I must be getting better. Instead of not blogging because the prospect of getting out of bed and going to the computer makes me cry, I'm not blogging because it turns out my employer does, in fact, own me body and soul. Or so they think. I'll be setting them straight a little later on today.
Depending upon how that meeting goes, I may have all the time in the world to blog very soon.
For now, whilst I eat my morning oatmeal and yogurt like a good gym boy, I offer the following bits and bobs.
The Mother's Day Project
Reader Anne, my neighbor to the north in Milwaukee, has begun a collaborative art project to express opposition to our own, dear Mr Bush's little undertaking in the Middle East. I've read her description and find it to be a fine idea. Read for yourself, and perhaps you may be inclined to participate.
Those nice ladies who run Arcadia Knitting are pulling out all the stops for the shop's birthday week, May 1-6. There's a full calendar on their Web site. I've already missed Point Protector Day and will have to miss Spinning Day because I'm working, but there's still a Norah Gaughan Trunk Show coming up and I rather think I must show up for Book Day.
Fun fact: Kathy and Sharon say they've sold 14,000 point protectors since going into business seven years ago. According to my calculations, if you laid them end-to-end, 14,000 average-sized point protectors would form a line 583 feet long. (Of course, this could never happen. We all know it's impossible to locate two point protectors when you want them, let alone 14,000.)
Gym membership: $50/month
New, smaller Levi's 501s that fit recently refurbished physique just so: $75
New heels for favorite cowboy boots: $35
Round of drinks for old friends at Charlie's Bar on Saturday night: $35
Running into the "younger man" that Mr. Ex dumped you for and realizing he's easily put on forty pounds in the past year: Priceless
I Shall Scream and Rage If I Can't Have One
Stephen Fry persists in ignoring my offers to relocate to Caviar-on-Toast, or whatever English village he lives in, and be his love slave and knit him socks.
However, thanks to this ingenious device I could still live out my fantasy of waking up to his voice purring in my ear. Unfortunately, the Web site does not indicate whether "Franklin, you titan among men, please do that to me again!" is among the pre-recorded sayings.
I admit that installing an electronic man in my bedroom is slightly pathetic; but I've just about had it with the Genuine Article. They should all come with off-switches.
Dolores On the Air
Speaking of flipping men's switches, Dolores asked me to pass along word that she's going to be recording her maiden (?) Podcast as soon as her voice recovers from an accident during rehearsals at the Lucky Horseshoe. Apparently there was a mix-up in the sound booth, and her backup track for "I Would Die 4 Ewe" transposed up three keys and by the end of the release she had shattered a chandelier, the mirror over the bar, 138 beer mugs, and the glass eye belonging to Jimmy, the bouncer. Didn't do her vocal cords any favors, either.
The ENT guy put her on total vocal rest which has made the apartment remarkably quiet. Were it not for the usual aromas of Kookaburra Wool Wash and patchouli, I'd barely know she was here.