Snow = Mud in Potentia
Winter is a vicious greedy thing, ripping the leaves from the trees, sucking the warm lazy days away, turning the rushed sun to a tiny ball of bright pain reflected myriad ways from ragged snowflakes, pushing days into hours and nights into weeks.
The doctor e-mailed me my medical records the other day. “Overweight,” it said, with “Dietary Counseling Recommended.” The same day the veterinarian said both my dogs are overweight. The pups seem offended when I call them pudgy. I can see them laugh at my jiggling belly when I brush my teeth, though, so they deserve it. But they still seem a little miffed that we’ve cut their food portions back – I can tell by the way they keep pointedly trying to lick the leftover Halloween chocolate off my quivering, sugar-jittery hands…
I don’t like to watch old TV shows because they remind me of my own mortality. I can’t watch M*A*S*H without thinking how young Hawkeye looks, and how old Alan Alda is today, that many of the actors have now passed away. I can’t watch the original Star Trek without comparing the actors’ ages with my own and unconsciously trying to figure out how old they are now, wondering which of them are still alive… How young was I when I first saw this episode? It depresses me somehow.
I don’t like to watch new TV shows because they’re crap.
Sometimes I think my dogs bark just to get my attention. Can’t they see I have Facebook?
When it comes to art…
You need to know what the rules are so you can break them properly.