(no subject)
I'm such a dumbass sometimes. Going through my flist I vaguely wondered why fewer people are posting and last weekend I blamed it all on Labor Day shenadegans and school supply hunting, but it's really because of last month's declutter. Yup. That time of year again. This time though I really pruned back hard and I'm not talking about the roses. See, when you have people on your flist you can't even remember putting there and aren't sure they know who YOU are any more, why keep the dead weight? It just makes scrolling hell and I miss important news--like when people have babies and get publishing contracts--then I wind up looking like I don't give a rat's. Not what I want. So here's my 'pruning' criteria:
1) I once added you because you added me, but I no longer recall why or when since we never said word one after 'friending' one another
2) You used to chit chat with me when I talked writing almost exclusively but have lurked since the infamous 'Letter to Santa' detailing what I'd do with Jason Isaacs if Santa tumbled him down the chimney. Or . . .
3) Same as above, but you vanished when the Preston lessons got going last year along with my fledgling art posts. Also, you began trembling in the corner (oh mama make her stop!) once the first Lucius drawings turned up. I do not want to be held responsible for someone needing Jack Daniels to get through my entries and nearly 2 years of documenting how I wet myself over the latest Lucius pic is enough to sent even the stoutest hearts over the edge.
4) You've sort of forgotten that you have an LJ and no longer post. Entertain me damnit!
5) You post but are so depressing, I have the urge to mainline liquid Prozac when I'm finished reading your Entry Of Angst and Doom just so I can summon the will to use the toilet without gulping down a whole bottle of Exedrin along the way.
6) You whine incessantly. I mean all the time. And everyone hates you. Everyone hates your dog. Everyone wants to turn your cats into throw rugs. Everyone ruined your life and short sheeted your bed. Your mother is why you turned away from your dream of becoming a world class erotic pastry chef and became a septic specialist. And everyone says you smell like turd overspray. And you write about it, every day. And nothing else. The sun never shines on your little hunk of Dogpatch USA because you're too busy mooning it and blocking the light
Tell you the truth, I really only had folks on 1). and maybe 4). I booted someone last year who was a 5) and that was just because she NEVER lightened up. I gave her the chance, really. I would read her story of how her parents were next door to Freddie Krueger in both temperment and sanity level--because they failed to get a particular Christmas present the right size. Because they should have KNOWN how much their daughter's ass had spread over the last year. Known! Hell, don't YOUR parents know your exact size at any given moment of your life, whether you see them or not? It's a goddamn instinct among truly caring parents. She is truly cursed, the poor sod.
In other news--Beth chose an instrument for band!
The way they run things at her school is they spend the first week or so spitting at one another to a beat--or at least the future brass section does--because most of the class hasn't had a chance to rent their instruments (she's in beginning band). Oh joy. They're studing how to properly blow their little horns. Next week, they graduate to mouthpieces which will sound like a kazoo orchestra piped through a slowly compressing balloon. I pity that band director. But today we traipsied off to the school where representatives from 3 band rental stores lay in wait to offer E-Z credit terms. A baritone (smaller than a tuba but larger than a trumpet) costs around 40 bucks a month to rent! We got lucky though; the director steered us away from the lures of all those shiny pistons and tubing; we could rent a school instrument, lightly battered, for just 100 bucks for the whole year.
Something tells me we'll be soundproofing the family room this month. I remember learning the trumpet at her age and I remember what we sounded like as a group during that first milestone performance. Beth's first concert is around December and beginning bands at that level generally sound like that one uncle who can fart the Macarena on demand. It has notes, yes. But they ain't pretty. I do have one other concern though, unrelated to brassy gas effects. I'm worried her chosen instrument will make her fat. I know the tuba does. It's negative effects on the still-growing human frame are well documented. The body expands to fill that curl of tubing in order to take the weight off the shoulders and reduce stress while marching. But a baritone is sort of a mini-tuba, so maybe she'll just get a little pudgy? We can only hope for the best. ;)
1) I once added you because you added me, but I no longer recall why or when since we never said word one after 'friending' one another
2) You used to chit chat with me when I talked writing almost exclusively but have lurked since the infamous 'Letter to Santa' detailing what I'd do with Jason Isaacs if Santa tumbled him down the chimney. Or . . .
3) Same as above, but you vanished when the Preston lessons got going last year along with my fledgling art posts. Also, you began trembling in the corner (oh mama make her stop!) once the first Lucius drawings turned up. I do not want to be held responsible for someone needing Jack Daniels to get through my entries and nearly 2 years of documenting how I wet myself over the latest Lucius pic is enough to sent even the stoutest hearts over the edge.
4) You've sort of forgotten that you have an LJ and no longer post. Entertain me damnit!
5) You post but are so depressing, I have the urge to mainline liquid Prozac when I'm finished reading your Entry Of Angst and Doom just so I can summon the will to use the toilet without gulping down a whole bottle of Exedrin along the way.
6) You whine incessantly. I mean all the time. And everyone hates you. Everyone hates your dog. Everyone wants to turn your cats into throw rugs. Everyone ruined your life and short sheeted your bed. Your mother is why you turned away from your dream of becoming a world class erotic pastry chef and became a septic specialist. And everyone says you smell like turd overspray. And you write about it, every day. And nothing else. The sun never shines on your little hunk of Dogpatch USA because you're too busy mooning it and blocking the light
Tell you the truth, I really only had folks on 1). and maybe 4). I booted someone last year who was a 5) and that was just because she NEVER lightened up. I gave her the chance, really. I would read her story of how her parents were next door to Freddie Krueger in both temperment and sanity level--because they failed to get a particular Christmas present the right size. Because they should have KNOWN how much their daughter's ass had spread over the last year. Known! Hell, don't YOUR parents know your exact size at any given moment of your life, whether you see them or not? It's a goddamn instinct among truly caring parents. She is truly cursed, the poor sod.
In other news--Beth chose an instrument for band!
The way they run things at her school is they spend the first week or so spitting at one another to a beat--or at least the future brass section does--because most of the class hasn't had a chance to rent their instruments (she's in beginning band). Oh joy. They're studing how to properly blow their little horns. Next week, they graduate to mouthpieces which will sound like a kazoo orchestra piped through a slowly compressing balloon. I pity that band director. But today we traipsied off to the school where representatives from 3 band rental stores lay in wait to offer E-Z credit terms. A baritone (smaller than a tuba but larger than a trumpet) costs around 40 bucks a month to rent! We got lucky though; the director steered us away from the lures of all those shiny pistons and tubing; we could rent a school instrument, lightly battered, for just 100 bucks for the whole year.
Something tells me we'll be soundproofing the family room this month. I remember learning the trumpet at her age and I remember what we sounded like as a group during that first milestone performance. Beth's first concert is around December and beginning bands at that level generally sound like that one uncle who can fart the Macarena on demand. It has notes, yes. But they ain't pretty. I do have one other concern though, unrelated to brassy gas effects. I'm worried her chosen instrument will make her fat. I know the tuba does. It's negative effects on the still-growing human frame are well documented. The body expands to fill that curl of tubing in order to take the weight off the shoulders and reduce stress while marching. But a baritone is sort of a mini-tuba, so maybe she'll just get a little pudgy? We can only hope for the best. ;)