Why yes, I am a grownup. Can’t you tell?
(Or why you should give your internet friends your address)
So, this needs some background for the people who don’t follow my twitter and don’t realize exactly how weird I can be.
I was moping on twitter one day about how I didn’t have a boyfriend, but if I did and he loved me, he would bring me a burrito. In a fit of inspiration, I named him Julio.
Since that day, he’s been fleshed out a bit. It’s been decided that he looks kind of like a hispanic Benedict Cumberbatch, he gives good backrubs, cleans my apartment and likes to fetch me things (burritos, cold medicine, a Pepsi from the QT fountain, whatever). If I’m in the mood for something, there’s a decent chance I’m going to tell twitter that Julio’s bringing it to me.
I had the crud last week. I spent a good portion of last week coughing, shivering, feverish and just generally having a shitty time. At some point, I must have told twitter that Julio was off to bring me some cough drops so I wouldn’t die.
One of my smart assed friends online has my address and decided to send me a get well card from Julio. So today I found this in my mailbox:
The laugh I got from this card almost made having the flu last week worthwhile. It wasn’t, because nothing is really enough to make the flu worthwhile. But it came close. Thank you!
PS: I’ve been informed that Julio was hunting down Randall Flagg since I had to take a break from reading The Stand. For some reason, reading about a superflu while suffering from the flu just didn’t sound like fun.
PPS: I need a manicure.
PPPS: Julio needs to clean up my apartment, the clutter’s building up again.
I figure everyone needs the chance to watch a screech owl take a bath and then be blow dried.
I grew up listening to Pete Seeger, Arlo Guthrie and Peter Paul & Mary. Their voices are a permanent part of my personal soundtrack. I’ve seen Arlo Guthrie and Peter Paul & Mary in person, but I never got the chance to see Pete Seeger in person and now I never will.
There are a lot of articles out there that will tell you all about how he was an activist, a singer, and all the wonderful things he did. You should probably go read them–he was incredible. I can’t tell you all that stuff, I just grew up thinking he sang some pretty cool songs. I was too young to really understand his songs and what they really meant. Now that I’m old enough, well, I think he sang some pretty cool songs that meant a lot to a lot of people, people who are going to miss him.
(Including this one because it has a cute story about Pete in it and frequent camera cuts to him laughing.)
Some people don’t like to let the day end with an argument running.
I don’t like to let the day end with a book unfinished.
I’d started Dear Mr. Knightley yesterday afternoon with middling hopes for it and it met my expectations.
The book has many things going for it that I like–strong Jane Austen ties, a heroine trying to find herself, writers, Chicago and an epistolary format. I enjoyed watching the heroine, Sam, develop relationships with friends, another kid in the foster care system, learn how to be a better writer and find a new family. I liked watching her bounce around Chicago with Alex, her overly perfect male friend who you can tell wants to be something more. There were several fun moments in the book, including a moment when Sam wins a literary quote-off.
Unfortunately, it also contained a protagonist who is flawed in a non-charming manner, a golly gee perfect male lead, an obviously smarmy Wickham-type, a mystery that is obvious halfway through the book and no real tension. Many of the issues that crop up for Sam seem especially unbelievable because I expect her to be more street smart than she is. I can accept that she’s emotionally delayed due to her past, but I have a hard time believing that she’s not developed more common sense and street smarts.
Furthermore, it’s Christian Romance, a category I noticed about three seconds after clicking the Buy Now button. If you want an inexplicably chaste heroine who can’t tell that a guy is dating her in the hopes of getting laid, hasn’t been kissed until 23 and suddenly starts praying and thinking about God when her adopted family starts praying, you’ll be thrilled. If you’re looking for overt Christian themes, you’ll be disappointed. If you’re a godless heathen, you’ll be annoyed.
I wouldn’t hit the book out of someone’s hands if I saw them pick it up at the bookstore, but this review is probably the last I’ll think about it because…eh.
I don’t have much to say because I’m sucked into a book at the moment (if it ends well, I’ll post about it later), but I did take a brief break earlier for Tim Minchin. One should always take a Tim Minchin break if they have the time.
I recommend sticking around all the way to the end because the last joke probably would have resulted in a spit-take if I’d been drinking when I heard it.