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aruanBecause I've decided getting to listen to my own music at any decibel and singing correspondingly is more important than sharing the cost of driving home, would anyone in the greater Orlando area be up for lunch on Wednesday afternoon? I'm mostly harmless, promise.
I have a singular bit of anything worth mentioning to offer from my weekend: The Scissor Sisters do an insane cover of Comfortably Numb, which I, in my eminent subjectivity, feel is better than the original, in fact. Hold you tomatoes, I'd be proving my point with a download if I weren't at work. Maybe later, for those of you who haven't defriended me over that comment.
Has anyone ever gone into Target and emerged only with what you intended to buy? Yeah, me neither. I now own two photo albums, which is cool as my pictures badly need organizing, and a kicky new pair of black pointed-toe stilleto heels I'll wear in my continuing campaign to project the grown woman facade to my father so he'll maybe start treating me like one instead of a barely competent child.
And now, I rant about greeting cards. Specifically, the "sympathy" cards. My god, I've never read so much trite drivel. Just one, just a single non-lurid, non-gold-embossed, non-spiritual, non-cut-flowers-which-hello-DIE-decorated, non-embroidered or scented or rainbow-colored or using a font so Serifed, it looks like a three-year-old doodled on it card was almost too much to ask. I understand *very* well the difficulty of expressing the proper sentiments during times of grief - I'll run from a room when someone starts crying rather than say the wrong thing - but seriously, the first person who utters anything like most of those cards contained to the loved ones at my funeral is gonna get a posthumous smackdown from me. Don't quote platitudes (i.e. God has his reasons - cannot stand that one at all), don't pretend you know what they're feeling, don't tell them the pain will get easier to bear (but don't tell them it'll never abate - Christ almighty, what a depressing card that was), and for the love of all that is holy, don't try to tell them about better places. We're pretty lucky in a million ways to have even gotten the chance at living in this world, which, for all its many faults, is a pretty good one. Hey, there's nothing else I'd rather be doing.
Like I said, mostly.
I have a singular bit of anything worth mentioning to offer from my weekend: The Scissor Sisters do an insane cover of Comfortably Numb, which I, in my eminent subjectivity, feel is better than the original, in fact. Hold you tomatoes, I'd be proving my point with a download if I weren't at work. Maybe later, for those of you who haven't defriended me over that comment.
Has anyone ever gone into Target and emerged only with what you intended to buy? Yeah, me neither. I now own two photo albums, which is cool as my pictures badly need organizing, and a kicky new pair of black pointed-toe stilleto heels I'll wear in my continuing campaign to project the grown woman facade to my father so he'll maybe start treating me like one instead of a barely competent child.
And now, I rant about greeting cards. Specifically, the "sympathy" cards. My god, I've never read so much trite drivel. Just one, just a single non-lurid, non-gold-embossed, non-spiritual, non-cut-flowers-which-hello-DIE-decorated, non-embroidered or scented or rainbow-colored or using a font so Serifed, it looks like a three-year-old doodled on it card was almost too much to ask. I understand *very* well the difficulty of expressing the proper sentiments during times of grief - I'll run from a room when someone starts crying rather than say the wrong thing - but seriously, the first person who utters anything like most of those cards contained to the loved ones at my funeral is gonna get a posthumous smackdown from me. Don't quote platitudes (i.e. God has his reasons - cannot stand that one at all), don't pretend you know what they're feeling, don't tell them the pain will get easier to bear (but don't tell them it'll never abate - Christ almighty, what a depressing card that was), and for the love of all that is holy, don't try to tell them about better places. We're pretty lucky in a million ways to have even gotten the chance at living in this world, which, for all its many faults, is a pretty good one. Hey, there's nothing else I'd rather be doing.
Like I said, mostly.
