Okay, it's almost Craptacular time. I am considering the list for my post-holiday cleanup sale on eBay, and believe me, I have enough to last a lazy person like me several months. The last thing I need is MORE CRAP.

In fact, living in a very small rural town, Mojo must make occasional dump runs--although technically our dump is no longer a dump but a "transfer station", and everything gets dumped into variously labeled Dumpsters to be driven away and either recycled or dumped--oh, sorry, I mean "transferred"--elsewhere, like where poorer people live. Or whatever happens to it; Mojo has no say in the matter. (Once when I worked in a Very Old Library at a Very Old College, they spent a year or so removing asbestos from the building, and they had a staff meeting with an asbestos expert to allay staff fears (the actual removal process, it turns out, involved a lot of plastic sheeting and duct tape, which did NOTHING to ally Mojo's vague fears, since she was looking for something a little more high-tech), and one of the things one of Mojo's trouble-making librarian friends brought up was, "Where does the asbestos go after you remove it?" To which the asbestos expert hemmed and hawed and tried very hard to sugar-coat what they do with it. Which, rumor had it, was to truck it all down south and let some poverty-stricken Appalachian community deal with it. You'd think they'd be asked this often enough to have a good strong super-casual response to it instead of this decidedly awkward exchange (and maybe now they do), but back then Mister Asbestos Expert clearly did NOT want to talk about it.)  MORE Mojo! »

I realize one of my siblings once worked for you, and she loved you and you apparently loved her, so I bear you no serious ill will. Unlike Some People, who shall go unnamed. But that's another story altogether, and I'm sure it's just a Simple Misunderstanding and the resulting lawsuit will never get to trial.

However.

As a librarian, I am often given books that generous people donate to the lieberry, and this came in one of the last batches. Which got Mojo all fuzzy and nostalgic, because really, you'd have to be an Inhuman Monster to NOT like Misty of Chincoteague. I mean, it's a classic in every sense of the word. It's a GREAT BOOK. Mojo highly recommends it to all of her younger patrons when they reach a certain horse-crazy age, as indeed I do most of the Marguerite Henry oeuvre. At least during her prime; towards the end there they got kinda lame. But Misty! What girl DIDN'T name her first pony Misty? Well, there are those of us who NEVER GOT A PONY, but if we did, rest assured it would have been named Misty and that pony would have been LOVED and fed EVERY DAY. But I digress.  MORE Mojo! »

Okay, it was mildly fun for a while, but now I'm sick of it. I hate trying to figure out what routes to take to get anywhere, only to find THEM closed, too. It took me over an hour to get to my Favorite Parents' house, because every road I attempted to use to go down south ended up closed.  MORE Mojo! »