might have been Bravo’s Top Design) – someone exclaim, “Oh, travertine,” through a grimace. Has travertine become a sign of poor taste?

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There was so much vinyl – multiple copies of many titles, and what seemed like endless rows of classical music – that I was overwhelmed. The two guys working the store seemed overwhelmed, too, wedged in behind a small sales counter that was piled high with boxes of new vinyl arrivals.

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It’s really too embarassing to detail where it was or how I found it, but I just thought I’d let it out that it is safe and completely intact and never left my house.

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It has been raining here since Friday night. It is now Tuesday morning. This area sorely needs the rain, and this rain has been ideal – a slow and steady rain, but never a deluge. At this time next week, my neighborhood will be ten shades of green. But, today, as I walked across the back lawn to my office hideaway, the soil underneath the grass groaned and moved beneath my feet, sounding like an old man breaking wind.

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There is no denying that Mo is a pretty woman.

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The list displays the following 100 books (hopefully in random order – how else to explain Les Miserables at #100, well behind The Da Vinci Code?), with instructions that allow you to take stock of how “well-read” you are (according to their parameters, of course) and allow you to pinpoint some reading goals.

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The photo above has been sitting on my desk for a couple of weeks. I didn’t know what to do with it. Then, in a moment of mindless whimsy, I decided to scribble us new faces using Microsoft Paint.

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When the jagged, moldy, fractured tub surround was completely removed, the wall was the wholly unappetizing color of alien baby vomit flavored with chocolate squiggles.

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