It’s Sunday, time for my usual nonsensical post about nothing in particular and everything in between. Let’s see now, where to begin?
James May has built an entire house out of Lego. In particularly sad news (or not, I suppose, if you aren’t all the fan of Lego) the house has already been razed. No word on weather or not it matched his plasticine garden and we’re still waiting to hear if he’s going to take on the challenge of building an entire life-sized village out of Lincoln Logs. James, buddy, what can I say? You’re such a freak, that’s why we love you so (well, that, and, from the looks of things, though I live miles, actually an entire continent and an ocean away, it appears we go to the same hairdresser, so I can’t be all that mean.)
Feeling old? My alma mater sent me an email with my life expectancy in it. Along with the “catchy” cry for money-“It’s never too late to donate! Won’t you consider leaving us in your will?” Damn you people. I’m not old and now, I guess, you’re not getting any of my hard-earned money so just go away and stop trying to tell me when I will expire already. (By the way, I’m slated to die in 2054 so get those cards and letters ready. Or, you no, not as the case may be.)
The other day I had not one, but two (count ’em, TWO) espresso coffee drinks. Talk about “wide awake in dreamland.” Oh Lord, help me, I was bouncing off the walls. What was I thinking? They should outlaw that stuff, it’s worse than crack and yet, somehow, quite cheaper I believe.
There is now a place called “Costume World” over on Burnet Road, across from the local Austin Infinity dealership. There’s a lady in there named (I swear I’m not making this up) Lucky who will rent you a full theatrical costume by the hour. No word on how many vampires though-you’re on your own for that.
I think writers should have blogs because too many computer programmers have then instead. (Yank them from a keyboard and programmers are a pretty useless lot, aren’t they?)
I always wanted to see a pregnant nun in Venice, but I never did. Sadly, there are few nuns left and those that are, it would appear, prefer “normal” street clothing these days. The nunnery and brothel have also been separated over the course of time (though this was not always the case, or so I was told.) Ah, I did get to sneak a picture inside the Bridge of Sighs so, I guess, it’s all good.
I still can’t get the song Cath by Death Cab for Cutie out of my head. I’m also listening to the new Collective Soul, Rodrigo y Gabriela, though it’s sure to become an insurance jingle in the making, Five for Fighting’s “Chances Are,” and Mat Kearney’s “Closer to Love.” (“I guess we’re all one phone call/From our knees/We’re going to get there soon/If every building falls/And all the stars fade/We’ll still be singing that song/The one they can’t take away”) It’s been a while, so I probably should do an entire post devoted to music, but this will have to tide you over for the time being.
It’s been so long since I’ve posted, I feel like I’ve sold myself to these people. To answer the obvious, yes, there really were sheep hearts in that bucket. No, I didn’t put them there-I’m just a photographer, remember? (I mean, yeah, I shoot ’em, but I don’t, um, shoot ’em quite that way, ok?)
I’ve thought about opening an orphanage called “Carol’s Home for Wayward Imaginary Friends” but I couldn’t see it. Get it? (Yes, I know, that was a really bad joke. Sorry. It should have come with a warning.)
I miss the old days, when you could blog about people behind their back. Nowadays, anybody can Google. It’s not even a lost art. And there’s nary a stranger in the comments. (*Waves* Sorry I’ve been gone so long. Next time, I’ll try to write…um….yeah, type, I guess.)
Current favorite response to “…but all you do is push a button” is: “Yes, but some button pushin’ looks a whole lot better than other button pushin’, doesn’t it?”
If you could write a letter that started out “Dear Boy/Dear Girl” (and expect to get a response) what would you say? (Maybe I’d stop to ask, “Why is your plumbing so different from mine?” But then again, maybe not.)
Do you think Marc Chagall ever had strange dreams about falling into ravines and wandering around old Scottish castles at midnight? (Something tells me he did, but I do, so maybe he didn’t.)
I think that’s enough random crazy crap for one day, but do please tell. How was your weekend?
Until next time…