Of Men and Matchsticks

This is a bit from another journal I keep- Dated 11/10/05

You know, they (who are THEY? and why do we listen to them?) say that no one ever writes about the day that nothing happened. I am here to completely protest, rail against, argue the point, play the devils' advocate and ultimately refute that charge.

For starters, we've got two of the most sucessful TV shows ever:
Seinfeld and Friends. Seriously - NOTH-ING EV-VER HAPPENED until sweeps, at which point there would be a Ross/Aniston hookup, makeup, breakup etc, a marriage, a surprise spouse, or Phoebe would...sing. Badly. Seinfeld? Four words, no wait, make that six: 1/2: Soup Nazi 3/4 Man Hands 5/6 Pirate shirt.
So...we see that nothing can happen on TV for like 7 or 9 or a million years, and people will watch.

But... can nothing happen and people read? That, my friends is an old but easily answered question. Ever read any Jane Austen? Twenty zillion pages of "oh, erm.. Mr. Darcy.. there seems to be a letter for you...from a Miss Scarsbouroughside...in the HALLWAY. With a feathered hat." The author of this riveting (and scandolous - feathers..in JUNE?) sentence than resumes arranging matchsticks. Dun-dun duuunnnn! With apologies to Eddie Izzard for blatantly stealing his gut-bustingly funny schtick.

Or - maybe you were never a J.A. fan, and perhaps were more of a Charles Dickens fan? Ever read the OPENING SENTENCE/PARAGRAPH of A Tale of Two Cities? "It was the best of times, and the worst of timeszzzzzzzzzzz..." Basically here is C. Dickens' attempt to vagarize his time setting so as to be better able to manipulate the storyline to accomodate all kinds of fascinating and totally ridiculous coincidences and chance meetings of people who recognize each other soley by the shape of an ear or nose, seen at 50 paces in the pouring rain. At night. But my point is that aside from a few grisly crocheted peices, and some beheadings, NOTHING EVER HAPPENED! Trust me- as the honorary walking "Cliff Notes" to the entire C. High School graduating class of 1997, I know of what I speak.

Today, I did the following:
-Talked to my mom on the phone. Twice. About...nothing in particular.
-Painted my new little step-stool which will go in my so-girly cutesy closet when such gets finished - and will probably flost around the house waiting for its clear-coat until than. It is about 14 inches square with a hand-hold slot in the middle, and cost me all of ten dollars at Target. I moved the top text inside the mirror and wrapped the picture around the edges of the stool. The legs are (3) cobalt blue and (1) bricky red like the chest of drawers in the picture, and one of the cross-bars is the bright mustardy yellow like her cushion. As you'll see above.
-Watched Meet the Fockers - funny but a bit brittle, methinks.
-Made calzones for dinner

Seriously - not the most action-packed day I ever had, but the weather was a bit "Meh" and chilly and I've had a few to many action-packed days of late, so it was a welcome change. S asked me if I was "a blogger" and my mom tentatively referred to this ad "a...blog? is that right?". So cute, so incredibly precious, it was. I explained that I use it more as a lazy persons' writing excercise/free-flow journal/cheap way to communicate with everyone at once. S has the TV on to some football game - the somebodies and the New England no-necks.. apparently a Terrell Owens is being suspended for something, from my quarter attention view, it could be anything from having a neck to not shaking his tight, (like a toiger!) spandex-clad rump around enough after a touchdown to...???

In other news...I will be Officially in the second half of my twenties something like two weeks from tomorrow. You know the worst thing about being born in November? The calendars save their ugliest, almost-cut from the calender-but-had-to fill the page with something besides a blank white spot, pictures for the November page. As if to remind me "Ehh, you're not getting any younger, not making enough money, STILL haven't lost that last twenty pounds. and.... now this."

MH