If you have to ask, you're probably in the wrong place. And if you like unicorns and rainbows and skipping through dewy meadows, I'd advise you to leave, before you get traumatized too much. For the brave few that remain, every now and then Mojo's Craptacular is that thin ray of sunshine in your otherwise drab and pathetic life.
So while bopping around the Innertubes this weekend I somehow managed--through LORD knows what sort of vile traipsing; really, let’s not pull that thread--to wind up at a TED talk. Like many people, when TED talks first became popular I enjoyed a great many of them, but sheer volume has not been all that kind to the franchise. Sure, the REAL TED people are smart enough to put a little “x” to tell you it’s not REALLY a TED talk, but merely someone who borrowed the name for free, but the more things get diluted the less the quality and the more.... pretension? I’m going to say pretension.
So the TL;DR version of the above paragraph is, some talks with the word "TED" in them now really, truly suck. Which is one of those things I happened to stumble upon this weekend: a sucky TEDx talk. Some nobody, pretending to be An Authority, blathering on for a quarter hour about something, I suspect, they actually know very little about. Which does not stop the blathering and pretension, of course; you just have to make the presentation all that GRANDER. Part of the pretension, I've noticed, is to speak like David Carradine in the old KUNG FU television show, wherein speaking bumper sticker slogans slowly and carefully is mistaken for profundity. (Ah, we were a simpler people then. A simpler people who were not above cashing in on cultural appropriation. But I digress.)
Okay, while I COULD go on a long complainy rant about everything wrong with ANNE WITH AN E—Netflix’s determined effort to destroy ANNE OF GREEN GABLES—I will instead use this time and space to once more laud the comic genius of Marilla, Anne’s adopted…. well, I guess technically since she adopted Anne that would make her her mother, although that never felt exactly right; more like her Moral Guidance Counselor and Endlessly Patient Tolerator of Anne’s Many Shenanigans.
I found Marilla so hysterically funny throughout she quickly became my very favorite character in the all-too-many ANNE books. I lost interest in the series after she no longer appeared, since she was the sole knife cutting through all the sometimes disgusting treacle. Her very last appearance is in the intestine-cloggingly named ANNE’S HOUSE OF DREAMS, wherein Anne decides to curse the world all the more by breeding and having children (and, of course, losing her first one, because it wouldn’t be Anne unless it’s all so DRAMATICALLY TRAGICAL). Leave it to my dearest Marilla, even in the VERY LAST SCENE in which she actually speaks, to be the sole source of straight facts, brevity and, yes, HUMOR among all the gumdrops and lollipops when Anne finally manages to produce a living child:
Everyone in the Anne of Green Gables universe is shrieking--both pro and con--about the new Netflix series based on LM Montgomery's timeless classic. I've seen the first one, and I can take it or leave it thus far. While yes, it is darker than other interpretations--and, to a point, in the at times tiresomely voyeuristic let's-dwell-on-the-beatings-a-la-Mel-Gibson sort of way that is so popular now--my main complaint has been more along the wild flights of fancy that never once appeared in the book(s) that are now appearing to flesh out the story into a multi-seasonal series. It's as if Anne herself had a hand in reintrepreting the story, and she has decided to make it as DRAMATIC and TRAGICAL as humanly possible.
But all Anne stuff has the most welcome knife cutting through the treacle, in the personage of Marilla Cuthbert. I have tolerated Anne through the years, but I ADORE Marilla. And, to be honest, there is no getting around the late, great Colleen Dewhurst in the 1985 series to REALLY be Marilla, although the new Marilla, Geraldine James, is doing a good job of it thus far, so I can grudgingly forgive her for not being Colleen Dewhurst.
So I forget my phone this morning. Mojo feels naked and afraid. I must have left it at home.
And then I start thinking: what if I DIDN'T leave it at home? What if I left it at the GAS STATION? What if it's in my car? What if it's forgotten and abandoned in the lawn in the rain on the way into where I am now?
Finally I decided to calm down and check up on it via the Find My iPhone website.
And there it is--just to the right of the mighty Connecticut River, which is where I am right this second.
Which means, it must be HERE somewhere.
So I check all my pocketses. No dice. I look around the desk. Nope.
Okay, so I was totally bored this morning, which happened to correspond with my finding the Drought Monitor's drought information graphics for the entire country going back for the past sixteen years or so. Yes, in addition to her many other charms Mojo is something of a weather weenie, and in particular for the past year since we're just now climbing out of a fairly horrific drought by New England standards.