So, in my morning Scrabble game, I think I’m playing the Italian word for kisses and getting away with it. Nope, abaci is the plural form of abacus. Looked up kisses in my little Italian dictionary and the word is baci. Shades of my deaf/grape/pigeon debacle in Berlin!
Woke at two this morning when a giant wave of doubt, anxiety and fear (topped off by a snarling crest of memories of every embarrassing thing I’ve ever said or done), crashed down on me with extreme prejudice. Seriously, this was a killer tide, a tsunami of awful and it was out to swamp me but good.
Lemme just say this...WHAT THE FUCK?!
How did I deal with this? With my usual impatient profanity and the promise that I will never ask Jen to concoct another cocktail for me EVAH. And then I rolled over and went back to sleep.
You know you’re a print industry lifer when you wake from dreams of mic-ing (micrometer) out card stocks and doing press checks.
Rough night. Did I mention that I will no longer be making aperitif appeals of Jen?
*****
Have I mentioned John Scalzi yet? There’s my grande love of his sci fi novels, particularly The Android’s Dream which begins:
Scalzi’s funny, serious, to the point, lyric—in short, entertaining as all hell.
Oh yeah, he also has a running list of name ideas for his next theoretical (imaginary?) band.
*****
In cat news, our loud boy Gaston hasn’t been around much at all lately. After a few days absent, I became quite concerned, wicked worried and all. He finally showed up a couple of days ago, hungry as all hell but otherwise healthy. And now he’s gone again.
Wut up!
Jen suggested that, now that the weather’s nice, not so arctic, he may be out sowing his Tom Cattish oats. The Amazing Bob posits that, with the Neck mousies moving outdoors in this lovely warmer weather, G’s getting his three squares on the hoof. Maybe he’s gone green, gourmet and picky—his food must now be wild caught.
Dunno but I miss him. Yeah, I know—I’m the only one who does. See, this is one of those times (and there are many) when being deaf’s not a bad deal at all. I don’t hear his soul scarring yowls so I can love and appreciate him for his other grand qualities. What are they? Emmm, he’s a cat. A Maine Coon Cat.
He needs other fine attributes? I don’t think so.
Woke at two this morning when a giant wave of doubt, anxiety and fear (topped off by a snarling crest of memories of every embarrassing thing I’ve ever said or done), crashed down on me with extreme prejudice. Seriously, this was a killer tide, a tsunami of awful and it was out to swamp me but good.
Lemme just say this...WHAT THE FUCK?!
How did I deal with this? With my usual impatient profanity and the promise that I will never ask Jen to concoct another cocktail for me EVAH. And then I rolled over and went back to sleep.
You know you’re a print industry lifer when you wake from dreams of mic-ing (micrometer) out card stocks and doing press checks.Rough night. Did I mention that I will no longer be making aperitif appeals of Jen?
*****
Have I mentioned John Scalzi yet? There’s my grande love of his sci fi novels, particularly The Android’s Dream which begins:Dirk Moeller didn't know if he could really fart his way into a major diplomatic incident. But he was ready to find out.And then there's his blog, Whatever. His posts on feminism (yes), politics in general (he seems to be a pragmatic lefty), being poor (he was) and, of course, books—his own and those of other authors.
Scalzi’s funny, serious, to the point, lyric—in short, entertaining as all hell.
Oh yeah, he also has a running list of name ideas for his next theoretical (imaginary?) band.
*****
In cat news, our loud boy Gaston hasn’t been around much at all lately. After a few days absent, I became quite concerned, wicked worried and all. He finally showed up a couple of days ago, hungry as all hell but otherwise healthy. And now he’s gone again.Wut up!
Jen suggested that, now that the weather’s nice, not so arctic, he may be out sowing his Tom Cattish oats. The Amazing Bob posits that, with the Neck mousies moving outdoors in this lovely warmer weather, G’s getting his three squares on the hoof. Maybe he’s gone green, gourmet and picky—his food must now be wild caught.
Dunno but I miss him. Yeah, I know—I’m the only one who does. See, this is one of those times (and there are many) when being deaf’s not a bad deal at all. I don’t hear his soul scarring yowls so I can love and appreciate him for his other grand qualities. What are they? Emmm, he’s a cat. A Maine Coon Cat.
He needs other fine attributes? I don’t think so.
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