Holy Crap. It's been a week, and I haven't posted. I'm such a slug and a slacker, and it's not like I haven't felt my responsibility most keenly; I have. Have you ever had so many ridiculous hormones performing scenes from Hamlet and A Streetcar Named Desire in your body at once that you just can't stop feeling strung out long enough to accomplish anything beyond the basics?
Really? Really, you have? Then you are my very best friend right now. Let's get hammered.
Anyway. Here's some stuff.
Jared, my enormous child (and you just go ahead and take that any old way you want to) moved home from college in a heap of boxes and laundry last week. He is an English lit. major, and here is an example of the discussions we are now having at the Dept.:
Me: ...so how did that paper finally turn out?
Him: You will be thrilled to know that I employed the semicolon copiously in it. I did it for you, actually.
Me: I told you! The semicolon is the hallmark of an accomplished and mature writer.
Him: It's vastly overrated. It's extraneous in the extreme.
Me: You're full of it.
Me: You heard me. I'm maligning your veracity. What will you do about it?
Him: I'll...I'll...gesticulate maliciously! (makes threatening motions at my face)
Me: You look like you're vogueing.
My birthday was on the 3rd. I turned 49. I hate birthdays like that: 29, 39, 49. They sound fakey. They sound like I'm trying to lie and hold on to some last vestige of an age that I'm not really still at. I really am 49; I'm not actually 50 and claiming to still be in my forties, hanging onto that decade. So now, when people say something about my age or it comes up and I say, "I'm 49," I might get that sad little look, or that knowing wink wink nudge nudge look that says, "sure you are, honey; sure you are." Sigh. Bullshit. I'd rather be 50 and get it over with. FIFTY. Okay. Maybe not. That sounds pretty serious. F I F T Y. Geeze. I'll start cultivating a fake British accent or something to convey that gravitas. I have a year to work on it.
Finally, I haven't done a haiku for the longest time. I really like them, too. They're short, they force you to economize your thoughts, and they really encapsulate an issue. Here's a political one. Do flex your own haiku muscle in Brainstorms.
Could screw up an election
After eight Bush years.