(no subject)
These politically incorrect nursery rhymes have no place on my blog, but I couldn't resist. I wrote them last night with Killian. Given that they won't live long past today, I suppose that their only literary benefit is a certain comical cynicism - assuming, dear reader, that you're of the Democratic persuasion.
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Georgie Porgy,
Iraq and lies,
if he wins the election he'll make me cry.
But if Osama bin comes out to play,
Georgie Porgy'll run away.
Kerry, Kerry, quite contrary,
how will the election go?
~With bitten nails and vomit-filled pails
and champagne with brie in Ohio.
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With the election taking centre stage today in the news as well as in my head - Zoe and Killian were suitably in awe over dinner, as I barely kept myself from tearing out my hair every few minutes while we chewed and stared at CNN International - I entertained the idea of a new profession, namely that of the political blogger. Then Killian broke my career choice contemplation by offering up a bone of gossip about Derek the bartender and his new bird. The state of the global stock markets could hardly compete with such news - case in point, career-wise. Anyway, young twentysomething men in general and Luc in particular are ever so much more fascinating than an upcoming deficit crisis that registers in the trillions, even if they couldn't feed a developing country for a year.
I was hoping to host a post-election brunch tomorrow, but it turned out that no one could make it. Kitti's in a meeting, Zoe is in class, ditto for Maria, and Luc's going out to lunch with his sister and mother. I had conceived of this brunch as an alternative to nursing a brandy glass before noon if the incumbent emerges victorious, so the fact that everyone has bailed leaves me rather lonely. However, I'm out of hard liquor so the probability of ante-meridian intoxication would have rather bad odds if you were to bet on my Wednesday morning sobriety.
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Today in numbers
Votes cast: 0
Muffins baked: 12
Situps: 15+10+10+15
Pushups: 12+8
Curls with handweights: 12+12+12
Tuck jumps: 10+10
Pike jumps: 6
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Georgie Porgy,
Iraq and lies,
if he wins the election he'll make me cry.
But if Osama bin comes out to play,
Georgie Porgy'll run away.
Kerry, Kerry, quite contrary,
how will the election go?
~With bitten nails and vomit-filled pails
and champagne with brie in Ohio.
------------------------------------------
With the election taking centre stage today in the news as well as in my head - Zoe and Killian were suitably in awe over dinner, as I barely kept myself from tearing out my hair every few minutes while we chewed and stared at CNN International - I entertained the idea of a new profession, namely that of the political blogger. Then Killian broke my career choice contemplation by offering up a bone of gossip about Derek the bartender and his new bird. The state of the global stock markets could hardly compete with such news - case in point, career-wise. Anyway, young twentysomething men in general and Luc in particular are ever so much more fascinating than an upcoming deficit crisis that registers in the trillions, even if they couldn't feed a developing country for a year.
I was hoping to host a post-election brunch tomorrow, but it turned out that no one could make it. Kitti's in a meeting, Zoe is in class, ditto for Maria, and Luc's going out to lunch with his sister and mother. I had conceived of this brunch as an alternative to nursing a brandy glass before noon if the incumbent emerges victorious, so the fact that everyone has bailed leaves me rather lonely. However, I'm out of hard liquor so the probability of ante-meridian intoxication would have rather bad odds if you were to bet on my Wednesday morning sobriety.
------------------------------------------
Today in numbers
Votes cast: 0
Muffins baked: 12
Situps: 15+10+10+15
Pushups: 12+8
Curls with handweights: 12+12+12
Tuck jumps: 10+10
Pike jumps: 6