But Reese Still Needs to Join Facebook

As I was driving home this afternoon - OH BLESSED HOPE THAT IS GREY WHIRLS OF NEARLY RAIN and SORT OF WIND! - I thought, whoa, when did I last blog? Was it even this month?

Then I come home and find out that Reese V. is worried because of all the dead air here. It's like we're psychic twins! Or, actually, perhaps the opposite of that. One of us is Dr. Xavier and one of us is Magneto? I don't know. I cannot pretend to know anything about X-Men, other than Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan are both so cute.

(And both played King Lear! It's time to give King of Texas another chance, I think. I bought it to watch after we finished KL in class, but then the DVD player in my classroom computer died. Let us not speak of that entire unit, actually. Bad enough that the kids rooted for Edmund the entire time.)

So that is what is wrong with me - I have not been taking out my little rants here, in my personal tantrum room with the oversized spectator glass. And here I thought my problems stem from me being a completely unreasonable person who hates young people and never wants anyone to have any fun. (Translation: three freshman classes is perhaps still too many.)

Last night we stood in the night chill (normally a good thing) for almost an hour (too much of a good thing) because our downstairs neighbor's smoke alarm was going off. Apparently the apartment complex was notified another hour after that, long after I gave up on their "emergency service" and called 911. Strangely, all of the neighbor's windows were open and we could see a lit candle, but - luckily - no one was home (and suffocating in a closet somewhere); it was just a faulty alarm.

Meanwhile, who leaves a candle unattended? (It was at least another hour before said neighbor came home.) And who lives in a ground apartment and leaves all of their windows open? People!

More kvetching: got a car repair bill that was the cost of almost a whole cruise. It was partially just one of those maintenance things (Can no one invent invincible struts? I smell conspiracy...), so my real gripe was with the technician giving me a lot of attitude. Usually this dealership does a lot of follow-up "how was your experience?" calls/surveys, so I'm saving my tirade for that.

I could complain about the freshies, but the AP classes are too much of a balm to risk the wrath of the scheduling gods by being pissy.

For the past week I've been playing World of Warcraft (more than usual). The Headless Horseman mount has yet to drop during the Hallow's End (no typo) event. Basically, the mount is a splendid flying pony. Oh how I want a flying pony. And a stable for him on the deck below my spa cabin on the year-round cruise I will take when money falls from the sky and into my arms.

(I spend too much time thinking of how to take the hamsters with us should we ever be in that situation. It's like the way I spend a lot of time debating over what to do about makeup, which I don't wear and have come to actively dislike, if I'm ever on Oprah. I have no idea why I'd be on Oprah. I don't even watch Oprah. I don't even like to get my yearbook photo taken, let alone appear on national television. I think I need to stop watching reality television. I mean, I only watch the Food Network reality shows, which are really more like skill-based game shows with lessons for us all, but maybe they're the gateway programming to those other shows. The ones that air after-hours footage of people sitting on sofas, talking.)

In the end, I don't have an Oprah grooming plan or a hamster seafaring plan, but our five hamhams are all at happy ages. I was going to enter them in the New Yorker's "critterati" photo contest (your pet dressed as a literary character), but apparently I have spent all of October thinking that the end of the month is "ages away," and I missed the deadline. But I think I will do it anyway, as my ideas were super-awesome-tastic-sauce.

Or I will just read and play silly games and eat yet another (delicious! delicious! delicious!) lunch at the new Indian restaurant, which I can't mention by name yet as it is owned by the family of a former student, and that former student doesn't need to find himself at this site. It might confirm all of his suspicions that, yes, there is something deeply wrong with me, and maybe everything I said about Pablo Neruda is a lie!

Ah, laziness. And poor Evelyn still has not had an introductory post! I will say that we appear to be ending our hamily on a high note with this beautiful, affectionate creature... if we're ending the hamily after this, that is. (Which do I love more: travel/relocation options, or the pets that make me more human?) Perhaps Evelyn will star in the too-late-to-be-Critterati photos, just to tidy all that up.

Or, again, lazy is nice, too. Especially with a new Terry Pratchett book out and half-read on the waiting Kindle. (It is not a flying pony, but it does take me so many places.)

28 October 2009 |






Carnival Elation (2009)
Carnival Splendor (2009)
Carnival Spirit (2010)
Carnival Spirit (2011)
Carnival Splendor (2011)
Norwegian Pearl to Alaska (2012)