It must be the digestive torpor from all the turkey we've consumed (turkey, turkey left-overs au naturel, turkey sandwiches, turkey casserole and, today, turkey again in some new mutation). Good thing I like turkey. Bad thing, after eating so much of it, I feel like one. Nonetheless, thank you, Lord, for giving us this day our daily turkey. Could be worse. Could be tofu.
So my blogging behavior has been off-schedule the last few days. We had holiday houseguests (love you, Beth!), lots of champagne (thanks, Andy!), amazing food (you are the Kitchen God, Will), and fabulous treats served with an impish smile (you are my love-button, Jen). As usual, food-time was Wildlife Adventure time, with two fat, shameless dogs begging for (nay insisting on) scraps, and a kitten trying to compete with the poodle for literally everything.
(The kitten and the poodle have been arguing over a chewy strip for days: neither wants to eat it but both long to possess it. The poodle hides it; the kitten finds it; the poodle races to thwart her; the kitten bats the poodle's nose; the poodle growls softly, displaying her tiny teeth; the kitten ignores her and claws the strip; the poodle snatches it; the kitten chews her ass...and so on and so forth until they get bored of the game or someone plays too hard and the other silently departs, offended.)
In other unbelievably exciting news (you all knew that the life of a writer is just bursting with excitement, didn't you?), I've been having metaphysical conversations with the gods of weather, but no amount of logic will prevail upon them to release accurate forecasts to their local appointees. The meteorologists forecast a spell of sunny warmth starting Thursday, after days of chill and rain. They were wrong. Which, given my extreme sensitivity to all gardening-related issues, means they lied to me personally just to fuck with me, the bastards!
Will voices a dissenting opinion on my obsessive patterns of garden thought (see photo).
Other news: we're having a bonfire. We're burning our future strawberry patch! Mmmm. We already have blueberry and fig trees that started producing summer '04, plus pawpaws, peaches, and other fruit trees which may bear in '05. One day we'll be able to munch and browse as we walk through the garden. Mmmm. Strawberries. Outdoor burning is permitted in this county as long as you dial 911 first to alert them so they don't send firemen to your house. Yeah, it would be simply awful if they accidentally sent a bunch of young, hung fireman out to our secluded woods. Bring the long hoses, boys. We got a fire for you to put out. Anyway, fantasies aside, we don't know when we'll be burning, but it'll be very soon. Can't wait.
Other news: as blogged yesterday, I'm in this week's Sunday NY Times, quoted in an article about a hip magazine called Found and its sexed-up offspring, Dirty Found. Does this make me respectable? Or just old? Anyway, already received email from a language Nazi informing me that my use of "begs the question" in the piece was incorrect. I appreciate knowing that--especially since the reporter made it up because it's a phrase I've never used (probably because I would use it incorrectly). Authors can't get too upset over misquotes because it happens almost every time. By the time fact-checkers get back to me (if they do--the Times did not) what the reporter wrote and what I actually said share but a nodding acquaintance. As long as they got the gist, I leave it be. Life is too short. Spell it B-R-A-M-E. That's all I ask.
More news: was just listed as a Harbinger on American Samizdat. Too cool. I don't know what I'm ... harbinging ...er ... harbingering ...supposed to be a harbinger of, but thanks, Dr. Menlo, I love you too.
Last news: I've been fiddling with my sidebars, added a bunch of new kinky blogs to my links and also set up links to some online adult shops. CafePress t-shirts/accessories are something I set up years ago for gloriabrame.com but had forgotten about until they emailed me a few days ago saying I had a whole $19 waiting to be collected. Wooo! Who says you can't get rich on the Internet? In addition to t-shirts (including one for your dog) and mugs, I stuck my face on the belly of a teddy-bear. Always wanted to sleep with me? Now you can. Better still, if you stain my face, you can wash me and I'll never even know it happened. We'd both prefer it that way, wouldn't we?
Today I decided, good weather or bad, I'm going to do some gardening. The meteorologists must have felt the threat of my wrath. It's sunny and it's going to be in the 60s. All is forgiven.
Expect some erratic posts here and there today. I'll be back to blogging as usual tomorrow.
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