Friday, August 22, 2008

Remember that one time I had a blog?

Ironic that my last blog was about the end of the world. Were you worried about me? Did you think that my world ended on October 24, 2007? That would be confusing for you, since your world didn't end, and all previous evidence has pointed to us living in the same world. Tell me more about your cosmology some other time, though. Suffice to say that neither of our worlds has ended as of my writing.

Update on happenings in my world in the last 10 months:

Houseboy has cooked eggplant parmigiana, ratatouille, vegetarian paella, tofu curry (I'm back off fish), and sundry other delicacies to soothe the savage beast, or breast as the case may be.

I have seen movies, 94.73% of which were good to excellent; and I have gone on camping trips, 73.6% of which were rated "worthwhile" by the participants.

I have finished work projects, which have stalled in the editing stages above me, and engaged in a war of attrition with all members of my department. I am The Highlander. There can be only one.

I had a dream about a verdant valley filled with tiny giraffes.

I have reclaimed the dream of a Central Division Title for the Twins, and only cried a little when I saw Torii Hunter in an Angels uniform.

I have read all the way to the K's in my library, with a time-out for books bought in airports (Catcher in the Rye, Rant) and books from the McSweeney's Book Club (Maps and Legends, All Known Metal Bands, Where to Invade Next, Underground America, Arkansas).

Houseboy and I have walked to Lincoln Park for brunch, jetted to York for a wedding and popped out to DC for the fireworks. The cats are not happy with us, and I have the urine-stained traveling bag to prove it. The Fat One has altogether forgotten how to speak English and only looks at me with blank eyes and licks his lips.

Things that have not changed in the last 10 months:

I have not grown any taller, any smarter or any better at the piano.

No one has offered to sponsor me for a year in Spain to work on my Spanish and my paella-eating.

With my back to the moon I can still spit 40 feet.