Dear Kanye West,

Please shut up. Really. Shut the Phk up before you look even dumber than you already apper to be. Because quotes such as this

Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed. I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book’s autograph.

only reinforce the notion that you're a very rich, spoiled, and not terribly bright man.

Oh, and that 52 page missive loaded with your own words of wisdom, with pearls such as "I hate the word hate!" and the occasional blank page...please don't publish that. And if there's a publisher out there that would actually pay you money and then spend real cash to distribute it to the masses... Let us all pray that it's printed on toilet paper and not bound in book form.

Your fifteen minutes are up, Kanye. I appreciate your talent for hip hop, but come on. It's time to go. And on your way our, please take note that George Bush never hated black people, you are not the demigod you seem to believe, and a book can't sign a freaking autograph.

To my parents...



HAPPY 60th ANNIVERSARY!!!

These kids in the national spelling bee, they're making me feel stupid...

Sometimes California really sucks...

How spoiled am I?
The Spouse Thingy set this up for me while he was off last week:



I can work from the bedroom now, AND it's huge, so I can actually see what I'm working on. If I run MS Word at 160% view on this thing, I don't even have to squint.

When I need to, I can close the door so there's no more worrying about someone wandering through my office while I'm buried deep within a scene, because if that happened one more time...well...there might have been screaming and perhaps a little blood involved.

It's conducive to watching TV in bed together, too, in case you need to be convinced that you, too, want this sweet, sweet setup.

But I don't think the Spouse Thingy will come over and bolt it to the wall for you. Not without payment. You'd have to offer him a lot.

And you better not offer him what I did...

File under WTF?

First thought upon waking this morning:

Why are people from Canada called Canadians? Why aren't they Canadans? Because if they're Canadians, why aren't people from the U.S. called Americians?

I have no idea why my brain went there...

Do not stand in the middle of Lowe's and tell me you've got good wood, because really, sometimes I'm like 12 years old, and I will snicker inappropriately...

For some reason, we thought it would be just a spiffy idea to hit the flea market--which is on acres of blacktop--in this:




For some reason, it was not entirely pleasant.
Go figure.

Experiencing blog block...major major blog block...

They've been married 62 years; he's almost 90 years old, and this was their impromptu piano recital in the atrium of the Mayo clinic:




How cool is that?

I've been going to Border's a lot lately; for one, I just can't find a comfortable place in this little to plop down with my laptop and write, and two...I just like Border's. The new group of people behind the counter know how I like my tea now, even to the point where one will call out to the assistant manager who is back there helping "fill the cup all the way with ice, she like LOTS of ice."

That is coolness.

But today. Oh man, today the place was packed. It was raining out, and people like to sit in the coffee shop on rainy days, where they can read books for free while they much on some pretty spiffy looking scones and muffins (I assume those are filled with Evilness, so I haven't tried anything other than beverages there...) I took one of two chairs available, feeling lucky that it was near an outlet where I could plug in.

And a few minutes later a woman sat next to me, cupping her coffee in her hands. She stared out into the crowd, eyes glazed over, the look of someone who just wants to sit and be alone, yet not too alone.

This is fine; I'm not there to make friends. I'm there to make stuff up.

But this Woman...before she got there someone anointed her Queen of Flatulence, and she embraced her royal duties with gusto.

I tried to keep writing in spite of it, but between my fingers gliding over the keyboard and her dedicated attention to her Regalness, it sounded pretty much like tap tap tap =squeeeeeee= tap tap tap -phffffffft- tap tap tap... you get the picture.

I couldn't take much of it, and wound up leaving before I coughed out 3 pages and before my usual tea refill.

I have high hopes for tomorrow, because I'm pretty sure that if she's still there, she's got to have deflated by now.