a couple ten things

LISTENING iTunes on shuffle. Rufus Wainright keeps coming up and up and up. And I slurp me some Rufus Wainright. He's goofy and summery and forlorny and hopeful.

DOWNLOADING The latest Salon sampler. (You gotta be a member and if you're not my only question is why not? Salon rocks and is worth every penny for the subscription. And it's not expensive. Tell 'em Emdot sent you.)

READING TWoP's Recap of Sunday's gruesome Six Feet Under. The recapper lovingly named this episode "Someone left the crack out in the rain." But really... there are so many jewels in this recap that I nominate it for the Emmy (more deserving the actual show). Let me tell you: that was some painful television, but the recapper is so flippin' funny (and flippant) that he actually made the episode enjoyable. So. If you like long tangentially forking sentences and snarkiness on any level, I highly recommend it.

EATING Frozen Yogurt. First time in a month, so I went a little crazy.

PINCHING Myself. Things are going so well.

FINDING Pictures. The web's most famous couple, Heather and Derek, were married last Saturday and it was a veritable who's who of blog-o-ria invited (no, not emdot; i don't know them) and yet Nobody. Was. Writing. About. It. Argh. The ultimate irony. So I finally gave up and googled "Heather, Derek, Wedding" and phew I found a couple of things. Relief. Thought that the demise of blogging had finally happened.

WRITING Writing a lot. And feeling really good about that.

CONCERNED Mass hysteria is rarely a good thing (unless you are talking about the Beatles hitting the yankee shoreline in 1964). A Women's Wall Street Journal writer seems to be making really big, hysterical assumptions. I really hope that we are bigger than this. Come on people. Just say no to imagined fear. Real fear, okay, and that'll probably keep your hands full. But imagined fear? Good lord. That is what scares me about the state of our country. Read the Salon column.

Read no further if you hate metaphors and/or general reaching.
Someone on a list-serv (same one I mention below) commented that I was complaining about not finding a boyfriend. I'm pretty sure they were just kidding, because (and I've searched all of my recollections; even those in long-time storage) I don't think I ever really do that. Not my style. My problem isn't the ability to get a boyfriend. My problem is that I just don't seem to keep them very well. They're probably somewhere with my damn car keys and all those socks that have found the trap door in the dryer.

So I ask myself, maybe I just like being a single sock.

The problem with being a single sock is that it opens up the doors for many possibilities — and these can really unravel you. As a single sock you can dream of being a rebel and pairing with a total different other single sock. Something obviously different — say a striped one when you are white and athletic. Or you can dream of finding your sole mate. (Just realizing that their are so many good word things to do with that phrase). The sock that perfectly matches with you -- making you a pair.

So... life... living easy in my comfy, sweet smelling (because of the fancy soap) drawer? Not having to get into the smelly sneakers because I'm just a single sock? Life with a wild and crazy sock? And only come out at Mardi Gras or Halloween? Or trying to find that sole soul mate? And what if the sole mate is stained? Worn? Lost all the elastic? Or what if the sole mate is really and totally lost having been thrown in the trash because its owner finally gave up and didn't want to keep it in the drawer anymore or bought some really cool arch supporting new ones? Or or or, it was used as stuffing for a lumpy stuffed animal because that's all that was left?

Maybe I should just go barefoot. ;)

A Raindance for Katherine.
Katherine, basic den mother of all things cool on a list-serv I've been on for nearly seven years (yes, I really am that geeky) has been missing. Not to herself, but to my list-serv. She returned in the nick of time. We were a step away from building a shrine and doing a Katherine raindance led by Timothy in his tutu and Macker in his war paint (for Macker asked himself "How would Jesus Raindance?" and was quite surprised when the skies parted and the very voice of Christ (which turns out sounds much more like Jeff Bridges than James Earl Jones) answered back "Clays and feathers. And don't miss out on the peace pipe. It was my favorite part of being in Utah."

(Correction, while all of the above is true and documented, the last sentence of Christ's words are being contested by the Catholics and the Anglicans and most especially the Jehovah Witnesses who take their Lord's words very seriously. They are accusing some nut case at BYU for tampering with the Dead List-Serv Scrolls. This is under investigation.)