I’ve been very anxious lately; perhaps this can be attributed to the election tomorrow, but I suspect it’s because I’ve recently discovered that I live in a world where the Columbus Children’s Hospital will soon be breaking ground on the Abercrombie and Fitch Emergency Department and Trauma Center. Thanks to a $10 million gift, you see.
There are many jokes in there, but mostly a sense of resignation that one day, we will all be wearing ads on our foreheads. I’ve got ample space on mine, so I’ll probably end up with an ad for a drug named Flourahexamegazania, which whitens teeth, encourages a general sense of well-being, reduces flatulence, and makes the air around your head smell like flowers.
Other random thoughts and events:
I attended a literacy luncheon last Thursday and was inspired to become a tutor with the local Literacy Council. Um, hello, shouldn’t I already be doing everything in my power to facilitate literacy? Since I’m a writer and all? (Though you may not have guessed as much based on the grammatical cesspool that masquerades as this blog.) So this is a new development I’m looking forward to.
Watched an Australian western this weekend: The Proposition. An excellent study in creating multi-faceted, sympathetic characters. Plus, you really get a feel for how filthy Ol’ Timey settlers really were. On account of the smudged faces and clouds of flies around their heads.
Somewhere, at this very moment, a man is wearing a wide-brimmed hat rimmed with pom-poms.
Started my Christmas shopping this Saturday. I only bought myself two things. In pursuit of one particular innocuous gift-item, I was directed by a shopkeeper to a place that bars entry to those under the age of eighteen and only accepts payment in cash. Tell me. Have you ever found yourself wearing a peacoat, turtleneck, and Mary Janes in a store peddling gargoyles, patchouli, Ouija boards, crystals, dragons, and bags of herbs galore? Didn't it make you feel kind of old and square?*
Beginning this week, my best friend’s family is engaging in their own home-version of The Biggest Loser, pitting two related teams against one another in a battle to the weight-loss death. Well, not to the death, but I suspect they’re going to have fun dreaming up punishments I mean challenges for the “non-losing” team (that is, the team failing to lose more poundage) every week. I considered going along for the ride, since I could certainly stand to eat less and move more. But then I remembered that Thanksgiving and Christmas are mere weeks away—and with them, delicious feasts involving butter, cranberries, molasses, potatoes, sugar, cheese, and more butter. Since I’m a big fan of butter in its many forms, I feel trying to lose weight during this time may make me exceptionally crabby. And I’d hate to do that to J.
*This is the kick-off in my campaign to bring back the word "square."