kothz

To appease the wench over at Cybervassals, I’m actually following a meme Don’t tell her…

1. You’re stuck inside Fahrenheit 451– which book do you want to be?

Well, it certainly wouldn’t be Fahrenheit 451. I hated the book. Any work of fiction that gives Grade 10 English teachers an excuse to torture students isn’t really work the brain storage space.

If I had to have a book floating around in my head, it’d probably be something like Treasure Island or A Christmas Carol.

2. Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Yes.

3. The last book you bought is:

The Lions of Al-Rassan // Guy Gavriel Kay

4. The last book you read:

Neverwhere // Neil Gaiman

5. What are you currently reading?

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone // J. K. Rowling

6. Five books you would take to a deserted island:

Apart from the requisite unbound reference material on how to get off the deserted island, and about the sustaining values of plants and animals you’d find on a deserted island, I’d have to choose:

The Name of the Rose // Umberto Eco
The Prophet // Khalil Gibran
The Lord of the Rings // J. R. R. Tolkien
Papillon // Henri Charriere
The Mahabarata

It’s St. Paddy’s Day, not St. Patty’s Day.

Paddy = Patrick.
Patty = Patricia.

Patrick is the Patron Saint of Ireland.

Patricia, according to Chris DeBurgh, is the best stripper in town.

If you can dye beer green, it’s not worth drinking.

Nuff said.

Sometimes, when you’re sitting at work, bored out of your skull, staring at yet another computer requiring TLC when you haven’t had a shred of TLC for technology in a decade, you have to rouse yourself from a mental slumber to air a confession.

At least, that’s where I am today… right now…

The confession: I have shallow moments. Yes, yes, it’s true. I know you’re sitting there in utter disbelief, bordering on dismay, teetering on disappointment…

Why have I come to this realization? Simply put: Blog Explosion.

When I surf blogs through Blog Explosion, I end up adding people to my list of blogmarks because of *something*. I don’t know what something is; it could be any number of factors — writing style, interesting content, sense of humour, whether the author is “a cutie”.

There it is. That last one. Yes, after going through my list of blogmarks, I find the proof of my shallowness: I have added people because they were cute. Sigh. No more lofting ambitions of mental fortitude. The sense of MROWR has beaten down the IQ. I’m shallow and I love it.

It’s the little things in life… I tell ya.

I’m here in front of the computer, surfing blogs through Blogexplosion wearing the standard nobody’s home, guy uniform — boxers and a t-shirt. Yeah, I know. Mrowr.

It just snowed for the first time of the season today. I decide I’m on the uncomfortable side of chilly. Hrm. I don’t want to go upstairs to get a blanket. I’m a man, damn it; I’m holdin out. Inertia is my friend and I’m not about to piss him off.

Beat.

No, I’m cold. So, I grumble, get up and ready myself up for the trip upstairs to the bedroom to grab a blanket. ALL OF A SUDDEN (like it hasn’t been there the whole time) I notice the fleece blanket over the chair. HUZZAH! All of the comfy, none of the effort, and I’m back snugly surfing blogs.

The Zucchini Blog Muse is apparently on a leave of absence. Did he ask? No. He just left to go someplace warm where wearing beach volleyball gear is the height of fashion. In place of meaningful commentary that incites discourse is a series of urges to wax philosophic on aspects of my life ranging from my current hobby rut to my current hobby rut. So, I’ll babble…

Monsters, Inc. just ended on the television. I have to admit to a certain weak spot right about where Boo says bye to Kitty. Sniff. Waaaaaaaaaaaaah. It’s so sad. AND I’VE SEEN THE MOVE A DOZEN TIMES.

Other moments in pop media that make me verklempt (thank you, Linda Richmond) have been:

The last episode of M*A*S*H. It was a mother/son bonding experience. I was fine until they rolled the closing credits.

Big Fish. Schlock movie with Ewan McGregor. Damn thing ropes you into buying into the characters emotionally, then they kill someone off.

The death of Optimus Prime. Transformers. More than meets the eye. Autobots wage their battle to destroy the evil forces of… the Decepticons.

ANYWAY, I’m writing this round of sloppy emotions off to my current engagement with carbohydrate starvation. I’d kill for a bag of Miss Vickie’s Lime and Black Pepper chips.

This is a personal blog, not an organizational or corporate website.

With that in mind, expect nothing. Audience, voice, content, form… it could all change at the drop of the proverbial hat. Anything from rants basking in self-righteous indignation to confessions about folks who make me go mrowr can find their way into this thing.

With my overactive imagination in full gear, I can picture friends, new & old, coworkers, and strangers reading this blog. In reality, it’s probably only me, three or four degenerate close friends, and the odd cat. If I happen to offend the cat, woohoo.

After spending the better part of an extended day being productive doing mind-numbingly inane user support-related tasks, I decided to give my brain a break. I stumbled across an online Myers-Brigg test. After spending what seemed like an eternity of trying to answer the questions honestly, I submitted it. No, that can’t be right. So, I went off in search of a temperament test. There it was in all it’s newfound design, lack of contrast glory. Much to my chagrin, the votes are in. I’m an idealist. Damn.
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