perhaps we can just stand in Emeryvilla and wave white hankies at the South Bay
I keep having to remind myself that the freeway did not suffer. There must be some sort of cure for excess empathy. Aside from "Don't be a hippie," I mean.
Also, again, ancient Indian burial ground. Have none of California's transit planners ever seen The Shining?
This weekend I fly out to Austin for a memorial for my grandmother, who died late Thursday night, possibly just to keep my grandfather from stealing her thunder. Towards the end she was seeing things, which, since she had been blind for the last few years, was a nice change and seemed to make her pretty happy. At one point the night before she died she decided that her eight surviving children were her Girl Scout troop from circa 1954, and attempted to make them sing "America the Beautiful".
(The best quote being: "Campers, I don't care if you're bitter about this.")
Somehow I ended up telling a couple of my coworkers this morning all about how she used to make a lamb-shaped cake for us every Easter, with coconut shavings over the icing, two licorice jellybeans for eyes, and one pink jellybean for the nose. Then we would eat it. I remember getting old enough to be a little perplexed by the religious symbolism of all this and being told to hush up and eat my martyr cake. Yes ma'am.
So all that probably has something to do with the excess empathy. There's a lot going on at the moment with other people I know, too, so yes. Feelings zinging around the place like salty little bullets. The important thing is that the freeway did not suffer.
ensignbenson reminded me that I'm not posting much anymore (unless somebody dies, apparently), to which I can only say: I'm really, really boring, and Miss Manners says it is poor form to talk about other people (again, unless they die. Who knew). Work is good; they gave me a higher number to tack onto my job title, and I have trained myself to not stutter when speaking to the somewhat high-powered exec in charge of one of my projects, even though I am scared of his watch. Thom and I helped yodasminion throw a dinner party the other night that probably took two years off everyone's life. Pictures will be on Flickr soon. Inspired by bulkor, I'm trying to teach myself to play guitar again. That is pretty much entirely it. Man, do I need an exciting double life. How do those work, exactly?
EDIT: Only just noticed the typo in the subject line. I like the idea of Emeryvilla. It's where we go to spend all our scrilla. Ahem.
Also, again, ancient Indian burial ground. Have none of California's transit planners ever seen The Shining?
This weekend I fly out to Austin for a memorial for my grandmother, who died late Thursday night, possibly just to keep my grandfather from stealing her thunder. Towards the end she was seeing things, which, since she had been blind for the last few years, was a nice change and seemed to make her pretty happy. At one point the night before she died she decided that her eight surviving children were her Girl Scout troop from circa 1954, and attempted to make them sing "America the Beautiful".
(The best quote being: "Campers, I don't care if you're bitter about this.")
Somehow I ended up telling a couple of my coworkers this morning all about how she used to make a lamb-shaped cake for us every Easter, with coconut shavings over the icing, two licorice jellybeans for eyes, and one pink jellybean for the nose. Then we would eat it. I remember getting old enough to be a little perplexed by the religious symbolism of all this and being told to hush up and eat my martyr cake. Yes ma'am.
So all that probably has something to do with the excess empathy. There's a lot going on at the moment with other people I know, too, so yes. Feelings zinging around the place like salty little bullets. The important thing is that the freeway did not suffer.
ensignbenson reminded me that I'm not posting much anymore (unless somebody dies, apparently), to which I can only say: I'm really, really boring, and Miss Manners says it is poor form to talk about other people (again, unless they die. Who knew). Work is good; they gave me a higher number to tack onto my job title, and I have trained myself to not stutter when speaking to the somewhat high-powered exec in charge of one of my projects, even though I am scared of his watch. Thom and I helped yodasminion throw a dinner party the other night that probably took two years off everyone's life. Pictures will be on Flickr soon. Inspired by bulkor, I'm trying to teach myself to play guitar again. That is pretty much entirely it. Man, do I need an exciting double life. How do those work, exactly?
EDIT: Only just noticed the typo in the subject line. I like the idea of Emeryvilla. It's where we go to spend all our scrilla. Ahem.