I have caught a lot of flack for being a slack blogger, and I will admit that going 13 days without a new post is a bit lax. However, in my defense, July is a terribly boring month and not much of interest has happened. I didn't want to blog about trifling stuff, but none of my other ideas ever came together for a blog of any length. So here is a collection of randomness to amuse and entertain.
Rodgers and Hammerstein were full of it. They are the composers of that ridiculous song "I adore being a girl," used in their musical Flower Drum Song and lately in commercials for some hair dye being hawked by Sarah Jessica Parker. There is very little that is fun about being a girl, certainly nothing that would make me burst into song. Ask any woman who has just had her annual or a mammogram if she adores being a girl. The answer will be a resounding "no."
Summer is really not fun after you've hit puberty. Especially if you are a girl! (Notice a theme here?)
Fireworks are lots of fun, but very scary if they malfunction and explode in the parking lot instead of up in the air. Not that I would know from personal experience or anything. I'm just saying.
There is a terrible amount of ambivalence that you experience when the final installment of a series looms on the publication horizon. On the plus side, we finally get to learn how it ends! On the down side, it ends. Fade to black. Roll credits.
You know your dog is spoiled when you keep a jug of treated water in the fridge for him. Granted it is to combat his fish breath, and it has worked very well, but still, it does make him seem coddled.
Nothing says summer the way the scent of a charcoal grill does. Not up close and personal, but that distant smell on the breeze.
To paraphrase Ben Franklin: ice cream is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. Which reminds me, if the busybodies of this world pass the fat tax I am moving to England.
I really don't like the way my voice sounds on tape. I think I sound exceedingly girly and rather high pitched on tape, neither of which I view as a good quality. The worst thing is that when I mention this to others they say "but that's how you sound." Makes me not want to talk at all. But then someone says something particularly dumb and I can't resist making some snarky comment.
Browsing in a bookstore, a good bookstore mind you, gives me a disproportionate amount of pleasure. I frequently succumb to temptations within those walls that make my creditors and retailers rub their hands in glee. However, I do resist the urge to merely walk up and down the aisles running my hands across the shiny new books, as well as the urge to pick up a book and stake a claim in one of the big arm chairs. Yes it is tempting, but the Barnes & Noble is not my living room, and thus I shouldn't treat it that way. Others should heed my advice and not do this either.
4 comments:
I know nothing of these fireworks of which you speak.
Aside from that . . . well, I DO enjoy being a girl. Most days, anyway. But mascara's no excuse for not knowing how to be useful in society. As far as offensive songs go, that creepy one about "Thank God for Little Girls" always made me feel as if a shower was warranted.
Yeah, bookstores with furniture groupings are a neat idea, but I've never felt comfortable just flinging myself down. For one, when I read in an armchair, I tend to curl up in ways that would look downright peculiar in public and I don't see the need to explain myself to the management.
There is a certain demographic which uses bookstore furniture quite a lot. They're the guys in black sweaters with the expensive latte from the conveniently located Starbucks and a book by Althusser or Jung opened to page 48--just far enough into the book to look like they're interested in it, but not far enough so that the theoretically hot bookstore girl in a black sweater and plaid skirt will feel like she shouldn't interrupt the powerful cogitation of a stupendous intellect in order to flirt.
Not that you would know anything about that at all from personal experience Syrion, aka former hipster.
That's not a hipster at all. That's an "antisocial" avant-garde pseudointellectual. I'm too introverted to be an "antisocial" avant-garde pseudointellectual.
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